remember when Gran, Ken’s mom, gave me the pillow. She told me that she’d bought the same one for Hardin, but when Ken took out the trash that same day, he found the blue-and-yellow pillow in the can. I kept mine, and I’m convinced that when Ken gives Hardin the pillow back someday, he’ll finally be ready to keep it.
When Nora doesn’t respond, a hint of anger bubbles in my chest. “Why? Tell me why you don’t want me to know you. You like me, Nora. I’m not really as suave as all the other guys out there, but I can see that. Why can’t you just let me get to know you?”
“Because you won’t like me anymore. If you keep digging around, you won’t like what you discover.”
Nora stands up and tosses the pillow onto the couch. It falls to the floor, and neither of us moves to pick it up. “I told you from the beginning that this isn’t going anywhere.”
I stay in the chair. If I get up, she’s going to slap me or kiss me, and as much as I would like either of those options right now—some kind of connection—we need to have an actual conversation for once.
“You say that”—I keep eye contact with her—“but then we kiss or . . . well, you know. If you just told me the reason you’re trying to keep me at a distance, we could figure it out together.”
When she just looks at me, my frustration makes me braver. “This is the thing I don’t understand about humans. I’ll never understand why people can’t just say what they feel and talk about shit. I don’t get it. Nothing can be that bad. Nothing is too bad to figure out. I’m not some asshole guy who will pretend to be here for you and then disappear.” I stand up. I want to be closer to her.
She takes a step back.
“Nora, I don’t have any intention other than getting close to you. Believe me. Or at least allow yourself to try to.”
“You don’t even know what you’re saying. You don’t know anything about me. You barely noticed I existed until two weeks ago.” Nora’s hands are balled at her sides, and she takes two steps closer to me.
“Barely knew you existed?” It’s an absurd claim.
Nora lets out a huff. “You were so wrapped up in Dakota that nothing else mattered. I don’t know why we’re talking about this. We’re friends. Nothing more.”
“But—”
“No fucking buts,” she hisses. “I’m tired of people telling me what I’m supposed to do or how I’m supposed to act or feel. If I say we’re friends, we’re fucking friends. If I say I never want to see you again, then I won’t ever see you again. I’m capable of making my own decisions, and just because you think you’re a damn therapist doesn’t mean I have to talk to you. Not everyone wants to sit down and spill their fucking guts to a stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger. You can try to convince yourself that I am, but you know I’m not.” I try to break through the wall that she’s so adamant about keeping between us. I’m no therapist; I just don’t have a problem with saying how I feel.
“Oh, really?” Nora says, almost shouting.
“Yes, really!” I try to mock her anger, but it doesn’t work. Any anger I had been feeling disappeared when I saw how vulnerable she was through her anger. There’s something at play in her that I don’t understand.
“How many times did you see me before you moved here?” she asks.
What does this have to do with anything?
Before I can speak, she adds, “Think about it before you answer.”
I’d seen her once or twice. Ken knows her dad somehow. “You were at my mom’s house. We had dinner once,” I tell her, proving her wrong.
She laughs, but not from amusement. “See?” Her hands move in front of her like she’s pushing the air toward me.
I keep my eyes on hers even though I want to look away.