Wasted Words by Staci Hart

My stomach rumbled, and I rolled off the couch, wrapped in the blanket like a burrito, my legs stiff as I shuffled into the dark kitchen. I flicked on the light over the stove and saw the box of cupcakes, immediately certain that they were the best dinner I could possibly ask for.

Three gigantic cupcakes later, I was really glad I’d gotten half a dozen, barely noticing the crumbs down the front of me as I licked my fingers with a sigh, staring at the fridge across from me. It was covered with pictures — Tyler and me at football games, Tyler wearing a pink, ruffly apron, holding a pie, me dressed up at ComicCon. There were ticket stubs from games too, and the Nebraska football schedule, right next to the Iowa schedule. The rest of the space was filled with poetry magnets. A haiku Tyler wrote about beer.

I took a breath. I let it out. Then I did it again. It was all I could manage.

I knew I needed a distraction, but I could think of nothing that sounded appealing. Everywhere I looked, he was there — his shoes next to the couch, his jacket hanging on its peg on the wall. And when it wasn’t something of his, it was something that reminded me of him. The stack of books on the shelf under the coffee table — the books he’d rejected. Sitting on top of the table was The Hobbit, and I realized he must have left it by accident in his rush to leave.

I wanted to pick it up, but I couldn’t. As if touching it would summon even more memories of him.

I grabbed my speaker and shuffled into my room, closing the door. At least in there, everything was mine — the only thing he’d affected was my bed. As I climbed in, I could smell him again on my extra pillow, on my sheets, on my blanket. Everywhere. But after a while, I’d stop noticing it. It would stop hurting.

Or at least that’s what I hoped.

I clicked on the light and picked up my book, finding the words truer than ever, the sting of the loss through the women in Mists of Avalon even greater than my own, which brought me comfort, however small it was. And at some point, late in the night, I drifted off into fitful sleep.

KEEP BREATHING

Tyler

I STARED OUT THE WINDOW of the airplane with my headphones in, watching the earth come closer in increments, trying not to think about Cam.

It was impossible, of course — she’d been on my mind since I’d walked out the door. Since before that. Since ever.

The rejection I felt was absolute.

I thought back over our argument, feeling the pang of hurt deepen. I hated that it went down like it had. I hated that she still wasn’t sure. I hated that I didn’t know how much more I could take.

She made a promise she couldn’t keep. I should never have asked it of her. Of course, I’d promised her my patience, and I hadn’t been able to give that to her in the end. But it was too much.

The metal ring around on my finger was warm, the same temperature as my skin, like it was a part of me — I twisted it over and over again as I had been for the last hour, feeing lost. Helpless.

I understood though why she needed control. Life was so much easier when there was something you could fix. Handle. But I knew from experience that the greatest, hardest lesson was that you can’t control anything but how you react. I knew I couldn’t control Cam, and I didn’t want to. But there was nothing I could do for us except walk away. No amount of talking could fix it. No amount of begging.

There wasn’t a single thing in our way except Cam. And Cam was immovable.

I thought grimly about what would come when I went home. Would we talk? Could I even listen? Could I bear any more? She said I was too much for her, but maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she was too much for me.

The thought of us sharing space, when all I wanted was her, was too much. No, I wouldn’t be able to do it. See her every day, the reminder of what I couldn’t have. Of what I had and lost due to no fault of my own.

Like I said. Helpless.

I felt the loss like a gaping hole in my chest.

By the time we touched down in Lincoln, the sun was setting, and when I turned my phone service back on, I held my breath, hoping to see a text or a call from Cam.

Nothing came.

I sighed and slipped my phone in my pocket after turning on my music, wanting solitude against the throng of people exiting the plane.

An hour later, I was in my rental car, heading to my parents’ house. Lincoln hadn’t changed much, the familiarity of the city where I’d spent all my life until a few years ago comforting. The fall air was crisp, the leaves all golds and yellows, the wind whipping them across the street in currents.

I pulled up to my parents’ gate and punched in the code, rolling up the window too keep the cold out as soon as I was finished. The driveway was long, circling in front of the sprawling colonial house where I’d grown up. I pulled up next to my dad’s truck, and before I had a chance to get out, my parents were walking out the front door, smiling.

I popped open my door and made my way around the car, smiling back.

“Tyler!” my mom called and reached for me. She was a slight thing — I looked almost nothing like her, save our eyes. When she pulled away, she cupped my cheeks. “It’s so good to see you, honey. Come on inside where it’s warm.”

I hitched my duffle bag on my shoulder as my dad stepped to me, hand outstretched. He was as tall as I was, which was always a little strange — I’d grown accustomed to being taller than everyone. His hair was dark like mine, with gray shocks at his temples. “Son. Glad you made it. How was your flight?”

I took it and gave it a shake. “Long. I forgot my book at home.”

He smirked. “Book, huh? Cam finally did it?”