37. Hunter

Playlist: Landslide | The Chicks

I’ve been singing along to Taylor Swift’s Lover album all day, leaning into that feeling of being head over heels. I’m finally editing the pictures from this weekend, all the asinine photos of drunk brides, drunk bridesmaids, and way too many photos accidentally focused on Jo.

Who can blame me? She’s a smokeshow.

Dolly is lounging on my lap while I hum along, so loud that I don’t hear Jo behind me until she’s pretty much shouting.

“ Hunter !” I scramble to pause the music and lower my headphones from my ears. When I spin my chair to face her, I immediately know something’s wrong.

“Jo?” I say cautiously, gathering Dolly in my arms and slowly getting to my feet. “Are you okay? You’re home early.”

“Becky and Kelsey broke up.” Her voice is flat when she says it, emotionless. She usually looks tired after work, but today her eyes are empty and her shoulders are hunched, like she’s closing in on herself.

Personally, I don’t see the problem with them breaking up. No relationship, no wedding, no more having to see Becky and Kelsey. That’s a win if I’ve ever heard one, but something tells me Jo doesn’t feel the same way.

“I know it’s not surprising,” she continues, averting her eyes and staring at the ground. “I know maybe I should be happy. But I’m not getting the full paycheck.”

My stomach sinks as I remember why Jo had taken the job in the first place. The income from these events was going to make her dream a reality, give her the freedom she’d been dreaming of.

“Oh, Giovanna,” I feel like I’m about to melt into a puddle of tears, so shattered by her palpable hurt. I take a step towards her, and my heart constricts when she takes a step away from me. “Jo?”

“Please, don’t,” her hands are shaking, and I want to take them in mine. To squeeze them and assure her we’ll figure it out, that I’m not going to let them continue to hurt her. That her dream will come through, somehow.

“I want to run again.” Her voice is shaky, and she's rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I want to run and hide and wait it out until it just goes away.”

I swallow roughly. “Then run.”

She meets my eyes again. “What?”

“You’re feeling restless and need to run? Then fucking run.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t,” she shakes her head, and I’m not certain if she’s trying to convince me, or herself.

“You’ll come back when you’re ready.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince either. “You’ll run and then you’ll come back when you don’t need to run anymore. I’ll be waiting…if you want me to wait.”

“I do,” she says it so quickly, and it makes my heart feel a little less unbearably heavy. “And I will. I’ll come back tomorrow—I just need tonight.”

“You’re overwhelmed and hurt, rightfully so, and you need to figure this out with some space. I trust you.”

Her arms are around me and she’s pulling me into the tightest hug.

“I owe you.”

I pull away, and get on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to her forehead. “You owe yourself peace. I love you, and you don’t owe me anything.”

I stay in the office while Giovanna moves around the apartment, packing things up. I stare absently at her bookshelves, a rainbow of cracked spines. What do I do now? I don’t have to finish editing the photos from last weekend.

Jo pops her head back in the office. “I’m going to Nic and Josh’s. You have their numbers. I promise I’ll come back.”

“I know.” I force a smile, squeezing Dolly tighter to me.

She looks at me for a second longer, like she’s trying to memorize my face, and then she’s gone. I hear the front door close moments later, and that’s when I let myself crumble.

I cry until it hurts a little less, until my eyesight is blurry and I can’t exhale out my nose.

By then, the sun has set, and I’m starving. But worse, I understand what Jo meant about hiding, about running. That’s all I want to do. To run after her, to run away from this hurt and pain and rejection I feel. But I know that’s not what it is. I never thought patience was my strong suit, but I waited twelve years for her. I can wait again.

I force myself out of bed and into the office, pulling up Google Docs and writing down my thoughts. I’m surprised at how cohesive it all seems on screen. It makes sense, and slowly, I begin to realize something:

It’s possible.