33. Marley

33

MARLEY

T he apartment feels emptier than usual when I get home. Not in tangible way, but as if something is missing that was there before. A warmth, a buzz of excitement. Liam said he had to work late, so it’s not his absence that makes it feel hollow.

“Hey kitty,” I greet Stephen as he winds his way through my feet in a figure-eight pattern with a howl that tells me he’ll waste away if I don’t feed him.

I stop to scratch the top of his head, but he dodges it as if to say I haven’t earned his affection yet. “I know,” I tell him, setting my bag down and shrugging out of my coat. “I had to work a little later today but look! You survived!”

He does one more figure eight before dashing towards his food bowl and I complete the task with only three more impatient head-buts to my ankle.

“There you go.” I set the bowl down and watch him unhinge his jaw like the Hungry Hungry Hippo.

It’s just then that I realize I haven’t eaten all day. I haven’t felt like it. Still don’t. But, just in case, I peek in the fridge. There is plenty there. With a roommate like Liam, you can guarantee that there will be food from a freshly stocked, perfectly balanced food pyramid at all times.

And yet, no appetite.

I close the door with a sigh and head to my bedroom. It’s been a few nights since I’ve slept in my own bed, and now, I feel like I’m in limbo.

Liam told me he was fine. That we were fine. That everything was FINE.

But it doesn’t feel fine and now with the first issue of the Post due out in less than forty-eight hours, I’m not sure that I’m fine.

Yes, Fin and I got a ton of work done today. Yes, all the prep we’ve been doing helped. Yes, I loved seeing her head bowed over her laptop writing furiously. But despite the overall fact that we’re in a fairly good place, it feels tenuous at best.

“I should work,” I say aloud to no one and set my laptop on my desk. I came home with a whole list of things to work on—adjust the weather widget, check the connections on the Sports updates, test the portal for the opinion page—but I can’t make sense of a single thing on my screen.

So, I do the next best thing—close it and lay on my bed in a sideways fetal position.

Eventually, after snarfing the entirety of his food dish, Stephen joins me, and we fall asleep curled around each other.

I don’t wake up until I hear a soft knock on my door. Startled to realize I fell asleep in my work clothes, with all the lights on and a metric ton of work that needs to be done, Stephen and I both sit up.

“Marley,” I hear Liam’s tentative voice and my stomach twists with worry. Is he going to tell me I’m not what he wants? Is he going to tell me he’s leaving? Anguish nearly closes my throat completely.

“Marley,” he says again. “Could we talk?”

I bite back a rush of bile. Every time I’ve been asked that question my whole life—it’s been bad. Boyfriends breaking up, sure, but even worse was the coming announcement from my father that we were moving again.

And now it could be both. I clear my throat and try to steady my voice. “Of course, uh, give me a few minutes?”

“Anything,” he replies gently, and I listen as his footsteps carry him away from my door.

I don’t breathe until I hear his bedroom door open and close and even then, a heavy, hitched breath is all I can manage.

Swallowing around the lump in my throat a half dozen times, I quickly change out of my work clothes and twist my hair into a fresh topknot.

My face looks sullen and blotchy, but I won’t try to make myself look happy when I’m not. I’m in love with Liam, and if he doesn’t love me back, then I’m going to have to pull my big girl pants on and figure shit out. Just like I always have.

I give Stephen one more pat on the head and make my way to the couch where I settle on the far end, putting a throw pillow on my lap as a form of self-preservation. Or a weapon. Or both.

Liam appears from his bedroom a few moments later and my heart nearly breaks through my chest to get to him. Like always, he’s gorgeous, but today he looks harried, a little older.

To be fair, if I had gone on two runs before work in one day, I would look worse.

“Hey,” he says, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, eyeing me carefully as if reading every micro emotion I have.

“Hey,” I answer back, attempting a neutral face that fails.

He turns his body toward me and rubs his hands along his thighs as if he’s nervous. “How was your day?”

I clear my throat. “Uh, it was definitely crazy. Mr. Schuster wants the online paper up on Monday.”

He flinches slightly. “This Monday?”

“This Monday. Fin and I got a lot done today, but I’m still freaking out a bit.”

“Understandable.” Liam frowns. “And all that after what I did this morning. I’m so sorry.”

I swallow the new lump that’s forming. “What did happen this morning?”

His head dips and he looks at his hands as he answers. “I had a dream—a nightmare really, that brought up some memories I don’t handle well.”

I wait while he gathers whatever he needs before he speaks again.

“And all I could think to do was run. It’s what I’ve always done to deal with stress and anxiety and…” When he raises his eyes to mine, I can feel the pain in his chest, the agony he felt when he threw his shoes on in the middle of the night and I get it. He had no other way of processing.

All my worry disappears for now. I drop the pillow and scoot next to him so I can wrap my arms around him. “You can talk to me, Liam.”

He draws a shaky breath and turns to engulf me in his arms. He kisses the top of my head. “I know, thank you. And I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’m strong enough right now.”

Nodding, I pull him closer to me and just hold him. I know we have a lot of work to do and conversations to have if we’re going to get our two struggle buses into the carpool lane, but this at least feels like a start and not an end.