She wonders sometimes if she should be as happy as she is that Henry doesn't ask so many questions about his father. Not that she would answer them, or that she would be able, if he did. But the fact that he doesn't more or less excuses her from having to talk about him at all. It's better for them both, she thinks. She doesn't have to think about it, and he doesn't have to learn that his father got her arrested while she was pregnant and she was too prideful to try to find him and explain that hey, fuckface, we made a baby.
She still doesn't know how he would have reacted to that. She's tried and tried to come up with an answer, but the sad fact is that kids never really came up in conversation. There was a lot of talk of them. Where they would go, what they would do. Tallahassee had been their catch-all for future plans. She was terrified of commitment, he was adamant that the future was never set in stone. He always told her that if she ran away from him he wouldn't come chasing her.
(Which was ironic, because in the end it was him who ran.)
They separated three times before it was over, though they never talked about it and she never had anyone to mention it to after. Twice she ran, and both times he didn't chase her. He did wait for her to come back, though, and she still wonders if she should be grateful. (Then she looks at Henry, ruffles his hair, watches him smile, and thinks that she can be grateful for that one thing, if nothing else.) The third time they were both tired, a little hungover, and more than ready to be on their own.
"I guess this is it," she said. Her hands were shoved in her pockets, hair swept up and away. She had to resist the urge to push her glasses up her nose.
He didn't say anything, but rocked back and forth on his heels. His hair was disheveled and looking thoroughly sexy. He heaved a huge breath and nodded. He held his hand out to shake. "See you around?"
She took his hand. "Yeah, sure," she said, giving it a shake.
Neither of them moved for a long, long moment, hands still clasped. She couldn't make herself move. He took the first step and she took the next. Then their hands finally dropped and they both turned around. She took three more steps before she stopped. She listened. He was still walking away. Her feet were frozen in place and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She had no way of knowing, then, that she could have come away relatively unscathed. That she could avoid some painful, hard times by continuing on her way.
She turned around and ran back, shouting his name. He turned just in time to catch her, letting out a short grunt as they collided. Nothing was said—nothing needed to be said. He just held her close and nodded into her hair as she let out a few breathless sobs.
The next day was the day they decided on Tallahassee.
