Managing my expectations has been difficult as of late. I keep reminding myself that I can't skip ahead. I can't jump to the part where he tells me how right I was about him, or to the part where I finally get to show him exactly how he makes me feel.
Walking the aisles of the abandoned grocery store, I collect items in a half-broken basket. It's piling up, but it doesn't matter. We are just going to throw it in the back of the truck anyways.
As I browse the jams, I feel a wave of urgency wash over me. Raspberry or grape? To ask him or not to ask him? I toss in one of each and walk in his direction.
"Why have you stopped talking to me?" Remarkably he doesn't start at the sound of my voice from behind him.
"I haven't." He answers quickly. Too quickly. It occurs to me suddenly that maybe he's been thinking too.
"I thought-" I start and stop myself. Thought what? Now, in an aisle full of crackers, I don't know what I was thinking.
His eyes meet mine and I know for sure I won't be finishing my sentence. There is a rawness in him that makes me forget if I was upset at him to begin with.
"I ran after you." He speaks after a moment of silence. His eyes drop to his hands, my own filling at the sound of his voice. The memories of that night seep into me with vivid detail.
"I know." My voice cracks and I look away.
He doesn't speak again, although his responsiveness gives me courage.
"I didn't know if you were upset...about something. Anything. And that's why you were avoiding me."
"It's not like that."
"Then what's it like?" I can hear the desperation in my voice but I don't care.
He shuffles in place before taking a few steps towards the exit, away from me.
"I was ready to stay," he turns back, "ready to just wait until whoever had been stocking those cupboards showed up or never returned."
I try to nod but I don't know what it means.
He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs away from me, "You made it back without too many missing pieces... I just figured you'd want your old life back."
My old life.
"What life was that?" I ask. "The life where I had a father? A home to live in? Where the only thing I worried about in a day was getting my chores done or finishing my homework?"
He looks away from me and I feel my eyes blur.
"No one goes back to their old life." I manage to keep myself together long enough to leave the aisle, basket in hand. He doesn't call out for me and he doesn't follow me.
I grab whatever I can see through my narrowing vision, and throw the loot into the back of the truck. Once my back is against the passenger seat, door slamming shut to my right, I feel the tears run down my face.
Embarrassment washes over me. After everything I've been through, this is nothing. Except it isn't nothing. I don't know what I excepted him to say, or for me to say...it's stupid and I know it's stupid.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and breathe in the stale air of the truck. After a few ragged pulls into my lungs, I press back into the seat.
It smells damp, so I crack open the window, staring out at the endless road. However long it takes him, I still jump when I hear the door swing open, his shape filling the door frame. He tosses a bottle of water in his seat, and I hear 'catch' a millisecond before I see a water bottle hurdling towards my face. I catch it badly, and whisper thanks as I turn away from him.
Daryl lifts his baskets into the back. The truck moves with each placement, loud clanging around me as he arranges our items.
When he settles into the truck (no seatbelt), I swear he pauses, but I'm too afraid to look at him. The engine starts and we take off down the road.
I remind myself that things could have gone worse, but it doesn't help. With an accepting exhale, I twist open the bottle and take a large gulp.
The ride is bumpy, and when the scenery becomes familiar, I stiffen in my seat. We pull into the driveway and I search my brain. This is it. This is my last chance. I wrack my brain but it's empty and unkind. Daryl pulls the keys out of the ignition and I can't stand it.
I move to open the door when his arm reaches across me and pulls it closed, his voice startling in the silence; "Wait."
My heart slows before it races ahead. The quiet of the truck assures me he can hear the blood beating against my chest. So I wait.
"It ain't easy for me." I wait for him to finish his sentence, and when he doesn't, I nod slowly to prompt him. He rests his arm on the windowsill, peering out and pulling a worn stick out of mouth. He tosses it at his feet and glances over at me.
"I didn't know what to say...or if you'd want me to say anything at all."
He is better at this stuff than he gives himself credit for. My face feels warm and I try to respond. I convince myself that I've come this far, I might as well be honest.
"I like talking to you." I say simply. His eyes are downcast, but I can see my answer settle inside him. I don't want to leave this truck. It's quiet and a familiar smell, his smell, fills my lungs.
It seems for the moment, he's happy to stay here too. He leans back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. The lines on his face smooth as his eyes flutter closed. Leaning against the seat, I face him. My eyes drift over the rise and fall of his chest.
I forget for a second that at any moment, our friends, our family, will spill out of the house, interrupting this perfect silence. My eyes close too as the exhaustion of honesty gathers in my chest.
"You should join my next time. Next time I head out." My eyes open at his offer, but his remain closed.
"I'd love to." The corner of his mouth lifts, and I smile, knowing he can't see me blush.