Our Hearts Begin to Crumble.

Garrett decided that Kennedy and I should meet in a public place (his reasons were not explained, but I was smart enough to figure it out on my own) and he decided on Denny’s at 11 o’clock at night. Now, this was not orthodox timing. However, apparently Kennedy needed time to pack for tour (he didn’t have time for me anymore, apparently) and Garrett decided that late-night meetings might do us some good.

Which I didn’t really understand, but I didn’t argue.

Arguing would get me no where, especially with Garrett. When he was determined about something, he was determined, and there was no trying to persuade him into something more convenient or acceptable. So I sucked it up.

Kennedy was already waiting in the booth, his fingers tapping nervously, to some silent beat, against the plastic of the table. He was looking my way, but his facial expression didn’t change at all when I started walking towards him. I didn’t know what exactly to make of that. Did he not care? Did he not want to be here? Was this some type of inconvenience for him? Because if we were going to be honest, I didn’t want to be here as much - if not more, actually - as much as him, but I was still willing to give this a try. I still wiped that hesitant and reluctant look off of my face and I still fucking acted like I would do this. For Garrett.

But of course, Kennedy was still a child.

Who was I kidding.

I didn’t know why I was so upset with him. I should have been embarrassed, but not this angry. I was the one who screamed at him. I was the one that made a fool out of my self over something I wasn’t entirely sure about. I was the one that had been acting stupidly. But I was a girl, and I have emotions, and I was angry. And there was nothing anyone could do about that.

I slid into the booth, my thighs sticking to the cheap polyester. I was in a pair of shorts and tank top, in a result of the coming heat wave. I hadn’t missed the Arizona weather when I was in California, that was for sure. I hadn’t worn jeans once in the week that I had been back.

They weren’t needed.

Kennedy nodded at me, and I nodded back. He didn’t say anything, so neither did I. There was a part of me that kind of wanted him to say the first word. I don’t know why, but it felt like if he was the one to initiate this conversation, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? Maybe then I would feel like since we were both willing to have this conversation, it was worth having?
They were just silly assumptions and theories, but they were there, dangling at the back of my mind.

Kennedy waved down the waitress. I stared straight ahead, but not directly at him. I think my eyes were somewhere on the wall behind him, staring at one of the old “vintage” pictures they had hanging on the wall. Denny’s was kind of a wannabe diner joint, and it was then, staring at the picture, when I realized how much I really didn’t like the place.

The waitress walked over towards us, fixing the black apron cinched around her waist. She was of medium height, maybe around 5’5” or 5’6”, and she had brown hair. Her nametag read “Alex”.

She nodded at us. “What can I get you to drink tonight?”

Kennedy looked over at me. “I’ll take a milkshake and she’ll have an iced tea.”

I was about to open my mouth, to order, and then to protest, but the waitress was already scribbling down the abbreviations. I couldn’t really protest, either, considering that Kennedy got my drink order right.

Maybe he had learned something from our relationship, besides that getting drunk at parties was not beneficial and that you really shouldn’t hook up with people after fights. Or maybe he didn’t learn anything at all. I didn’t know.

My brain was frazzled, partially from the heat and partially from the fact that I was in this situation at all. My thought process wasn’t working to the best of it’s ability.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to order.”

Kennedy nodded and the waitress walked away. Kennedy turned towards me. I was noticing things in short sentences. There wasn’t as much detail in my moments, I wasn’t noticing much. I was just noticing Kennedy, and the small bags under his eyes and the stubble sprouting from his chin and on his upper lip. The corners of his mouth seemed to be edging downwards, gravity tugging them towards the floor. He didn’t look happy, and there was a part of me - and perhaps this was just the selfish part of me, the part of me that wanted to believe that every step I took effected Kennedy in some way - that thought that maybe he seemingly permanent frown had something to do with me.

But I brushed that side of me away, because it was unlikely.

“Do you want food?”

My head snapped up as he spoke. I shook my head. “It’s too late for me to eat.” I said.

He nodded. “Okay.”

I thought maybe he might tell me what he was going to order (Kennedy was always hungry, I had learned) or he was going to start some type of conversation, but he just cracked open the menu and stuck it in front of his face.

There was tension.

It was awkward, and I felt like I was on my very first date all over again. Except this time there weren’t nerves keeping us from having interesting conversation. It was anger.

He was mad at me, that much was obvious, and I was furious with him.

So I didn’t see how any of this would end up productive, but I would stick it out.

There was silence until the waitress returned. Kennedy ordered before she even had to ask.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries, but can I get the order of fries on a separate plate, so it doesn’t touch the meat?” He asked her, but it didn’t really sound like a question. Demanding.

She nodded, though she looked a little curious about the reason behind this. I already knew. She turned and she walked away.

I shrunk a little back in my seat. I closed my eyes momentarily. It was all subconscious, I kept on trying to remind myself. He wasn’t doing this intentionally. It was just out of habit.

But I knew I was wrong.

You could break a habit, especially one as miniscule as ordering fries separately, in the course of a year. It was easy, almost. It could be done.

But he wasn’t doing it.

He was doing this intentionally. He was doing the small things, the tiny gestures, and they were confusing me and angering me and breaking me all at the same time. It was a simultaneous process.

Kennedy looked up at me and I opened my eyes and I looked up at him and I realized that the sooner I started this conversation, the sooner I could get out of here. I needed to accomplish something. If not just to make Garrett happy, but then to put something to rest.

Anything.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, the words slipping out of my mouth. I didn’t regret them, because they were true. I was sorry for the other day, at least. That was such a stupid move, yelling at him like that. It did nothing to help the situation.

Kennedy looked really shocked. Really fucking shocked. I guess he wasn’t expecting me to say something. I wasn’t expecting me to say something either, but…

“Okay.” He said, and he nodded his head. I waited for something else, but he didn’t open his mouth again.

So I did. “I shouldn’t have changed the conversation to us like that. It was uncalled for.”

Kennedy nodded again.

I looked at him incredulously. “And um, I just wanted to say that…we should work things out. Once and for all. Like, get everything behind us, because I’m going to be living in Arizona now and we have the same friends, I guess, and I don’t want it to be awkward for them. So we should just put the past behind us.”

I took a deep breath, letting the words wash in the distance between us. I expected some type of reaction from him. I expected him to smile at me and accept that and maybe apologize and then the awkwardness ease. But that didn’t happen.

He didn’t smile at me.

He just fucking nodded. Again.

And I was so sick of him nodding his head. He used to talk to me. He used to text me everyday and there wasn’t so much awkward tension. I blow up at him once and he just morphs into this silent fucking ball? No.

No, I fucking refuse. This is not going to be a one-sided conversation.

We are adults now, and adults don’t have one-sided conversations.

Adults talk to each other. Adults work stuff out.

“Are you going to say something?” I asked.

Kennedy shrugged.

I let out a frustrated sigh and moved my bangs out of my face. “Please, say something.”

“Okay.” He said.

“Okay?”

“Okay, we’ll put the past behind us. Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you’ve got to say? Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. What more do you want?”

“I dunno…I thought you might contribute to the conversation somehow, you know. Have some type of input that might be thought of as needed or crucial.”

The sarcasm was detected. Kennedy now looked frustrated. “I’ve already apologized a million times and I tell you that I love you about ten times a day. What more do you want from me?”

It was like a physical punch. The way his voice sounded. The way he looked so mad.

And it shouldn’t have mattered to me. I shouldn’t have cared so much. But I did. And that sucked. It was just fucking lame.

“I just wanted you to talk to me.” I hated the way that my voice cracked at the end. And I hated the way that it felt like I was giving in, like I was skipping all of the important parts and just crumbling underneath him.

But I was, because he had that effect on me. And I didn’t want it to, so I closed my eyes and I stopped looking at him.

And when the waitress, when she got the table, Kennedy was already standing up and he was already pressing a twenty on the table.

He was standing up and he was pressing a twenty on the counter. “Just take it back,” he was saying.

And then he turned to me and he opened his mouth and shook his head. “I can’t talk to you anymore, Molly. That was fucked up a long time ago. So the past is in the past. It’s over. All of it.”

And I never expected that to happen, because how could he have such a 360 mood change?

How?