Just Friends(57)

“What? Why didn’t—” I shake my head, cutting myself off in confusion. “If I had gotten that letter, I would have forgiven you, Declan.”

He looks up at that, and his face slowly lights up with fragile hope. Tentative, like it might not be solid enough to put his weight on. I feel the same fragile hope blooming in me, but then, his face dims like an intruder broke into his mind and turned off the lights.

“That’s nice to know.” He releases a disbelieving laugh, looking down at his lap. “Nice to know that you would have forgiven me. If you had gotten my letter. But you just… didn’t?”

I’m breathless as I situate myself into a straighter position. “Do you not believe me?”

“You just, what? Didn’t get it? Do you not check your mail, or did you move dorms or did—”

“No!” I insist. “I didn’t! And I did check my mail. I do check my mail. Letters get lost all the time, Declan. I think I should be the one wary that this letter even exists.”

He laughs while looking down, the waves in his hair bouncing a bit. I’m not in on the joke. “It exists, Blair. I can assure you. I wouldn’t forget writing a letter like that.”

“Okay. Well, why didn’t you ever… I don’t know. Like, call me? Perhaps a text message would have sufficed?”

“Because I thought you—” He presses his lips together. “You would understand this if you read the letter, but I thought your lack of response was a response. I thought I was carrying out your wishes by letting you move on without me.”

Maybe it was sweet, and I should have felt relieved, but four and a half years of pacing around, glancing at my dark phone screen, hoping against all hope that he was going to walk through my dorm room’s door bubbles to the surface.

“I’ve spent the last four and a half years believing you wanted nothing to do with me.” I cry, my dignity deciding it has no use in comparison to the truth I’ve been hiding for years. “Do you know what that feels like, Declan? To have your entire existence intertwined with someone for twelve whole years, and then get it ripped away from you overnight? To think that after everything we shared, I was easy to block out and move on from like some… distant, inconvenient, forgettable memory?”

My voice echoes through the small car and I’m left heaving like I’ve just run a mile. He doesn’t look up at me, and the carriage of his body goes stiff. It’s like he’s using every ounce of willpower not to leave the car.

And then, finally, his face softens, and when he looks at me, I notice a slight glisten in his eyes. “Yes, Blair. I do. I know exactly what that feels like.”

His words clang against me like waves slamming a cliff.

Could it have been true, that through all these years, he was feeling exactly what I had been feeling? All those nights I spent in a heap of tears, picturing him living blissfully without me, had he been doing the same? Because of a letter I never responded to that I never received?

“I’m sorry I didn’t get your letter. If you felt anything close to what I felt, then… that sucks. That really, really sucks.” I heave a laugh in place of tears. “Truthfully, I should have reached out again but I—I was being… passive. I waited on you to come to me like I was waiting for my dad to show up all over again. I was, I don’t know, testing you, I guess.” The admission barely makes its way out. “But I hope you realize, Declan, I never held anything against you. I thought you were holding something against me.”

He looks down, shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should laugh or cry right now.” A laugh so weak it could pass as a cough escapes him, and then he looks back at me. “I wasn’t holding anything against you either, Blair. Not at all. Man—” He grips the back of his neck, pressing his lips together. “I’m so sorry for all the time we lost.” His voice is filled with regret so deep it sounds like anger. Both of his eyes fill as they look at me, and mine follow. I wonder if I’ve become a blurry mess in his vision, too.

We both let quiet tears stream down our faces in the weak neon glow. Declan reaches his hand through the space between us and wipes my jaw free of a tear. The dimple in my chin presses in to prevent more from spilling.

“So, what do we do?” I ask, helpless.

I want everything from him and don’t have the slightest clue how to begin getting it. Every year. Every lost year. I want it back. I want us to spend every foreseeable second together until the memory foam of our bodies returns to their forgotten positions. I want to come home.

“Let’s try to be friends again,” he offers gently.

The corner of his mouth flickers into the suggestion of a smile before faltering, waiting for my reaction.

Friends. Right.

The thickness in my throat turns to cement, but I try to swallow past it and smile.

“Yeah,” I sniffle. “Friends. Let’s…” I nod and I don’t stop.

He dips his head to try and catch my darting eyes. I still. I try to offer him my best smile. He laughs a little, and I pocket the sound to unfold tonight. He turns his head sharply to look at the dash. I follow his eyes: 9:59 p.m.

In the cold silence, I can hear “Drive” by the Cars playing faintly through the speakers.

“I didn’t hear the music this whole time,” I say quietly, almost to myself.