“Oh, I remember you.”
“That felt like an insult.”
“What can I say. You’re representing your inner ape well.”
“Fair enough, you’re right.” I lift my palms to her before shoving them into my pockets. If she’s going to play indifferent for the next five days, this might be my only chance for appeal.
“I didn’t come here with a single expectation, and that’s the honest truth. Maybe I don’t know who you are now,” I swallow and lean in, speaking from a place I fought hard to come to terms with, “but right now, I’m talking to the girl who loved me and left me for good reason. I would love the chance to talk to her, to explain myself to her. But mostly, I just want to tell her that I’m sorry.”
I back away slowly, and her doe eyes search mine for sincerity I’m certain I’m conveying because it’s the truth. Sweeping her from head to foot, I step back. “It’s really good to see you again, Whitney.”
The jingle of the store bell marks Eli’s absence as I reel in the aftermath of the explosion that occurred in my chest. I glance around the store as people carry on with their shopping as if nothing happened. And for them, it didn’t. But me? I heard words I dreamt of hearing for years from a man I never imagined would utter them.
Stay strong, Whitney. Nostalgia is a trap. It’s a trap!
Panicking, I begin pacing the store, begging my inner Scrooge to come and zap the emotions warring in my chest and the waking ache in my core. The man has me needing a mop-up on aisle ‘what the fuck just happened,’ and every part of me is aching to go after him for more words as he strides away from the store. Eli was never a words man, not in the way that truly mattered. Our attraction back then was impossible to ignore—though we tried—and it seems no less potent now. But those words, the look in his eyes.
“You can pretend all you want that I haven’t been inside you, but I refuse to.”
I can still feel his radiating warmth despite the gush of icy air that drifted into the shop with his departure.
This isn’t happening.
I won’t let it happen. It’s not so much the time that’s passed, but the remembrance of the damage inflicted when we broke up. Alyssa is right. I never quite trusted the same, loved the same. But isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? You get your heart good and broken in, and then you let it fuel your future decisions about relationships. It’s the way of it. You get stronger and demand more for yourself. It’s not like Eli set a high bar.
Liar.
Feeling the tick of the clock and knowing my mother deserves a well-thought-out gift for all her effort to make our Christmas perfect, guilt consumes me. For most of the hour, I shopped for figure-flattering clothes to look more presentable, if not a bit more alluring.
My priorities are already shifting due to this ridiculousness.
Irritated and full-on panicking by the way I’m already behaving, I begin sorting through the costume jewelry, looking for anything Mom might consider sentimental. Damn Eli and his disruption, his beautiful eyes, lips, and words.
Been inside you. Inside you. Inside you.
It’s been too many years since I’ve felt that sort of jolt, since my heart pounded so fast with anticipation and sexual tension, since my romance starved imagination went as wild as a young twenty-something C cup at Mardi Gras.
And fuck the girl inside of me that’s ready to lift her shirt, titties blazing at the first sign of plastic beaded promises.
Day one. He’s pulling this on day one?
“Argh,” I cry out in exasperation as a woman jumps in surprise next to me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, averting my attention to the shelves of Hallmark jewelry with heartfelt quotes that ring insincere to me.
The clock runs out as I spot something that may work and snatch it off a shelf with a second to spare, knowing the scarf I knitted her would suffice as a good backup gift—because I’m a woman who knits now. My bra and underwear drawer are organized, as is my condo. I’m no longer the beer-slurping party girl he tamed regularly with his huge…ego. I’ve changed even if he’s still the same highly seductive, manipulative, ticking time bomb he was when we were together.
Relieved I was able to find something—and dead set on steering clear of Eli and any more of his reminiscent conversation—I check out and head toward the restaurant.
I manage to keep my pace steady as I spot my family eating chips and queso as Eli finds me at the hostess stand, his eyes pinning me while in conversation with Dad. The seat next to his the only one vacant. It’s the look in his eyes that gives me pause. Hopeful. I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with his baggage. I have my own carousel to sort out. Despite what felt like a sincere apology, I’m not going back there with him. He’s nearly two decades too late. Here, in the present, the promotion, my personal circumstances, it’s all temporary. Just another phase. It’s time to let go of it all. And my new mindset starts with unleashing unnecessary baggage, including old hurts.