I got an apology from him, and I’ll accept it. It’s as simple as that. We can co-exist for the remainder of five days. Feeling lighter, I find a little bounce in my step by the time I make it to the table and greet the family, kissing my nieces and nephews on the way to my chair. Unflinching, I meet Eli’s probing gaze as I discard my purse and bags. The second I take the seat next to him, I can see his read on my decision and his disappointment. Opening my menu, I turn to him, resolute.
“Apology accepted. We were just kids, Eli. Let’s let it go and have a good Christmas, okay?”
He offers a solemn nod as I peruse my menu and see his gaze linger briefly before he speaks up. “Okay.”
Coming on to her was my first mistake. It’s the only behavior I’ve displayed that warranted the steel resolve I encountered in the few minutes it took her to get to the restaurant. I had no fucking right to say the things I said, to presume I mattered to her that way. In the past, I gave her everything but words and assurances for the future. But my first hard lesson was that words matter, something I’ve been confronted with over the years again and again through my failed relationships. Even if actions speak louder, words fucking matter.
“Did either of you get lucky?” Allen asks as we make our way back to the cabin.
“I did okay, I think,” Whitney speaks up, her voice chipper.
“Same,” I reply, doing my best to hide the burn of the rejection due to her brushoff. I scroll through my phone to keep my hands busy and see a missed text from Evie.
Evie: Hey you. How is it going?
Good.
Evie: Which means not good. Have you told her the truth yet?
She’s not having it. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.
Evie: I didn’t talk you into shit. All I did was keep you from backing out.
She wants nothing to do with me.
Evie: I told you it wouldn’t be easy. What did you expect?
I don’t know. I’m thinking about bailing. Mind calling and giving me an excuse to jet?
Evie: This is the opposite of what you set out to do, and that isn’t who you are anymore. Correction, it isn’t who you want to be, remember? Your words, not mine.
I know. You’re right.
Evie: Then see this through.
I’m telling you it feels pointless.
Evie: Do you really want to leave?
Her family is amazing. We’re getting along well.
Evie: Out with it, Eli.
Biting my lip, I glance over at Whitney, who’s mindlessly sorting through her purchases before typing back.
No, I don’t want to leave. I’m still crazy attracted to her, and we haven’t even had a real conversation. But I fucked up and came onto her like an idiot, and she shut down. The crazy part? I know she feels it too.
Evie: Figure out a way to get the truth out. Blurt it if you have to. Or do you want to regret it for seventeen more years?
That’s a bit dramatic.
Evie: I just want my best friend happy. I think you need this more than you realize. I’m here if you need me.
Did I ever tell you that you’re the best ex-girlfriend a guy could ask for?
Evie: Many times. I just wish you would have been this worthy when we dated.
Sorry.
Evie: I’m really not. I got the husband of my dreams after dusting you. Besides, I wasn’t the girl you wanted to be worthy of. And you are worthy, Eli, so very worthy.
It’s too late. This is fucking crazy.
Evie: Just try to be her friend if you can manage that, make the best of your time there, tell her the truth, and go home.
10/4
Evie: I’m sorry, Eli.
Kicking back in my seat, I flit my gaze out the window as my thoughts drift as they have so many times since I saw the picture in Brenden’s living room.
“I’m sorry?” Whitney gapes at me as I grip her arm and steer her down the hallway toward the exit.
“That’s twice you’ve stood me up,” I say, bursting out the side door as she gawks at the hand I have encircling her arm.
“Well, accosting me on campus isn’t going to change my mind.”
Releasing her, I crowd her a little against the building, determined to get an explanation as more students file out of the door. Despite our foot difference in height and my pissed expression, she stares up at me with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. She’s loving every second of this.
“Tell me what your problem is.”
“My problem?” She presses a hand to her chest. “You’re the one who can’t take a hint.”
“And you’re the one wearing an inch-long skirt because you know I have a thing for your legs.”