“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, his face a reflection of the anguish Sadie used to feel every single day. “I just thought, maybe, I could try to earn your forgiveness. You were my best friend, Sade. And I didn’t … I shouldn’t have left like that.”
A hundred thoughts were at war in Sadie’s head. The dark part of her longed to lash out and punish him. The rational side said they could be friends and leave it at that. And the emotional side that she constantly tried to keep hidden whispered that it was impossible. Control. She had to fight for control. Everything in her life belonged in neat little rows and columns. There were no surprises—only managed expectations. And here he was, obliterating them.
What she really wanted to do was to yell at him. To unleash the wild inside her that she usually channeled into dirt or dough. But she had to shut it down. She hadn’t needed anyone for ten years. She wasn’t going to start again now.
“What do you want, Jake? I can’t just let you back in,” she said finally, hating the note of brokenness that had weaseled its way in there without permission.
“I’m not asking you to. I just … needed to apologize.”
The ground grew warm beneath her feet, the heat snaking up her legs until it wrapped around her chest and squeezed her heart. It was fall. The air should have been crisp. Instead, the stillness she’d come home to earlier had turned even warmer, and she swore she could smell honeysuckle. Like her garden was trying to make her remember the summer she’d fallen in love with him. As if her brain needed the encouragement. Jake’s hand rested on the fence, his fingers curled over the top. He looked like a permanent fixture. Like he’d been wandering around in a fog and had finally found the lighthouse.
The thought of seeing Jake every day for the next decade made her blood jump. The ground was steaming now and rose in tendrils around her legs. He glanced down and jumped back.
“You should go,” she told him, proud of herself for sounding firm, even though her hands were trembling by her side. “I need time to think.”
“I understand,” he said softly, staring sadly into her eyes.
She remembered every amber fleck hidden in there, but forced herself to ignore them.
“I want to be friends,” he continued, although his voice came off pained. “Do you think we can, eventually?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, refusing to look at him. “I hope so. Maybe.”
She turned away before she could do something she’d regret, like forgiving him on the spot or screaming at him or giving in to the memories and the way her heart still ached for him. For the first year after he’d left, she wouldn’t let herself think about a reunion. It was a Revelare fact that daydreaming about the desires of your heart was the surefire way to make certain they never came true. The second year was harder. She imagined the obscenities she’d yell at him. The third year she dreamed of the ways she’d make him pay if he came back asking forgiveness. On his knees. She’d played the scenario out in her head so many times in so many different ways, it felt like a soap opera on repeat.
Most times she imagined yelling at him until she was hoarse. Other times she thought about refusing to even acknowledge him. But her favorite scenarios, the ones she rarely let herself think about because kindness was her kryptonite, were when he showed up unannounced while she was gardening, with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and an apology on his lips. And yes, it was a spoon instead of flowers, but it seemed her daydreams had some power after all. Only in her head these imaginary encounters ended up with a lot less clothing involved.
After a few moments, she heard the crunch of gravel as he walked away. When she turned around again, he was at the sidewalk. By the time he was out of sight, some of the feeling had come back into her legs. She exhaled an unstable breath. Maybe Raquel was right, and she was a glutton for punishment. But the little blue box felt heavy in her hand as she lifted the lid, and her fingertips grew warm as she ran them over the cool metal. Three inches in length, the handle had a background of white, red, and blue, with the outline of Texas and a horned bull laid over. She loved it. She didn’t want to tuck it away. Gigi had always let her use her grandfather’s spoons for fake potions and feeding her dolls because she said special things were meant to be used and treasured instead of simply stared at. She wanted to use this spoon to stir sugar into her coffee and reflect on the fact that Jake had been thinking about her while he was gone. She nestled the spoon carefully back in its home and slipped the box in her back pocket, where it felt like a sort of talisman.