My mother used to say that time heals all wounds. That’s definitely true. The year after she died, just picturing her face would trigger a rush of gut-wrenching pain. Now when I think about her, it still hurts, but in a duller, bittersweet way. I miss her, but I don’t feel the urge to curl up in a ball and cry the day away.
But that’s grief. I thought love would take longer to fade, which makes me wonder if maybe the process had begun long before Sean and I broke up. Maybe I fell out of love with him earlier and hadn’t realized it.
And maybe coffee isn’t a terrible idea. I guess I can use it as an opportunity to gauge how my heart responds in his presence.
I’m still debating as I walk up the stairs to the dorm. Bristol House only has four floors, so there’s no elevator, just four flights I have to climb while carting my gym bag.
I exit the stairwell into the hall and freeze when I spot Sean sitting in front of my door.
Once again, he’s taken the decision out of my hands.
His head is bent over his phone, but it snaps up at the sound of my footsteps. Then he’s on his feet, walking toward me.
My heart does respond, but not in the way I expected. Sean looks exactly the same—dark hair sticking out the sides of a backward Red Sox cap, deep brown eyes, clean-shaven face. Shouldn’t the sight of the boy I spent three years with make my heart ache?
But all I feel is annoyance.
“Don’t be mad,” he blurts out instead of saying hello. He’s obviously picked up on my displeasure. “I know I shouldn’t have shown up unannounced.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you’re not answering any of my texts.” He shakes his head angrily. “We were together almost four years, Allie. You can’t even spare five minutes to talk to me?”
“I didn’t have anything to say.” I unlock my door and dump my bag in the hall. When Sean tries to follow me inside, I frown and grip the edge of the door to deny him entrance.
He scowls. “What, I’m not allowed to come in now?”
“There’s no reason for you to come in. Say whatever you need to say, Sean.”
“I’m not doing it out in the hall where the entire floor can hear me.”
I draw a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m being so harsh right now. Maybe because seeing him just reminds me of the fight that led to our breakup. All the unfair, insensitive, cruel words he’d hurled my way.
I force myself to exhale. I’m probably being extra snippy because this evening’s rehearsal sucked again. My breakneck pace on the treadmill hadn’t helped either.
“Look, I desperately need a shower, so why don’t I meet you at the Coffee Hut in thirty minutes? We can talk there.”
I can tell he’s still upset I won’t let him in, but he nods. “Fine. I could use a caffeine fix, I guess.”
I nod back. “I’ll be there soon.” Then I close the door and lean against it for a few seconds. Shit, I don’t think I want to have this conversation, whatever it is.
I wish Hannah were here so I could get her advice on how to handle this, but she’s at rehearsal. With her showcase coming up, I doubt I’ll be seeing much of her until the performance is out of her hair.
In the shower, I remind myself that I broke up with Sean for a reason. Well, many reasons. We wanted different things from the future. I wasn’t happy. He was angry all the time.
Bottom line, it was too much heartache and not enough reward. I like to think my mom would agree with me on that. Yes, she’d urged me to work hard at relationships, and yes, relationships do require effort, but they shouldn’t be hostile, right?
I can’t imagine what Sean could possibly say that would make me reconsider.
*
Sean has snagged us a table in the back of the busy coffee shop, half hidden behind a huge ceramic planter with a fake fern fanning out of it. I don’t quite understand the décor of this place. There are way too many plants—are they going for a jungle theme? Eh, I don’t care. I love the way it smells like freshly ground coffee beans, and I’m grateful for the privacy.
Sean slides a tall foam cup closer to me. “I got you coffee.” He smiles wryly. “Vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso.”
This time, my heart does react accordingly, clenching hard. Of course he knows my coffee order. He knows everything about me, and vice versa. I don’t need to peek in his cup to know he’s drinking a medium roast, one cream, no sugar. And that the paper bag on the table contains a blueberry muffin, which is the only type of muffin he eats. When we were together, I forced him to try every muffin and pastry behind the counter, but he insisted that blueberry is the only flavor that “enchants” his taste buds.
Fuck. Now I’m just sad.
“How’ve you been?” he asks quietly.
Oh no, we’re starting off with small talk? I wrap both hands around my cup to stop from fidgeting. “All right. You?”
“Not the greatest, but…” He shrugs.
I notice he looks tired. Is he not getting enough sleep? I bite back the question before it slips out. We’re not together anymore. His sleeping habits are no longer my concern.