“It’s not what he did, Brooke. It’s what he didn’t do. And he was young and scared. He made a terrible mistake. And he paid for it. He lost you.”
I wiped awkwardly at my face.
“Brooke, why did you come here?” Alyssa asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Try again,” Alyssa said.
“I miss him. I want to see him, but I’m afraid,” I replied.
“Of what?”
“Of loving someone who kept such a horrible secret!”
“Brooke? Get over yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. And yes, some are worse than others, but if you’re waiting for the whole world to be okay with you loving Ryan, then you’ll be waiting for the rest of your life. Fuck the world. Do what you feel is right, and you have every right to love whomever you want.”
I felt the wind knocked out of me.
“Are you sure you even want to be here?” Alyssa asked.
“Yes!” I cried before it even registered that I uttered the word.
Alyssa smiled kindly. “You better? You think you’re ready?”
I took one last long breath for good measure, wiped away the remaining tears, and nodded.
“Okay then,” she replied. “Let’s do this.” She grabbed my hand and walked me back up the bank to Ryan’s apartment.
“Wait,” I said, digging in my heels. “Are you staying around to watch this?”
Her mouth quirked up in a grin. “You want me to?”
I shook my head.
“Didn’t think so. I’m going for a swim. Maybe I’ll see you around later,” she said, then walked back down the beach, tearing off her shirt and shorts to reveal a tiny pink bikini. I watched her meander in the surf before walking out into the waves. I turned back to Ryan’s door and knocked again.
This time he answered.
We stared at each other for what seemed like ages. He finally moved aside to allow me in. I walked in tentatively, looking around his apartment to see if anything felt familiar, like his old bedroom back home. It didn’t. He was a new person, it seemed. His furnishings reflected a man in limbo: not quite an adult but older than a teenager. He had a dining room table. I wasn’t sure any guy his age had a dining room table. The apartment oozed a laidback surfer style: wicker chairs and beach-themed paintings. They weren’t kitschy or cheesy, though. They were abstract pieces of art, but they evoked the ocean.
I finally mustered the courage to look at Ryan’s face. He had been watching me the whole time. I grew nervous. He had changed. Still the dark, messy hair. Still the mesmerizing blue eyes. But something had changed. He looked tired. Not old and haggard. Just tired, like he needed to take a nap and hadn’t found the time for one in the past three years.
“Hi,” I managed.
“Hello.”
I shuffled my feet.
“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here,” I said.
“A little bit.”
I swallowed. I didn’t know what I needed to say. Nothing was coming to me, so I asked about Alyssa.
“My best friend,” he replied. “I met her in a philosophy class at school.”
“She’s really . . . perceptive,” I said. I was going to say “nice,” but “perceptive” was way more accurate.
“Yes, she is,” Ryan replied.
“So, you’re in school?” I asked.
Ryan nodded. “Took a year off before applying to UNCW. I work full time and go to school full time.”
I nodded. Ryan didn’t elaborate. He just stared at me, and I grew increasingly uncomfortable trying to think of another general topic of conversation.
“I made a huge mistake!” I blurted instead. It came out of nowhere, and I actually slapped my hand over my mouth once I said it.
“Coming here?” he asked.
I shook my head, hand still covering my mouth.
“Can you explain?” he said.
I dropped my hand. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I was unfair to you.”
Ryan averted his eyes. “No you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was! Jesus Christ, Lucy’s forgiven you! Lucy! I should have been able to.”
“I did a terrible thing, Brooke. I kept it from you because I knew you’d hate me for it. I lied to you. That’s not easy to forgive. Lucy’s forgiveness is something else entirely. She forgave me for being a coward. That’s not the same thing as being a liar. I understand why you couldn’t let it go. I do.”
I didn’t know what to say. I stood, mouth hanging open, dumbfounded.
“But you’re here now,” Ryan went on. “Will you tell me why?”
“I told you,” I said. “I made a mistake. I made a mistake not forgiving you. Lucy kept telling me I was making a huge mistake. I knew it all along. I knew it all those years, but I let my heart harden because I was afraid that if I picked up the phone to talk to you, you wouldn’t want to. Or maybe I’d learn that you were with someone else and I couldn’t stand the thought. Or maybe—”