“Yes. Yes, exactly. And then it’s a vicious cycle. The more tense I become, the less likely it is that I’ll get there.” So why even try? Why do that to someone? Maybe she’d just accept that she was broken.
“You could explain that . . . to the right person,” he said. Her face felt hot. Even with him, even with him, this was hard. And yet she’d offered the truth willingly. Because he’d asked, and she wouldn’t lie to him. For whatever reason, doing so felt like lying to herself.
“I could,” she agreed. “With the right person. Eventually.” And yes, it felt good to be honest. There was so much she couldn’t be honest about with anyone.
She saw a tick in his jaw. His hands remained utterly still. She had the sense that he was jealous, that he didn’t like talking about her love life. And perhaps that was true. They were both damaged by what had happened. Like they’d already admitted, their emotions were not based on healthy things.
Their emotions were not based on anything real.
Or lasting.
Which was why their reunion would be brief and uncomplicated. Two old . . . friends? Were they friends? Sure. Two old friends, talking about their struggles regarding the thing they had in common. The things they’d endured that only they could talk about. She needed to move on. He needed to move on. He should move on.
And they both had. At least enough to live a mostly normal life. She’d learned to leave the house without constantly looking over her shoulder. She’d learned to laugh again. She’d learned not to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. He obviously had too. He seemed to be doing well, despite questioning his current path. But lots of twenty-year-old guys did that.
“And you?” she asked. “Are you . . . seeing anyone?”
“No.”
He answered quickly, and she felt her muscles relax. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding them taut. She was jealous too. That strange tether was twisted together with so many varying emotions. “Why not?”
He shrugged and lifted his hand before stretching his fingers. “I’ve been busy focusing on getting my strength back and . . . you know, hating my classes, wondering what the hell I should really be doing with my life.” A breeze stirred, and a tree near the low gate shivered, its leaves rustling. He turned his head toward the soft noise, the smile that moved over his face fading. “And I haven’t met anyone I’m interested in.” He paused, and she waited. “I get stuck emotionally too. A lot.” He tapped the table. He didn’t like admitting that, she could tell. But he’d told her, and she was glad.
“Are you still seeing that therapist you mentioned in your last email?” she asked.
He let out a soft chuckle. “I sent that email six months ago.”
“Sorry. I don’t check it very often.” She didn’t like to go online. It felt like a field of virtual land mines. Everything was a trigger for one reason or another. The last time she’d gone on Instagram, a post appeared on her feed of a girl comparing two lip liners, and she’d cried for an hour. Because you were robbed, Paula had said later when she’d told her. Robbed of the possibility of being a girl who cared about which lip liner possessed the most lasting color. She’d laughed, but then she’d cried some more. She wanted to care about that. Desperately. She did feel robbed.
And so she rarely logged on to . . . anything. There were enough potential land mines involved in just leaving the house. But those ones were necessary. She had to work because she had to eat.
He was watching her as her brain tripped over the cascade of thoughts. “Maybe I should have been writing you letters on paper and sending them through the mail,” he said after a moment.
She laughed. “Maybe.”
“But, ah, to your question, yes, I am seeing the same therapist. Not as often, but . . . you know, when I need to.”
“Does it help?”
He appeared to think about that. “Yeah, I think so. He’s very smart. Very . . . soothing, I guess is a good word. And just knowing there’s someone I can talk to who won’t fall over with shock and horror when I disclose details is a relief. What about you?”
“No. I went to a therapist a few months ago. She was okay, but . . . I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really click with her. But I have Paula. Paula’s been a rock for me.” She didn’t mention that she’d also stopped going to a professional because she couldn’t afford one. But she meant what she said about Paula. And, of course, she had herself. She was getting by.
“That’s good. I’m glad,” Evan said.
“Can I get anything else for you?” the waitress asked.
“No, thank you, just the check,” Noelle said. What else could they talk about? It’d only been a year. They were both still struggling, and both still doing just fine. She missed the hell out of him. And knew they weren’t good for each other. It would simply take time to heal and to move on in any measurable way from what they’d experienced. But she was glad they’d checked in. She could picture him now as he was. Healthy. At least mostly happy. Moving forward.
“What do you have planned for today?” Evan asked, and his words came out in a rush.
She hesitated. “I hadn’t really made any plans. Paula is helping her mother with some last-minute arrangements and greeting family who flew in for the funeral.” She pointed across the street to the hotel where she was staying, and the reason she’d chosen this particular restaurant. She had a view from her room. “I was just going to hang out at the hotel pool for a few hours, or maybe see some sights. I don’t know.”
He nodded. “My day is pretty free too.” Those rushed words again. The speed of her heart followed suit.
That old familiar clutching. The need she’d tried not to acknowledge since the moment her eyes had landed on him.
The waitress reappeared, placing their check on the table and then seeming to take an interminable amount of time clearing the few dishes and coffee accoutrements. Noelle’s breath gusted out when the young woman turned away. Their gazes locked, and with effort she tore hers away. She wasn’t going to ask him to hang out at the pool or to tour the city. She wouldn’t even know how to do that. Not with him. They were strangers. Yes, they’d shared something unimaginably horrific, something that would change them forever. Connect them forever. But at the heart of the matter, they knew nothing significant about the other. It was better to simply say goodbye and allow him to get on with his life. It’d been too soon. They shouldn’t have done this.
“Noelle—”
“Evan—”
Her eyes searched his. He didn’t seem to know where to take this next either. He looked across the street toward the Hyatt, the bellman out front helping an elderly gentleman unload suitcases from his trunk. He met her eyes again. She knew what he was offering. Or asking. Maybe there were no words for that type of proposal. But she knew. And so did he.
She’d already decided she wouldn’t. It was a bad idea.
“Yes,” she said softly. She reached for her wallet, but he beat her to it, throwing a twenty on the table. They exited the small gate together and headed toward the hotel.
The room she’d checked in to the day before was nice, if basic. Noelle tossed her purse on the desk. Behind her, she heard the click of the door and a quiet rattle of chain as Evan engaged the lock. Her heart rate kicked up another notch. She was nervous, but now that she’d surrendered, now that she’d given herself permission even if it was wrong, she was also relieved. She’d made a choice. There would be consequences for both of them, but she wouldn’t back out. Not now. She could see the certainty in his gaze as well. There would be no need for artifice here. There was only a goal in mind—and complete understanding. She kicked off her shoes and turned, watching as he approached her.
He tilted his head, smiling softly. He looked nervous, and it made tenderness sweep through her. This was different, then. She hadn’t felt tenderness before, only raw need. “We’ve never kissed,” he noted.
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It seemed ridiculous. “Haven’t we?”