“Ember….” He breathes my name and relief seems to spill from his lips, almost as if he didn’t expect me to show up.
I gaze at his long hair, the strong line of his jaw, those gray-blue eyes. God, I’ve missed staring into them. But then a mask slides down over my face—my only protection against my feelings and the desire to touch him, to make sure he’s real. He looks exactly like I remember save for the additional lines around his eyes. I wonder how hard his life has been for the past few years.
“I’m really happy you called.” His fingers are busy flicking the edge of the menu. “I wasn’t positive you would.”
This is a different Vance. An unsure Vance, and I’m not used to seeing him like this. It instantly chisels away a piece of the wall I’ve built around my heart, the one marked with several cracks.
I fold and unfold my hands in front of me on the table. “I wasn’t sure I should, to be honest.”
His cheeks lift on a half-smile. “But you did.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He leans his entire body forward and rests his weight on his elbows, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He suddenly feels too close and I plaster my back against the booth.
“I guess I thought about something Avery said.” I spit the sentence out quickly. “About needing closure.”
“Closure,” he repeats, as if testing it out on his lips. The partial smile gone.
“Yes. A lot has happened and I’d… like to understand so I can move on.” The words taste sour but I feel the need to say them, if only to protect my heart.
“I better get to it then,” he snaps. “So you can move on.” The irritation in his tone and the formality of our interaction gives me a stomach ache. This isn’t Vance and Ember. These are two strangers.
“Vance, I—”
“No. Let me just say what I need to say. Look….” He brings a hand to his head and closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters, and when he opens them they are brimming with apology. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I panicked, got scared. You name it, I felt it. I didn’t want to leave, Ember. I swear to you.” He pins me with a sincere gaze, and I believe him. “But when I caught my father and,” he winces, looking toward the window, “your mother, everything felt, I don’t know. For lack of a better word, fucked.”
“She didn’t know,” I whisper, fighting back tears as his gaze returns to mine. “She said she met your dad at her grief counseling group. I know it’s crazy and it makes no sense, but she didn’t know we were together that way. She’d been working so much and I hadn’t talked to her about it. But I blamed her anyway… at first. I was so mad and hurt. I couldn’t even stand the sight of her, and didn’t speak to her for weeks. But, then I realized she wasn’t the one I was angry with. It was you. She didn’t make you leave. You did that all on your own.” He nods in understanding, and I see now that his edge has lessened in some way—and my heart breaks for him and all he’s had to endure. Still, it doesn’t take away the hurt. “I was devastated when you left. I didn’t understand it. I thought what we had,” I swallow, willing myself not to cry, “mattered.”
“It did—”
I raise my hand to stop him, staring at a spot on the table. “Let me finish.” Inhaling an uneven breath, I finally let it all out. “After I had time for things to sink in, I actually understood why you reacted the way you did, why you left even.” I blink the wetness from my lashes before my eyes lock with his. “But I thought you’d come back. I thought what we were beginning together was worth more to you.” His hand moves toward mine and I pull away. “Don’t.” Removing a tissue from my purse, I dab it against my cheeks as we sit in silence. I try to gather my thoughts. But they are everywhere and nowhere all at once.
I tip my head up and breathe deep, making another attempt. “My mother was devastated. Because she loves me. And she would never intentionally hurt me like that, or my dad for that matter given how close they still are.” I grab another tissue. “She broke things off with your dad a few days later. She told me she didn’t love him, but she did enjoy spending time with him and she was lonely. And you know what? I can’t fault her for that. I also wasn’t, nor have I ever been in a position to judge anyone, including your dad.”
Vance’s gaze is unfocused as he scrubs a hand over his face, cheeks growing pale. “I won’t make excuses, you know. It was all… too much for me. I thought they were together. Seeing my dad with someone other than my mom, when she was sitting in that… that place, day after day, I thought being forgotten by him. It was… I can’t describe it.”
“I’m so sorry about your Mom, Vance.”
His eyes fly to mine. “You were there,” he says so softly I almost don’t hear him. “Why didn’t you let me know?”