Her mouth parts, her breath escaping her as she analyzes my words. I can see her processing what I said. And I know the minute she realizes I’m right, because her eyes slightly water.
I don’t press her any more. Our food arrives, and we talk little the rest of the night as awkward silence fills our time together. This may have become a time of uncomfortable conversation, but I don’t regret it because there is now one thing I’ve learned.
She doesn’t love him like she loved me.
On the walk back home, I ask Amelia about her plans for Thanksgiving, if she’s taking food to her dad’s place or if they’re making a meal at the nursing home. She answers politely, not adding much. I know I threw her for a loop at dinner, and she’s trying to recover, so it’s okay.
When we make it to her door, she unlocks it but turns to me before she walks in.
Staring at the Nike emblem on my sweatshirt she says, “You know, Aaron, when I first met you, I thought you were this knight in shining armor, someone to sweep me off my feet and bring me Buffalo chicken pizza because I was craving it.” I chuckle, thinking back to all the times I brought her Nirchi’s. “And then we started to get serious after a few months. I realized I didn’t want to say good night to you without sleeping in your arms. I didn’t want to wake up without you next to me. I was in love. I knew it right away. There was no questioning the feeling you gave me whenever you were around, or whenever I thought about you for that matter.”
“I felt the same way.” I step up and take her hand in mine. I’m convincing myself it’s friendly handholding, that it’s for comfort, but my body reacts in an entirely different way when her fingers grip mine. Her palm presses against mine, and it’s heaven.
“And then we celebrated our one-year anniversary. You went all out and even chose to include my father in the plans, along with Amanda. That night, I knew. You were the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You were the man I wanted to grow old with. You were the man, the only man I wanted to start a family with.”
Fuck if I didn’t think the same thing.
I pull her a little closer. Her free hand goes to my chest as her eyes meet mine. Can she feel how fast my heart is beating? Can she tell how much she still owns me? Can she see the desperation in my eyes? I want her to know, even though she’s with someone else, she’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted.
“Do you still want a family?” I ask her as her hand glides to my chest and then to my face.
I want to kiss her. But I feel the distance she is creating. I feel miles away, despite how close she actually is.
“I don’t know anymore. What I do know is that you were the one who was supposed to give me all of that.”
Past tense.
Past fucking tense.
Regret pummels me in the chest.
“I still can’t believe you took it all away.” She grips my shirt in anger. I don’t blame her. I’m angry at myself as well.
But then I start to get angry for a different reason. I am a good man. I am respected and respectable, something Amelia’s dad told me should be the main aim for a man. I shouldn’t have to beg. Yes, of course I want Amelia back, but she needs to want me back, and I doubt she’ll want me if I have to beg. What we had was incredible, and I know without a doubt that if we get back together—when we get back together—it will be even better. I stood up to Mom this morning. I stood up for me, and I think it’s time to do the same with Amelia.
“Part of me wants to beg you to give me another chance, Amelia. I want you to stay here for Thanksgiving, for your birthday. But, I won’t beg. As you said before, deep down, even though you were justifiably angry with me, all you truly wanted was for me to take you back. Well, I’m here now. I hurt you, and I’m so fucking sorry. But I don’t think I deserve to suffer for that mistake over and over again. I haven’t stopped loving you, Amelia. I doubt I ever will. I’m still the man you fell in love with, only a much wiser version. And more buff, as you have pointed out a few times.” I dip down to be closer to eye level and smile. She barely manages a smile. Her beautiful eyes fill with tears.
“Amelia, please stay here for Thanksgiving. I’d love to take you to see your father. And please stay for your birthday so I can spoil you. I won’t make a move. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
Closing her eyes tightly, she presses her head against my chest, and I take the opportunity to pull her into a hug. I kiss the top of her head and relish this brief moment.
“I can’t,” she whispers. In an instant, my throat closes tight as anguish washes over me.
I can’t. Therefore, she won’t.
Okay.
I am not begging.
Pushing against my chest, she puts some distance between us. “I’m sorry, Aaron.”
“Amelia.” I want to say more, but I won’t. She’s made up her mind on this, and to keep fighting her on it is a weakness.
She turns and walks into her house, quietly shutting the door behind her, leaving me on her porch with nothing but the chilly November night surrounding me.
For the first time since Amelia came back into my life, I have the horrible feeling I’ve truly lost her forever.
She’s chosen him.
Chapter Eighteen
AARON
Four years ago . . .
“Thanks for the help, Mr. Santos. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime, son.” It’s the third time Mr. Santos has called me son, and hell if it doesn’t make me puff my chest out. Not only do I want to impress Amelia, but I want to impress her dad as well. I want him to approve of me, to consider me the only man for his daughter. And I think I’m well on my way to him thinking that.
I look around, checking for anything we missed, but it looks like we took care of all we needed to take care of. “It looks amazing out here, and the LED candles in the birdhouses was a genius idea.”
“I have those from time to time.” Mr. Santos chuckles. “All right, I’m going to head out.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Amelia found a good one. Thank you for treating her so well. I’ll be home in about four hours. No frisky business.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I swallow hard as my mind goes to two nights ago when we were fooling around in her bedroom while her dad went to pick up pizza. It felt like we were two kids in high school trying not to get caught.
Once Mr. Santos leaves, I sit and wait, feeling a little nervous. I’ve never celebrated a one-year anniversary with anyone before, so I’m not sure if I’m doing this right. Two weeks ago, I asked Mr. Santos for help. Since my apartment is less than desirable to spend a romantic evening, I asked Mr. Santos if I could borrow his backyard. I told him I wanted to give Amelia a beautiful night under the stars, and he obliged, but with his own personal input.