And it’s because of him that I felt strong enough to do this.
Sniffing, I reach into my purse and pull out my phone, fingers automatically punching in the right buttons to pull his contact up on my screen. My finger hovers over the call button, trembling, my heart pounding in my ears.
But after a long moment, I sigh, pulling my thumb away.
I want to share it with him. I want him to know what he’s done for me, how much he’s impacted my life, what he makes me feel.
But it’s not fair.
Nothing has changed. He’s still younger than me by more than ten years. David is talking to me, yes, but it’s easy to see he hasn’t recovered from or forgiven me for what he witnessed. And though the idea of telling Josh to go screw himself and that I can figure out everything on my own without his money sounds enticing, I know I’m not there yet.
Patience.
I have to have patience.
And I also must have respect for the man who’s showed me what real love can feel like.
I gasp at the word, at how easily it came to my mind, and my heart cracks in my chest at the realization that I’ll never be able to tell him that’s what I feel for him.
Love.
Pure and deep and honest love.
As I slip my phone back in my purse, I close my eyes and think of him, wondering if maybe he’s doing the same for me. I wonder if he can feel me through the airwaves, if somehow — even without telling him — he’ll live the rest of his life knowing that he matters to me more than I could ever say.
I wish for him to have a life full of love and happiness and peace.
And then, I get in my car and drive forward, determined to make the same thing happen for myself.
GREG
The week after Thanksgiving, I text David and ask if we can meet up.
I fully expect him to ignore me, just like he had all the texts and calls I’d sent in those days after our blow up happened. I’m convinced he blocked me, wrote me off, likely would prefer to treat me as if I never existed — and I can’t blame him.
When I don’t get a text back immediately or even within the next four hours, I know I’m right.
I’m stealing a quick ten-minute break at the hospital and racking my brain for a plan B when my phone pings in my pocket, and David texts me only three words.
Curtis Hixon Park.
My heart rate picks up just at the sight of the response, and even though I know I’m still knee deep in shit, I can’t help but feel a prickle of hope that at least he answered.
I text back.
Six?
He sends a thumbs up emoji, and I scarf down what’s left of my lunch before hustling through my Friday afternoon to wrap up everything I need in order to get out on time.
My stomach is that of a kid’s on the Gravitron at the fair when I walk to the riverfront park that evening. I spot David easily, seated on a bench by the dancing fountains. He’s watching a few kids play in the water, something of a smile on his face.
That smile drips off like wet paint when he sees me approaching.
He swallows and stands, and right before I make it to him, I pull the hockey goalie helmet from behind my back and tug it on over my head.
The wire mask is a bit difficult to see through, but I don’t miss David’s arched brow or flat lips at the sight of it.
“What the hell is that?” he asks.
“Brought it just in case you decide to sock me in the eye again.”
He blinks, but then the corner of his mouth tilts up in the smallest smile. He grabs the back of his neck, looking off toward the river before he turns back to me with a grimace. “Yeah… I guess I should apologize for that.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” I argue. “I deserved it.”
“You did.”
“Go ahead, give me another one if you want,” I say, tapping the wire mask over my cheek.
He rolls his eyes, snatching the helmet and ripping it off my head. “Sit down, you asshole.”
I rub the part of my nose the mask bumped up against in his removal of it, but do as he says, taking a seat on the bench before he sits down next to me. He hands me the helmet and I tuck it under the wood, then we both watch the kids play in the water, feeling the setting sun warming our skin.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I start.
“We must still have some sort of telepathic thing going on, because I was planning on calling you after work today.”
I blanch. “You were?”
David sighs, shifting in his seat. “I’ve been meaning to for a week now, but pride has stopped me.”
“Why were you going to call?”
“Same reason you texted.”
“You wanted to meet up?”
He nods, and then with a sigh, he finally looks at me. “I wanted to apologize.”
“You?” I shake my head. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“The way I reacted, the things I said.” He nods down at the hockey helmet. “The fact that I assaulted you.”
“Again — it was deserved. And any other normal human being would have reacted in the same way, myself included.”
David shrugs. “It wasn’t my proudest moment.” His gaze drifts to the fountains again, and he frowns. “It just really caught me off guard.”
I nod.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry for lying to you, for keeping something from you that was just as much your business as it was mine, and for thinking I had a handle on a situation that clearly I did not.” I swallow. “I’m your best friend. You should never have to know how it feels for me to betray you, and yet you do.”
He grits his teeth, blowing out a breath through his nose that’s long and heavy. For a while, he just stares at the water shooting up toward the sky.
“How long has it been going on?”
I sigh. “Define it.”
“Just… tell me everything.” He grimaces. “Not everything, but you know what I mean. If I’m going to try to wrap my head around this, I need to know what it is.”
I cross my ankle over my knee, thinking about where to start. “I don’t know. I guess it started with the accident.”
“When you were there for her surgery,” he murmurs, putting the pieces together. “I forget that she reconnected with you before I did.”
“Briefly,” I say. “I didn’t see her again until you invited me over. And when you did… I don’t know. I just saw how sad she was, how badly she was hurting, and I think at first I just wanted to do the same thing you did — fix up the house, try to cheer her up.”
I shake my head at the lie, because I knew from that first encounter that I wanted her.
“But it was more than that,” I confess. “God, this is so hard to admit to you, man. But… I think I knew even before you invited me over to help with the hot water heater that I wanted to see her again. I was trying to think of a way to make it happen.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”
I chuckle. “I just feel a connection to her.”
“So, you wanted to cheer her up,” David says, getting me back on track with the story.
“I did. I made this deal with her, that we’d be each other’s accountability partners. I would make sure she got out and lived a little more, did things she never thought she could do when she was married to your dad, and she’d do the same for me.” I shrug. “Make sure I don’t live and die in that hospital.”