"Time?"
"You pick the time. I think we both have a lot to say, and I know we have a busy shooting schedule. But we'll talk." And more, I hope. Our reunion was way too short.
"Okay, we'll set the time." A small smile hovers around her lips. "Do I need to ask Michael to set it up like an official meeting?"
I allow myself to smile. This feels more normal. "I'd prefer if we left him out of this. I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy."
"Don't worry," she says with a smirk, "I don't like to share either."
I laugh, but it's hollow. I hope we talk soon. I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope and could fall at any second.
"You ready for the scene?"
"Yeah," I say. "Whenever you are."
The entire time I'm filming I can feel her eyes on me. And the rare times I meet her eyes, her expression wavers from excitement to panic and sadness. She's just as mixed up inside as I am, and I'm the only one who can see it. All it took was one day in the snow for both of our lives to change forever. We'll have to see if it was worth it.
9
Amber
Past
New York is absolutely amazing. I know that my heart is still in L.A., but I'm not going to mind spending a few years here. We saw a show, and spent the first night in the hotel. Yesterday we explored Central Park and walked around uptown. Today we're doing the lower part of the island, and we're exploring an elevated park called The High Line. I didn't know that spaces like this existed in New York. It's bright and open with plenty of green trees and places to sit. I can see myself coming here a lot.
"So," my mom says, "when you're here, do you want a dorm situation or just a regular apartment?"
"The NYU dorms are kind of like apartments."
"Yeah, but they're still dorms. It's up to you. All about the kind of experience you want. It's already New York, so it's going to be different than any other college anyway."
I laugh. "Well I had always planned on an apartment wherever I went. Because Peter and I-" I cut myself off and freeze, momentarily blocking the people behind us.
My mom pulls me to the side of the stream of people, looking at me with sympathy. "Yeah, I know, sweetie."
"You knew you were planning to live together?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Your father and I aren't stupid. There's a reason we asked you to keep it in the house. You two were so deeply in love we thought a ring might happen at graduation. We weren't going to stop you from living together. At that point we wouldn't have been able to stop you anyway."
Tears fill my eyes and I bury my face in my hands. "Oh honey," my mom pulls me in to her and for a moment I can pretend that I'm not crying in public. "This is why I asked. I know that you had planned an apartment. But I wondered if that might remind you too much of everything."
"I'm so mad at him," I say. "And I miss him."
Her hands rub in soothing circles up and down my back. "It's never too late, if that's what you want."
I pull back. "Of course it's too late. I destroyed him."
"Clearly you didn't," she says. "I don't think he would have sent all those packages if he didn't still care about you."
Starting to walk again, I rub my eyes on the back of my sleeve. "People do a lot of things when they feel guilty."
She sighs, but doesn't say anything.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No," I say. "Seriously, Mom. What is it?"
"I don't want to ruin our day."
I roll my eyes. "You really think that what you have to say is that bad?"
She lifts her hands in surrender as we walk. "Fine. Your father and I both think you need to get over it."
I look over at her. "Over Peter?"
"You can get over him if you like, but no. You need to get over the fact that he told me about what was going on. It took a lot of guts for him to tell me even though he knew it would hurt you. He was scared you weren't well, and you weren't. You know he saved your life, and he apparently just helped your college career. I know that you feel betrayed by him, that you think he shouldn't have done it, but he did the right thing. You have no way of knowing if you'd even have made it one more day."
We've been walking and now we're under a building that's cut through by the High Line, a cool breeze wafting through the tunnel. There are some displays of local art and a stand selling ridiculously overpriced ice cream. My mind is holding onto all the details it can, like it's trying to avoid everything that my mother just said.
She's right. Of course she's right, but I'm still pissed. And it still hurts. "I know," I say. "But—"
"I know it sucks."
"It does suck," I say. "Have you ever had that?"
She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Have I ever had anyone betray my trust? Of course I have. And it's always the worst, but it gets better."
"That's the thing though, Mom. It doesn't feel like he betrayed my trust. It feels like the person who I was closest to in the world took everything I had worked for, threw it in the dirt and danced on it. And he never tried to—" I stop, trying to find the words. "He never tried to reach out. Never tried to talk. He said he was sorry, but I thought that if he was sorry he would have contacted me by now."
"In a way," she says, "he did. He didn't have to send those packages but he did. He doesn't know that you're sick or that you put off college for a year. For all he knows you're at one of those schools having the time of your life. I know you feel that you got the short end of the stick here, and in a lot of ways you did. But I don't think that this has been easy for him either."
I take a minute to think about that, and how I left him in that hallway. He never reached out to me, but I never did to him either. I blocked him on every avenue I could find because I didn't want to hear from him. Even if he had tried to reach out, I don't think I would have gotten the message. Those packages he sent to the schools were probably the only way he could think of to show me what he was thinking. And he never had any idea that I never knew. Not until now.
"I still think it's too late," I say.
"Maybe it is," Mom says. "Maybe it isn't. If you need any kind of closure, I say it's worth trying to talk to him. If you don't, and you don't want to talk to him that's fine too. But you need to let the hurt go. It's not going to help you anymore."
"Yeah..." I say.
"I won't say anything more," she says, looping her arm through mine.
She doesn't have to. The seed is already in my brain, and whether or not I think about it, it's going to be there in my subconscious, working its way through. "Yeah." I say again.
"So what do you want to do now? Chelsea Market is close to the end."
"What's that?"
She grins. "I have no idea but it sounds cool from everything I've seen online."