“I was wrong not to come home,” I admit, my head hanging low, heart heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry. You probably thought I was the worst person in the world, and that I didn’t care about you. The truth is quite the opposite, and all I want to do is make sure you know how much I cared and loved you.”
I’ve gone and done it now, diving head-first. I watch her reaction, and my hand is still on her shoulder. There’s more silence. I’ve been wanting to say the wordsI’m sorryfor so long.
We are so close to each other, but neither of us move. It’s like we’re stuck, suspended in time as I gather the courage to listen to her feelings.
I drop my arm to my lap and lean back, not wanting to break the silence. Instead of talking, I take in her beauty. Her hair is blowing in the light breeze that is coming off the beach, and the smell of pizza wafts over from the tiki bar. Taking in the moment and the silence that wraps around us, I stay quiet.
Faith leans toward me, and I mirror her movement as I wait for something—anything. She hesitates, her mouth opens and closes, but then says, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“This moment has been a long time coming. It was pretty shitty of me. I’m sorry for hurting you the way I did. I have a lot of guilt and regret, and I can only hope you’ll forgive me.” A lump forms in my throat as I continue, “This might feel like I’m coming out of left field, but I’ve been thinking about you ever since I left for Utah.”
There’s more silence between us as the people around us are talking and moving about the resort. The music faintly plays as people in the pool laugh and splash around.
She stares at me with pleading eyes. “Jude, I’m processing what you said. I don’t understand why you didn’t come find me when you returned that summer after being in Utah? Your plan,I thought, was you and the guys would be coming home at the end of May and staying home for the summer.”
“Oh, you don’t know?” I swipe my hand down my face and look at her.
“Know what?” she asks, curiosity in her tone.
“I came home a couple months early for ACL surgery and extensive physical therapy. So I had family around to help me with recovery. I was in a really bad mental state at the time. You know how much I wanted this dream of becoming a professional snowboarder, and after the accident, my dreams were crushed. When I thought about reaching out and talking to you, all I did was chicken out. Then time kept passing, and it seemed harder and harder to even try.” I reach over and touch her face for a second, pushing that rogue piece of hair behind her ear. She leans in ever so slightly as my hand lingers, and I feel the mood shift deep inside of me.
Tears brim in her eyes, shimmering with emotion, and I experience a sharp pain and undeniable pressure in my eyes. I spring from my chair, wrapping my arms around her waist and lifting her from the stool before setting her on her feet. My hand cradles her head against my chest, fingers lost in her hair, while my other arm wraps around her waist, my palm splayed on her back. Her body melts into mine. Her warm vanilla scent invades my nose as she sobs into my chest. A tear escapes from my eye, betraying my vulnerability, and I let it roll down my cheek. I’m not moving an inch while I have her in my arms.
After a few minutes, her tears subside, but neither of us loosens our grip. It’s a shared, special moment, and I run my fingers through her hair, savoring its smooth texture and coconut scent. She inhales, her breath catching slightly, then releases it with a soft sigh.
I lower my head, letting my chin rest on the top of hers, and whisper, “You okay?” I inhale her coconut scent again. It mixes with the salty air. I’ll do anything to feel closer to her.
She sighs again, and it sounds like relief. She tilts her head up to meet my gaze, and her sky-blue eyes are filled with various emotions. “I think so,” she replies, her voice steady, soft. “That was overwhelming for me. After all the things I’ve rehearsed in my head for years, I still went blank. I forgive you. I think about all the time we wasted—over a decade. It could have been easier, but it looks like we both took the hard way.”
“Of course, it was overwhelming,” I say, my voice filled with regret and sincerity. “You deserved better, and I never should have let you go through any of that alone.” I contemplate what she said. “Yes, we definitely took the hard way,” I say, as I scoff at myself.
She steps back, her arms releasing their hold on me. A rush of cool air runs through me as the warmth from her body disappears, leaving an emptiness in its wake. I’m already missing her presence and the comfort of her closeness.
“I went abroad that summer. I stayed away from Saxville as much as possible,” she admits as her head bows downward.
“I didn’t know that. You’ll have to tell me all about your experience one day…You want to take a walk?” I ask. There’s no way we are done. I need more time with her to hear her side and how she felt.
And I want to know how she feels now.
“Yes, I’d like that,” she says, moving away from the table.
I follow her, trying to keep my hands off of her. All I want to do is wrap myself around her—comfort her until she has no more tears. I stay close to her as we walk. Twice, my hand brushes against hers, sending sparks of electricity coursing up my arm.
“So, where did you go?” I ask, curious to hear about her adventure.
“All over Europe. It was one of the best experiences I have ever had in my life.” She lights up as she tells me about her trips. Come to find out, she went three years in a row, which is probably why we never bumped into each other in Saxville.
“Do you travel any other time besides for your girls’ trips?”
“Not in the last few years, you know, with all the schooling and then opening the practice. It was hard to even find the time for our trips. How about you? You travel all over the place. Where’s the most exotic place you’ve gone for a wedding?”
“Marrakesh, Morocco. It was a small destination wedding,” I say, thinking about the reception, which was over the top and amazing.
“That’s a place I’ve considered vacationing, along with a few other places like Thailand and Bali. One day, I’ll visit all of them.” She smiles at me, and it makes me want to smile back at her.
We come to the end of the walkway that veers off to the beach. Our footsteps halt, and I turn to face her. “This is the end, but I’m not ready to end our conversation. Want to head onto the beach, or would you rather head back to your room?”
“We can continue onto the beach,” she says as she slips off her flip-flops, and I do the same. “Oh wait, I need to text my friends.”
