“You think there’s going to be a next time AND I’m going to leave you alone with my cinnamon roll? You are crazy.” She shakes her head, trying not to laugh at the whole silly exchange. I can’t help but smile back at the light in her eyes that already looks so different from three months ago.
I grab the tray and then walk over to the table in the corner, facing the window outside. I take off my baseball hat and toss it on the ledge of the window, in between the potted plants, before sitting down. She sits in front of me and grabs the fork on the tray. “Thank you for the sweet treat,” she says, right before she sinks the fork in the side of it.
“Lexi,” I say her name and she looks up at me. The way I said her name was a bit harder than I wanted it to be, confusion fills her face. “Before we talk about anything else”—I swallow—“I want to apologize for ruining your fundraiser,” I tell her as I rub my hands on the front of my shorts, the nerves making them sweat. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me, and I know you worked so hard to make everything perfect, and I should have?—”
She smiles at me and shakes her head to stop me from talking. “You didn’t ruin the night.” I take a deep inhale, grabbing my plastic cup with the black straw. “Other things that night ruined it, but you definitely didn’t.”
She takes a bite of the cinnamon roll and avoids looking at me. “How have you been?” I ask her softly as she chews and then takes a sip of her own coffee.
“Okay.” She moves her head side to side, still avoiding looking at me. “Rough.” The only thing I can see is she looks even better than she did before. Her eyes don’t have that haunted look. Her guard isn’t up at all, she’s still a little standoffish, but considering it all, that’s to be expected. “You knew something was off.” She finally breaks the silence and then looks up at me. “You knew I was going through something.”
“I did,” I admit to her. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“I know you didn’t.” She puts the fork down. “Because if you did, my family would have swooped in like a SWAT team sent in to extract me.” She tries to laugh, but I can see her lower lip tremble. “How?” she asks me softly. “How did you know?”
“It’s a long story,” I tell her. “But yeah, I had a feeling.” She doesn’t push it. “What was the breaking point?” I ask her.
“That night.” She exhales. “That night when I stepped out onto the balcony and heard him say those things.” I look up at the ceiling and she reaches over and puts her hand on mine; her hand is cold as ice, and I wonder how nervous she is about this conversation. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t say them.” I turn my hand over to have her palm in mine. “He blamed me about the scene and then sent me home by myself.”
“What a piece of shit,” I hiss and turn to look out the window. “He’s such?—”
“Your note,” she says and I turn my head back to look at her, “it was exactly what I needed at that moment.”
fifteen
Lexi
“That night.” I exhale, my whole body feels like it’s being jolted by a taser as I recount a bit of that night to him. “That night, when I stepped out onto the balcony and heard him say those things.” He looks up at the ceiling and I can see his jaw getting tight, and I reach over and put my hand on his. Feeling the heat from his hand under mine, I worry if it is too forward, and before I can even snatch it back, he looks back at me. I’m drawn into his eyes, drawn into him. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t say them.” He turns over his hand and now my small one is in his. “He blamed me about the scene and then sent me home by myself.”
“What a piece of shit,” he hisses before he looks out the window. “He’s such—” The pain in his voice is too much for me to hear.
“Your note,” I say softly and his head whips back my way, “it was exactly what I needed at that moment.” I tell him the truth. “It was a light in the darkness.”
“Lexi.” His voice sounds broken.
“Anyway.” I pull my hand from his. “I called my father and that morning I was out of my house.”
“You could have called me too.” He grabs his plastic cup of coffee and takes a sip. “But I’m happy you made that call and you’re here now.”
“Yeah,” I reply, grabbing my fork and taking another bite of the cinnamon roll and then cutting a piece off and holding out the fork for him to grab it. Instead, he smirks at me and leans down to grab the piece from the fork while I’m holding it. “Don’t say I didn’t share.”
“You look good, Lexi,” he compliments and I look down right away when my cheeks heat up. “You looked amazing before this, but now you just…” I look up at him as his words penetrate. “I’m so fucking happy you left him.”
“How did you know?” I ask him, even though I asked him before and he didn’t answer. I vowed not to, but I can’t help it.
“Well, you know my dad died,” he reminds me, and I nod and see his Adam’s apple rise and fall.
“You know what?” I hold up my hand. “I’m sorry I pushed it.”
“No, not at all.” He shakes his head. “My stepfather was exactly the way Trent was. He was a grade A narcissist and then the head of the gaslighting association.” He tries to joke, but I can see the pain in his eyes. My hand moves again, automatically going to his to hopefully give him the same strength he gave me. “Of course, when you’re ten, you don’t know it’s not normal. I was, I think, fifteen or sixteen when I figured it out. My friend’s house was nothing like mine. I saw them have a relationship with their parents that was loving and caring, and I knew just by the way they spoke to each other that something wasn’t right in my own home. We were almost like robots. Whenever we got out of line, he would turn it around and tell us how to act but, at the same time, make it like we wanted to act that way.” He turns his hand around again and this time my fingers slip entwined with his. “When I left for college is when I sort of broke free of him and I became ‘the enemy.’ He passed away three years later.”
“I’m sorry that that happened to you. Thank you for sharing that with me. It means a lot…” I say softly as I look into his eyes with a small smile. “Enough heavy talk,” I tell him. “How was practice?”
He smiles, but his hand never leaves mine. “It’s good. I was just coming from there,” he tells me and the phone in my bag rings.
I slip my hand out of his as I reach in and pull it out. “It’s Ariella.
“Hey,” I answer, putting my phone to my ear, looking over at him grabbing his cup of coffee and wondering if it would be totally insane to lean over and just kiss him. Obviously, I would never do it, but there is nothing wrong with imagination, is there?
