“We’ve been through this. I said if I got to see your baby pictures I’d forgive you for what happened.” I’m trying to make light of it because Klein looks torn up. I guess what I should really be doing is trying to understand why I care that Klein looks torn up.
He ignores my attempt at levity.
“Listen.” He takes a step into the space left open by the passenger door. I lift my feet, propping them on the bottom of the doorframe. I don’t want to break eye contact to look down and make sure my dress is covering all my parts, so I settle for assuming if I don’t feel a breeze everything is copacetic.
“I apologize for what happened in college. I never should have torn apart anybody’s story, but especially yours. I was being an asshole. If I could go back in time and change what I did, I would.”
“I appreciate that.” And I believe him, because I know at his core Klein is a good person.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I nod.
“Your story... Was it about your dad? You wrote about a teenage girl catching her father cheating on her mom.”
He remembers my story?
My stomach lurches. I’m torn between remembering what it felt like to see my father passionately kiss another woman, and astonishment that Klein remembers the details of my story after all this time.
“Yeah, it was.”
“The assignment was supposed to be fiction.”
“I didn’t listen.”
Klein huffs a breath of disbelief. “Not at all.”
“I guess I didn’t make it easy on whomever ended up with my story to critique. That’s not how I saw it at the time, though. It felt good to get it out of me and onto the page.”
Klein closes his eyes slowly, shaking his head. “I said your story was overly-dramatic.”
“You called it a bad soap opera.”
Klein pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck me, that was cruel.”
“You weren’t wrong, though.” I hate admitting that. “It hurt, but the truth often does. I’m a far better marketer than a writer.” My foot taps the doorframe. “Besides, I still get to be creative, so it all worked out in the end.”
He nods slowly, a look on his face like he’s trying to decide if he accepts my words. “Last Friday night you said it’s my fault you’re in this position. What did you mean?”
I’d forgotten I said that. “I started dating Shane after the story debacle. I was really upset, and he smelled my vulnerability like a shark smells blood in the water.”
“The guy with the annoyingly clean shoes?”
“Umm…” I prefer not to spend too much time sifting through memories to think about Shane’s footwear and its level of cleanliness. “I guess so?”
“Weren’t you already dating him? He was always walking you to class like an overeager puppy.”
“You sure noticed a lot for someone who ignored me.” My eyebrows lift, challenging him to refute my claim.
“What else was I supposed to do? You didn’t respond to the text I sent after we kissed.”
My mouth falls open. “I did not receive a text.”
He gives me acome onlook.
My spine stiffens. “I’m not lying!”
“Neither am I!”
