"And you picked me." My voice comes out flat. "The broke writer drowning in debt. Easy mark."
"That's not why."
"Then why?"
He doesn't answer right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than before.
"You know our mothers were friends."
“Yeah."
"What I didn't tell you is that my mother kept stuff from back then. Photos, letters, random shit from a friendship that blew up in her face." He pauses. "When I was about twelve, I found a box of old pictures in the attic. Most of them were of our moms when they were young.”
My stomach drops. I already don't like where this is going.
"But there was one that was different. A photo of you." His eyes lock onto mine. "You looked around my age, maybe a year younger. Standing on some beach, squinting at the camera. Your mom must have sent it before everything went to shit between them.”
“Okay..."
"I kept it.”
The words hang there between us.
"You kept a photo of me," I repeat slowly. "Some random girl you'd never met.”
“Yes."
"That's weird, Phoenix.”
"I know.”
"No, I don't think you do. What twelve-year-old keeps a photo of a stranger?”
"I'm not trying to make it sound normal." His voice is steady, like he expected this reaction. "You wanted the truth. This is it. I saw that photo and something about you stuck with me. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now. But I kept it."
I want to get up and lock myself in the bathroom. I want to scream at him. But I'm frozen in place, some sick part of me needing to hear the rest.
"What else?"
“Then, I looked you up." He's watching my face carefully. "I found your blog."
My blog. The one where I've spent years spilling my guts about heartbreak and loneliness and all the dreams that never came true. The one I thought nobody read.
"How long?" I barely recognize my own voice.
"Five years. Give or take."
I set down my tea because my hands are shaking too hard to hold it. "You've been reading my writing for five years. Watching me for five years. And you never once reached out."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't know how. Because I knew you'd think I was crazy." That bitter laugh again. "Guess I was right."
"You are.”
"Probably."
