“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” I counter. “I would have forgiven you for anything Declan. It’syou.”
His eyes home in on me like he’s trying to read the subtitles of a foreign film.
I look around inside the car with a quickening heartbeat, trying to understand why he looks so confused, but nothing has changed. We’re still cloaked in darkness and the flickering neon glow of Murphy’s Drive-Thru. “What… what’s wrong—”
“Then why didn’t you ever write me back?” he asks, eyes widening.
“What do you mean, write you back?” I ask slowly, a pit opening in my stomach.
He sighs, throws a hand over his face, and drags it down. “My letter?”
My eyes bulge. “Your letter? What letter? What are you talking about?”
“You never got it,” he states, face turning grave.
“Got what, Declan? You’re freaking me out.”
“I sent you a letter. Apologizing. Asking you if—” He stops as if cut off.
“Asking me what?” I plead, getting exasperated.
“Asking you if you wanted to… see me. To talk things out? I don’t know, it was a long time ago at this point,” he says quickly, looking defeated. Or maybe he was embarrassed?
I stare at him, half in horror and half in hopeful disbelief as the gears of my heart start squeaking back to life. His eyes stay trained on the steering wheel.
“Wh—” My voice wavers, but I manage to ask, “What were you apologizing for in the letter?”
He looks up at me, like I’ve just altered his entire reality. I hold my breath with the hope that he’s about to change mine. “I was apologizing for being angry at you,” he says in a measured voice. “I was apologizing for not being able to see things from your perspective. I was apologizing because you were right. You couldn’t rely on me, and I was sorry that I ever asked you to. And I was apologizing because I let my pride keep you from seeing me in that state. And I lost you because of it.”
He lets the words tumble out like they were waiting behind his teeth, glad to be let free. His eyes are sad, pulled down at the corners with regret. My heart keens painfully in my chest as I withhold myself from reaching over the console to brush his cheek with my thumb.
“What? Why didn’t—” I shake my head, cutting myself off in confusion. “If I had gotten that letter, I would have forgiven you, Declan.”
He looks up at that, and his face slowly lights up with fragile hope. Tentative, like it might not be solid enough to put his weight on. I feel the same fragile hope blooming in me, but then, his face dims like an intruder broke into his mind and turned off the lights.
“That’s nice to know.” He releases a disbelieving laugh, looking down at his lap. “Nice to know that youwouldhaveforgiven me.Ifyou had gotten my letter. But you just… didn’t?”
I’m breathless as I situate myself into a straighter position. “Do you not believe me?”
“You just, what? Didn’t get it? Do you not check your mail, or did you move dorms or did—”
“No!” I insist. “I didn’t! And I did check my mail. Idocheck my mail. Letters get lost all the time, Declan. I thinkIshould be the one wary that this letter even exists.”
He laughs while looking down, the waves in his hair bouncing a bit. I’m not in on the joke. “It exists, Blair. I can assure you. I wouldn’t forget writing a letter like that.”
“Okay. Well, why didn’t you ever… I don’t know. Like, call me? Perhapsa text messagewould have sufficed?”
“Because I thought you—” He presses his lips together. “You would understand this if you read the letter, but I thought your lack of responsewas a response.I thought I was carrying out your wishes by letting you move on without me.”
Maybe it was sweet, and I should have felt relieved, but four and a half years of pacing around, glancing at my dark phone screen, hoping against all hope that he was going to walk through my dorm room’s door bubbles to the surface.
“I’ve spent the last four and a half years believing you wantednothing to do with me.” I cry, my dignity deciding it has no use in comparison to the truth I’ve been hiding for years. “Do you know what that feels like, Declan? To have your entire existence intertwined with someone for twelve whole years, and then get it ripped away from you overnight? To think that after everything we shared, I was easy to block out and move on from like some… distant, inconvenient, forgettable memory?”
My voice echoes through the small car and I’m left heavinglike I’ve just run a mile. He doesn’t look up at me, and the carriage of his body goes stiff. It’s like he’s using every ounce of willpower not to leave the car.
And then, finally, his face softens, and when he looks at me, I notice a slight glisten in his eyes. “Yes, Blair. I do. I know exactly what that feels like.”
His words clang against me like waves slamming a cliff.
