“But you didn’t just break up with me, Brian. You took everything from me, and then you ghosted me. You killed me.” I don’t let myself dwell on how literal that metaphor can be taken. Part of me wants to scream and shout, to tell him everything, to make him understand just how much I’d needed him—how alone I’d been, how scared…but it won’t change the past. And there’s no point in blaming him for what he couldn’t know, for what he’ll never know. He made his choices, and I made mine.
Brian’s eyes shine with actual tears. I’ve never seen them before, and they strike me silent. He nods. “I know. I had to.”
“You had to?” Don’t get emotional, I remind myself. He doesn’t deserve any more of my tears.
“I loved you, Bethy. But I thought I was doing what was right for us. Or what was right for me, anyway. It was stupid, and selfish, but I knew that if I saw you, spoke to you, I would beg you to take me back, and I was convinced that wasn’t the right thing.” He seems like he wants to say more, but stops himself.
I look down at my lap, picking at my cuticles. “Like I said, I forgive you.” But my voice is no longer sure.
“I just want to start over,” Brian pleads.
“Start over? Are you serious?”
Brian blanches. “Or not start over. But start again, maybe? Or just—I don’t know. I just want another chance, Bethy.”
“No.” The word is firm and resolute, and Brian blinks in surprise. But I don’t care, because is he fucking kidding me? “There’s no such thing as starting over, Brian. Our histories—they make us who we are. And I’m not the same naïve little girl who fell in love with an older boy who broke her heart. You left me. That was your choice. And I’m sorry if you wish you could take it back. I really am. I know what it feels like to wonder what I could have done differently to change things. To blame myself for our breakup. But you know what the difference is, Brian?” I wait a beat. “You are to blame. I never was.”
I stand up. If I’d known this was what he was planning, I honestly wouldn’t have come.
Brian stands, too, eyes frantic, hands reaching. “No. Please don’t go. I’m sorry. Please just stay and finish your coffee.”
I swallow my frustration and sit back down, wrapping both hands around my mug. I should leave. I know. But I’m not good about doing what’s best for myself when other people are hurting, even people who have hurt me, apparently. “I don’t want to talk about starting over or second chances. There’s no such thing,” I tell him. “I just wanted to tell you that I forgive you, and I want to move forward. That’s all I can offer you.”
Brian nods, but he’s just placating me. “Okay, Bethy.”
“Beth,” I correct him.
He glares at me a moment, wounded, and it twists my chest even though I know it shouldn’t. “Beth,” he finally agrees. “No starting over. I got it. Moving forward.” He nods to himself. “But I can’t pretend you’re not here. I think about you every minute.”
“Brian—”
“Right. I’m sorry. What I meant was—” He sighs in frustration. “I meant, you’re here. I’m here. We’re having coffee, and the world didn’t end, right?”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering where he’s going with this.
He licks his lips, calculating. “I mean, we can do this again, right? Just get coffee. Be friends?”
“Brian—”
“Just hear me out, Bethy—Beth. We were never friends, right? I fell for you the moment I saw you, and we…well, you were there.” He laughs nervously.
“I was there,” I agree timidly. I don’t want to think of that perfect summer. Before the rest of the world got in the way, as I’d always feared it would.
“Can’t we just try to be friends?” His eyes beg and implore, and I succumb to the inevitable masochism.
“I guess we can try,” I concede.
Brian breathes deeply, fighting a triumphant grin, and it’s a little contagious. I’ve never had someone so excited about my friendship.
“But just friends, Brian. I’m not looking to date. Not you, or anyone. I need to focus on school and just, you know, having a good time.”
“Right. I get it.”
I’m not sure he does, but I suppose I have no choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt.
* * *
It’s dark when I get back to campus, but students are out and about, chatting and smoking in clusters around the student union. It isn’t unusual for early evening, but the excitable atmosphere is. People talk closely, gesturing wildly, whispering with wide eyes. Anxiety flows from student to student, and it’s palpable.
