I probably overreacted tonight. But when I heard him playing that song—the first one we ever wrote together—I was overcome first with sadness, then with anger. How could he have let me go so easily back then? I needed him. Webothlost Cara. I know she was his sister, but she was my best friend.
Even though his parents made him move, he could have called me. We could have helped each other through it. The truth of the matter is, I’m not sure Ieverreally got through it. Here I am, nearly forty-two years old, single and desperately lonely, with walls built up so high, I can never get a guy to stick around. I push everyone I meet away because breaking down my walls is too much work.
Josh shifts in his sleep, and I worry he senses my presence. For a second longer, I let myself wonder what he’s dreaming about. Am I there? Was I ever?
I sneak into the kitchen for some water and quietly hurry back to my room before I wake him.
* * *
I awakethenext morning to the smell of bacon. It takes me a minute to remember that I’m supposed to be mad at Josh, and this is probably an apology effort on his part. I rub my eyes, sit up, and search for clothes. I throw on a loose pair of gray pajama pants and a black T-shirt with no bra. I check my reflection in the mirror on my dresser, fluffing my bedhead. I put on some deodorant and body spray and swing open my door.
I find Josh standing over the stove, cooking scrambled eggs. Two coffee mugs sit on the café table. His shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, sending a shiver straight between my thighs. Josh was never a small guy—even in high school he towered over me—but now he’s a man, his body made up of sinewy lines and sharp angles. He takes up all the space in this tiny kitchen.My tiny kitchen.And somehow it feels right. Like he belongs here.
“Hi,” I say, startling him.
He whirls around, spatula in hand, and flashes me a devastating smile. “Good morning, Strawberry Girl,” he murmurs. He turns back to the eggs, stirring them slowly.
I walk over to the table and sit down. “Making breakfast?” I ask, even though it’s obvious.
Josh lifts a shoulder, uncertainty written on his handsome face. “I thought we could talk.” Then gesturing to the mug in front of me. “That’s for you.”
I smile, taking note of the fixed mug. “Thank you,” I nearly whisper.
“Cream and two spoonfuls of sugar, right?” Josh confirms.
I don’t even get to marvel at the fact that he remembers what I put in my coffee yesterday morning because he puts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of me. The toaster dings and up pops four slices of toast. Josh gets to work buttering them.
“Yes. Thanks,” I say, my voice breathy. I’m unsure what to say next.
A moment later, he’s across from me with his own plate and our toast. “Melanie, listen.” His voice is husky. “I’m really sorry I invaded your privacy last night. I was looking for inspiration and feeling stuck. Reading our old lyrics sparked something in me that’s been missing.”
He pauses, and I’m not sure what to say.
“I’m so sorry, Mel, for everything.” Josh offers a hand to me across the table, but I don’t take it.
“Okay. But that doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t have any answers to my questions.” I can’t look at him, so I look down at my plate, chewing on my bottom lip.
“I know that,” Josh agrees.
Silence hangs between us for several moments, both of us eating quietly. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” I finally ask, my voice catching in my throat. I work hard to steady my wavering breath. “It’s all well and good that you’re back, and I’m even happy you’re stayingherewith me. It feels like old times, but Josh… Ihaveto know.” I pause, finally meeting his eyes. “You broke my heart.”
Josh nods, shame written on his face. His shoulders slump as he scrubs a palm down his face. “I know. I know I did. I’m sorry, Mel.” He pauses and sucks in a breath. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I broke my heart too. I loved you so much.” Josh’s expression turns pained, like talking about the past will somehow widen the gap between us.
“Then why didn’t you come see me before you left?” I practically shout, slamming my hand on the table. “I had a fucking broken leg, Josh. Or I would have been banging on your door to seeyou.”
Josh bats at his eye, and I wonder if this conversation is too much for him. He shakes his head, sniffling. “You have to understand, mysisterwas dead. I was reeling. My entire world was upside down.”
“So was mine! I was with her, remember? Mybestfriend. And my boyfriend didn’t want to talk to me,” I cry, gesturing with my hands so wildly that I nearly knock my coffee mug over. Our eggs are getting cold.
“Melanie, I couldn’t support you and handle my own grief. Jesus, I was sixteen. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Josh doesn’t match my anger. Instead, his voice is thick with emotion, his eyes glistening. “If it helps, I have regretted iteveryday since.”
At this, I soften. My Josh. It wasalwaysJosh. In my teenage mind, we were supposed to end up together. “You have?” My voice comes out as a whisper.
Josh gets out of his seat and moves closer to me, getting on his knees and taking my hands in his. “Yes.Of courseI have, Melanie. You were the first girl I ever loved. Maybe the only girl,” he murmurs. Before I can respond, he says, “Write this album with me. A tribute to Cara.”
I’m caught off guard, shaking my head. “Uh, no. Josh, I told you. I don’t play for anyone but myself anymore.”
