Her drilling look made me self-conscious, and I looked away, staring out the window again.
“You’re a strong person, and that’s good, that’s important, especially for a woman. Yeah, you’re exactly the way you should be.”
Looking back, I noticed a pink flush dotted her cheeks and found its way down to her chest. She remained quiet and still as she continued to survey the snow, which had increased in its tenacity.
“It’s really coming down out there now,” I said, gesturing outside. “Since we’ve been at the window, I’d say another inch fell. What do you think?”
She didn’t answer me as she remained unmoving, stoic.
“I’m sorry,” she said, out of nowhere.
“What?” I asked. “For what?”
Ava got up from the floor and made her way back to the couch. Her emerald eyes looked up at me once she sat, beckoning me to join her as she patted the cushion next to her. I joined her, attempting to cover us with the blanket. But she pulled back, needing space it seemed, sitting with crossed legs in the corner of the couch.
She sat quietly, and I didn’t push her to talk. If I was going to get an apology out of her, I’d give her the time she needed.
“Well,” she started, then stopped. Those green eyes looked everywhere but at me. Her teeth fiddled with her lip ring, something I noticed she did when nervous. “I’ve been kinda mean, wouldn’t ya say? So, I’m sorry for how I’ve been, how I’ve treated you. It’s not who I am to be like that, and it’s really been bothering me that I’ve been doing it.”
Once she was done talking, her eyes settled on mine. Hers glistened with the start of unshed tears, that beginning moisture that builds up. It’s truly amazing how hearing her say sorry and seeing her almost cry made the past month of me wanting to hate her vanish.
Gone. Instantly.
I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and tell her everything would be OK.
Instead, I chose to encourage more discussion.
“Do you know why? Did I do something?” I asked.
“No,” she insisted, her head shaking emphatically. “Well, not exactly…”
Crack.
There was a bolt of lightning and a loud boom of thunder and the room went black.
“Oh shit!” we both yelled.
“Christ, it’s dark in here,” Ava said.
“Let me get my phone.” Once my phone light lit the room, I could see the panic on her face. “You good?”
“Not a fan of no power, to be honest,” she said. “I have some candles in my room, I should go get them.”
She started to get up, but I held my hand out to stop her.
“You stay, I’ll get them. Where are they?”
After putting her phone light on for her, I raced up the stairs to retrieve two candles and a lighter from her desk. I also grabbed some extra blankets from both our rooms, unaware of how long we’d be without power or heat.
“Here we go,” I said once I returned. As I lit them, the room took on an ethereal glow combined with the brightness coming from the snow through the windows. “Turn off your phone, conserve its battery.”
I covered her with a blanket, then returned to my side of the couch.
“We don’t have to keep talking about, ya know, what we were before. I appreciate the apology, Ava, I do. Thank you.”
As she pulled the blanket to her chin, she stretched her legs out, her feet landing on my lap. It felt good, but kind of intimate at the same time. I didn’t know where to put my hands, so I laid one on the back of the couch, the other to my side.
“I disagree. I think I need to tell you what’s been going on with me. You deserve that.”
