“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, feeling my heart pick up speed the same way it did when Oliver asked. Those crisp blue eyes watching me over the rim of his cup, that soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I’d done my best to keep my guard up, to maintain that protective distance I’ve cultivated over the years, but Oliver’s always been good at sneaking past my defenses. He doesn’t even have to try—just sits there with thatearnest expression, and suddenly I’m twenty-three again, falling for him all over.
“What do you think about that?”
“I told him I don’t date... and left it at that.” The words had felt both protective and hollow when I’d said them, a shield made of paper.
“Wow.” She sits fully in her chair now, settling in for what she clearly recognizes as a significant conversation. “So how do you... I mean I’m trying to figure out how you feel about him.”
“Me too.” I laugh, the sound coming out more frustrated than amused, and bury my face in my hands. Through my fingers, I can see the late afternoon light painting golden stripes across the table.
She folds her arms on the table, her expression thoughtful, considering. “You guys were together for so long.”
“Five years. And it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. Another five years.” I bite my lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of worry. “But that feels like nothing. I still think about him all the time. Wonder what he’s doing, if he’s happy, if he ever...” I trail off, then force myself to continue. “He apologized for the way he treated me.”
“Really? That’s big.”
“I know,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m glad he did, and I... Yeah, I’m interested in him. A lot,” I breathe, the admission making my chest tight.
“But?”
“It’s hard, you know? A part of me wants to get to know him again, wants to see who he’s become, but I feel like I’ll be betraying myself if I do.” Everything that I’ve been holding in since Oliver walked back into my life at the pizzeria spills out in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “And what if we get back together? My family will freak out. When I was home for Christmas, I told them Oliver had moved to town and they all completely shit on him. Mom and Jemma actually tried to setme up with a guy I had a huge crush on in high school. Made me go on a date with him and it was horrible.”
“Wow. Really?” She frowns and shakes her head. “I can’t believe Jemma would do that to you.”
“Yeah, and we had an argument over it too. I didn’t tell you guys about it because it was embarrassing. Aside from that, though, I haven’t even told Jemma about getting coffee with Oliver because she’s not going to believe that he’s changed. She still calls him ‘that asshole’ whenever his name comes up.”
“Why is it so bad to not know what they’ll say? Do you think they’ll judge you?”
“Probably.” I fiddle with a tassel on one of the placemats, twisting the threads between my fingers until they form a tiny rope. “Oliver was so awful to me, but not all the time. There were good times, too—really good times. Mornings when he’d bring me tea in bed, nights when we’d talk until dawn about everything and nothing. That’s all I ever talked about with my family, though. The bad times. The dismissive comments about my health, the way he’d roll his eyes when I needed to rest, how he’d make plans without considering whether I’d have the energy. So they hate him. If they find out that I’m talking to him they’ll probably stage an intervention. Jemma would drive up from Portland. Mom would book the first flight out.”
Maya chuckles, but it’s gentle, understanding. “They’re protective.”
“Yeah. They’re good to me.” I release the tassel, watching it unwind slowly.
“What did you mean about betraying yourself?”
“Oliver really messed me up.” The words come out flat, matter-of-fact, but my chest tightens around them.
Maya waits, her silence an invitation to continue. Of course—she didn’t know me before Oliver. She only knows this version of me, the one with walls and rules and a carefully maintained distance from romantic entanglements.
“I didn’t used to doubt myself when I got flares,” I clarify, my voice steadier now. “That only started happening after Oliver, because he always doubted them. ‘Are you sure you’re not just tired?’ he’d ask. ‘Maybe you’re overthinking it.’ Like I couldn’t tell the difference between normal exhaustion and my body rebelling against me. And I don’t date because... Okay, I know I act like I just don’t want a relationship, like I’m perfectly content with my plants and my routines and my solo Netflix nights, but sometimes I think maybe that’s not the whole story.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
I stare at her, my hands stilling on the table.
“You want a boyfriend, Devin. I can tell. I see the way you look at happy couples.” Her voice is gentle but certain, like she’s stating an obvious fact.
My face warms, heat creeping up my neck, and I turn my gaze to the table. The wood grain blurs as I focus on it, anything to avoid her knowing look. Am I really that obvious? Do I stare too long at Alexis and Noah when they share those private smiles? Do I envy Flick and Sebastian being so connected they finish each other’s sentences? And seeing how Michael takes care of Hannah, knowing what she needs sometimes before she even knows herself. A buried longing twists around my heart.
“You’re saying you haven’t dated because of how Oliver broke your heart?” She prods, her tone still gentle but persistent.
“Exactly.” I nod, the movement sharp, decisive. “It’s great that he apologized, and yes I want to know what could happen next between us—God, I want to know so badly it keeps me up at night—but isn’t it harmful to revisit a relationship with someone who is responsible for fucking you up? It would be me telling myself that what happened in the past doesn’t matter. That all those nights I spent doubting myself, all those times I pushed through exhaustion because I didn’t want to disappoint him, all of that just gets erased?”
“Come on. You’re smarter than that.”
I slowly shake my head at her, trying to grasp what she’s getting at. The music shifts to something slower, more atmospheric, and the kitchen feels smaller suddenly, more intimate.
“If you decide what happened in the past no longer has a hold on you, then that’s the way it is.” She taps on the table for emphasis, her fingernail clicking against the wood. “You aren’t bound to the perspective you had all those years ago. You were different then. He was different. Hell, the whole world was different. You get to decide what matters right now and what doesn’t.”
