I smirk, “Uninterested in talking to you?”
He cringes. “Yeah. I understand why you might feel like that.”
I find a spot over his shoulder to watch a bird crap on a rental car. I sincerely hope it’s his.
“So, are you teaching?” he tries again.
“I’m the head of the Willow Creek High School Math department.”
“That’s STEM, right? Impressive.”
I force out a polite, “Thank you.”
He shifts his weight, lowers his voice. “Listen, I don’t want to be weird, but if someone from college asked about you. Old…friends. Did you want me to maybe?—”
“No,” I interrupt firmly.
He blinks. “No?”
“I don’t have time for anyone from your former college.”
He corrects, “Our former college.”
“I’d claim it on more than paper if my life hadn’t been annihilated by a jealous wannabe puck bunny who wanted my ex-boyfriend despite dating you.” I take great pleasure in the way his face turns chalk white. While I sincerely hope he choked on his guilt over the years, I don’t want it to happen here.
Because in unearthing what happened, we found out Mark knew what Brielle had done.
The barista sets my drink on the counter. “Amy?”
I take the cup, nod politely at Mark, and step past him toward the door. Just as I push it open, he calls my name.
I stop and turn around, quirking a brow.
His voice is laced with regret. “I really want to apologize for everything.”
“A little too late, Mark. It doesn’t change you helping to ruin people’s lives.”
“Wait…about that…”
I don’t stop to listen to him. Instead, I leave and let the crisp air ground me. Deciding that I handled that as best as I could, I reward myself with a sip of my latte before getting in my carto head home. The encounter doesn’t shake me the way it once would have. No spiral. No sharp, breath-stealing ache.
Once inside my apartment, I dump my bag and carefully place my latte on the end table. Taking stock of my emotions, I realize I don’t feel the fiery burn of agony thoughts of my past used to dredge up.
Maybe this is what people mean when they say time heals.
The familiar ping of an incoming video call fills the room. I click the green check to accept their incoming group chat and the faces of my best friends pop onto my cell phone’s screen. I kick off my shoes and flop onto my couch with a grin. “Hey.”
“Happy First Day!” Emery proclaims.
I beam even as I check my friends out to ensure they’re good. Maya’s reclined on a lounger placed so she has a perfect view of the vineyard the man she loves oversees. Christin’s background is blurred in a way that suggests secrets and superior Wi-Fi. Emery’s shows she’s still at work based on the bright and cheerful walls where she sees injured high profile athletes who can afford her services.
Maya questions, “Who is going to be this year’s problem child?”
“Malik,” I answer immediately. “He’s smarter than I am.”
Emery grins. “Good for him.”
“He’s brilliant and exhausting. He spent fifteen minutes arguing that his answer was ‘conceptually correct.’”
