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“I wanted to,” he replies. “I wish I’d done it every day we were together.”
Instead of something fancy, he takes me to my kind of place, a place Brendan might have chosen.
"You actually want to eat here?" I ask. “Ribs and beer?”
“Of course. I like ribs and beer as much as the next guy. And I'm trying to meet you in the middle.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
"Erin,” he chides, “you wanted stuff like this enough that you broke up with me over it. So if it matters that much to you, you’ve got to fight for it a little."
Except that’s not how I’m programmed. I’m never going to fight for something so minimal as where we eat and if we sit outside when we do it.
After we’re seated, he reaches across the table for my hand. “I know you’re not ready yet. I know I fucked up. But I just want a chance. I want the chance to prove to you that I’ve changed.”
I stare at the tablecloth, so guilty that my voice rasps when I speak. “You didn’t fuck up.”
“Yeah, I did. I should have talked to you about the trip, I should have made sure you were okay with me staying. I should have come back for Olivia’s race. I definitely should have told you about Christina. I’m so, so sorry I didn’t.”
Anything that happened with Christina is now so minor compared to my own failings that I can barely stand to glance up at him. “It’s okay. But look, about this other guy—”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m begging you, Erin. Do not tell me. You didn’t get home ’til 5 AM the other day, so it’s pretty obvious that things I don’t ever want to think about happened. So can we just agree it’s all behind us? That I did stupid shit, and you did stupid shit, and now it’s over?”
I nod, but I wonder if he’d feel that way if he knew exactly what stupid shit I did, and who I did it with. Especially when not a moment later he asks if I’ve seen Brendan.
I hate lying, which is ridiculous when you consider just how many lies I’ve already told him. My heart thrums in my ears.
“No, not lately. Why?”
"It seems like he’s avoiding me. Maybe he’s just busy with this new girl he’s dating.”
"Girl?" I ask, my stomach going into freefall. "Brendan doesn't 'date' anyone."
"Apparently he’s made an exception,” Rob says. “It’d be cool if he’s finally met someone.”
It’s only been a few days. He couldn’t have moved on that fast.
He couldn’t have, yet he did. And how is that possible? How could anything they have be better than what we had? What does she have that I don’t?
That night, after Rob drops me off, I don’t cry. Instead my tears sit caged inside me, and I long for something that will set them free. They’re like a blister that needs to be popped, and God, I want to. I want something to make it all go away.
I thought this kind of sadness and desperation was behind me. I thought I was better. As it turns out, I was simply numb. Brendan is the only thing with the power to bring this version of me to the surface. I tried to make myself hate him after the wedding. I tried to make him hate me too. I should have kept doing it.
Being numb, not caring, everyone says that’s a bad thing.
But to me, right now, it sounds like bliss.
* * *
The next day when I get home from work, there’s a bouquet waiting on Harper’s front porch, with my name on the card. For one insane moment I allow myself to hope it’s from Brendan. I half-laugh and half-sob at my own stupidity when I find Rob’s name instead.
Another bouquet is delivered to work the next day, and again to Harper’s the day after that.
“How long are you planning to keep this up?” I finally ask him.
“Until you give me another chance,” he replies.
He texts me frequently. He asks how I am, when he can see me. He is the anti-Brendan: he wants to give me everything. It matters to him that I exist. That shouldn’t sway me, and it’s not a reason to date him again, but there’s something comforting about it.
