“You came to Glasgow?” Confusion rages beneath my skin, questions ricocheting through my brain: how, when, why? I’m basically a walking English lesson now.
“Yeah.” He nods, eyes downcast. “And I saw you.”
“What do you mean you saw me? I never saw you, why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you had a baby, Avi. You were holding Lennox—not that I knew him as such at the time—and there was this guy with you.” His voice hardens with his next words. “I watched him kiss you both. What the hell was I supposed to think?”
I shake my head, mind reeling. A guy? What guy? Kissing us? It’s not possible, because there wasneveranother guy, no matter what my grandparents might’ve said to him. There was no moving on—no other guys. There never has been.
“There was no other guy, Jamie.” I need him to look at me, but when he does, there’s only suspicion behind his green eyes as they narrow behind his glasses.
“I didn’t imagine him, Avonlea. He was there, and I swear you looked at him like you used to look at me.” His voice breaks slightly and he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure.
This conversation feels like a roller coaster. With every new revelation, my stomach lurches, my emotions get tangled and confused, and my nervous system can’t keep up with all the changes.
“Where was this?” I can’t think of who he could be talking about.
“The pub. Green Gables. I figured, if I was going to find you, that was the best place to start. You were sitting at a table with this guy, you had Lennox in your arms, and then he got up, kissed Lennox’shead and then yours, and you smiled at him.” That seems like a trivial thing, but watching his face change when he says it… I can almost picture eighteen-year-old Jamie and the devastation he felt in that moment.
All this time, he knew I had a baby and believed it was with someone else. God, what a mess.
Ten years is a long time and a lot of memories to sift through, but I can only think of one time when Lennox was a baby that I was at the pub with a guy.
“Bloody hell.” I furrow my brow, pulling my phone out of my back pocket. I scroll in search of a social media profile for someone I haven’t talked to in years. “Is this him?” I flip the phone to face Jamie.
He slides closer on the couch to look at it and his eyes are steely behind his lenses.
“Yeah, I think that’s him.” He’s curt and short in his answer, jaw clenching.
I want to scream and rage because he had to have been so close that day. He was right there, andthisis what kept us from reuniting?
“Jamie, this is Colin,” I say with as much calm as I can muster. “His dad was my mum’s sous chef. He was only visiting for the weekend because his boyfriend was the guy playing music that day in the pub. They were both in college in Edinburgh. I practically grew up in the kitchen with Colin. If he kissed me, it was purely platonic. I don’t even remember him doing that. I haven’t spoken to him in years. His dad launched his own restaurant just before I came back from Paris, which opened up the sous chef role for me to fill.”
Jamie shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter who he is, Avi. None of that matters. Not really. What matters is that you kept this from me all these years. A son, Avi… You kept my son from me for ten years of his life.”
I wish he could understand, but I know he never will. “You left, Jamie. You—”
“I came back!” he yells, pushing the phone back into my hand.
“But I didn’t know that!” I shout back, unable to stop everything wound tight inside me from flowing out in a way that will make things worse.
“You would have if you hadn’t blocked me. You would have known everything. You would have known how much I regretted it all. But you didn’t because—”
I interrupt him. “I was stupid, okay? Jesus, don’t you see that I know that? I made the wrong choice. I’ve known that for years, but then it was too late!”
He stands and begins pacing like a caged lion in front of the couch.
“Too late? You could’ve come for me, called me, something.Anything. But you never tried to fix it, did you? I wouldn’t have been hard to find if you’d wanted to. But you didn’t. Why?”
“I did it for you, Jamie.” He narrows his eyes on me, mid-prowl, and I adjust my wording. “IthoughtI was doing it for you. Every time over the years when I’ve thought about finding you, telling you…” I shake my head. He doesn’t need my excuses.
He needs the truth. All of it.
“I almost flew to the States once, to tell you,” I admit, and that stops him in his tracks.
“When?” he demands, eyes blazing.
“Right after you graduated from college. I was about to board the plane, but then I just”—I huff a breath out—“didn’t.”
