“Anything.”
“Do you still love me?”
I white-knuckle the steering wheel.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I don’t want to play games.”
“Who says I’m playing anything?” I fight to keep the edge from my voice.
“I hurt you.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious. Everyone knows you hurt me. That’s no secret.”
“You hurt me, too.”
“I don’t see how.” I swallow past the knot that lodges itself in my throat.
“Yes, you do.” She calls me on the lie. “So rather than continue to dance around what happened, maybe we should have an honest conversation.”
“I don’t think you want to have an honest conversation with me.”
“No, I think I do.”
“You really want to do this? Right here and now?”
“No time like the present.” She shrugs like we’re not about to hash out seven years’ worth of pent-up feelings and anger.
“Fine. You want to do this, let’s do it.” I abruptly pull the truck over onto the side of the road. If we’re going to have this conversation, I’m damn sure going to be able to look at her while we do.
“What are you doing?” She gives me a bewildered look as I shift the truck into park, unbuckle my seat belt, and turn toward her.
“You want to talk, talk,” I say, not sure I’m actually prepared to hash this out right now—then again, I’m not sure this is a conversation I will ever be prepared for.
“I...” She seems caught off guard, like she didn’t expect me to react this way. Rolling down her window, she tosses the remainder of her cone into the grass before shifting back toward me. I have to resist the urge to scold her for being so wasteful. “Don’t look at me like that.” She says like she can read exactly what I was thinking. “It’s not littering; it’s feeding wildlife.”
“Pretty sure no form of wildlife should be consuming that much sugar,” I needlessly point out.
“Would you like me to pick it up?” She huffs.
“I’d like for you to say whatever it is you clearly want to say.” I urge her to get on with it.
“I just don’t want to keep doing this,” she says after a brief moment, like she herself isn’t quite sure where to start.
“Doing what?”
“Whatever this is.” She gestures between us. “I want things to be okay with us, but I don’t feel like that’s truly possible untilwe have an honest discussion about what happened seven years ago.”
“I know what happened. I was there.”
“Were you? Because the way you treated me when I came back... It’s like we had two entirely different recollections on how things ended.”
“You broke up with me. Not sure how anyone could misunderstand what happened.”
“But I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I told you I was moving to New York, and you just accepted it.”
“You expected me to stand in the way of what you spent your whole life working toward? If you thought I was capable of that, then clearly you didn’t realize just how much I loved you.”
