“You weren’t standing in the way of anything. I wanted to pursue dance. I wanted to know if I had what it took. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want you to be a part of it.”
“Then why didn’t you say that?”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come with me. To leave your family and your friends and uproot your entire life.”
“You were my entire life!” I say way too loudly given our close quarters. “I would have walked through fire if it meant I wouldn’t lose you.”
“Then why didn’t you?” she fires back. “Why didn’t you fight for me?”
“Because you choosing dance confirmed what I always had known—I was never end game for you.”
“Bullshit.” Her anger flares. “You want to know what I think? I think you were a coward. I think you knew that if you had offered to come with me, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. I think you wanted me to go because you had convinced yourself that you weren’t good enough for me.”
“I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“I disagree. You’ve always been more than good enough. I loved you with the intensity of a thousand suns and leaving you, it was and still is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And considering I just watched my lifelong dream go up in flames, that’s saying something.”
“If that were true, if you really loved me like that, you would have come back sooner. You would have visited. You would have come to my father’s funeral.” My voice breaks on the last part.
“I wanted to. But I knew if I did, if I came back to Wren Cove, I wouldn’t have the strength to leave a second time.” Tears well behind her eyes, making the blue shine like crystal. “And I would have come to your father’s service had I known that he died.”
“You didn’t...”
“My mom told me the day I came home. She knew I was having a really hard time and worried that learning of your father’s death might have sent me over the edge. This isn’t something I like to talk about, but there was a point, a very dark point, where I really thought maybe I didn’t want to be here anymore. I think my mom suspected that, so she was very careful not to say anything to me that might be that final straw.”
“What do you mean you didn’t want to be here anymore?” My brow furrows.
“I was in such pain, emotionally and physically, and I was just so exhausted... I didn’t do it, obviously. But I thought about it. And that’s when I knew that if I didn’t come home, if I didn’t come back to Wren Cove, it would likely cost me my life.”
“London... I...” I grapple for words, not knowing what to say to that.
London has always been the happiest, most positive person I’ve ever known. To know that she was that low—that ending her life felt easier than the alternative—it breaks something open in me that I didn’t even know existed until this very moment.
“Please don’t.” She stops me before I can say more. “I don’t want your pity. I just need you to understand that I would have been here for your father, for you, if I could have been. I loved him too, you know.”
“I know you did,” I say after a long beat, still trying to process everything she’s just said. “And you’re right. I was afraid. Afraid that I didn’t fit into the life you envisioned for yourself. Afraid that I would be something that weighed you down instead of that lifted you up. I thought, if I could let you go, it would be the ultimate way to show you just how much I loved you. But then you actually left and I was so angry. Angry that you were gone. Angry that it seemed so easy for you to leave. I was just so, so angry. An anger, I’m ashamed to admit, I held onto for seven long years.”
“You don’t say?” She attempts to lighten the mood with a smile.
“I was awful to you when you came home.”
“I think I understand why a little better now.”
“There’s no excuse for my actions.”
“Some would argue otherwise. I hurt you.”
“I’m starting to realize maybe I hurt you, too.”
The tears she’s been fighting finally break free, two streaking down her cheeks, one after the other. She quickly wipes them away.
“I am sorry, Penn. For all of it. I wish I could say it was just because I was a stupid kid who didn’t understand the consequences of my actions, but if that were true, it wouldn’t have taken me seven years to say those words. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“Ask me your question again.” I don’t have to clarify; she knows what question I’m referring to.
“Do you still love me?” she asks a second time.
