What could he possibly want? Does he just want to torture me again?
“I… I don’t know.”
“He sounded sincere,” she goes on. “Maybe he just wants to apologize and make amends. I’ve only met him a handful of times, but he seems like a nice young man. Honestly, it’s actually hard to reconcile him with the boy who used to bully you.”
A huge breath escapes me.
“I’m sorry… it’s just my impression. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s still the spoiled rich kid he was back then.”
I’m a mess of emotions. I’m scared. I’m confused. But mostly, I’m curious. I desperately want to know what he wants. “Give me his number.”
She recites the number with a strained voice, and I jot it down on the back of a pizza place promotional flyer. The sight of his name and number scribbled next to a picture of the Meat Lover’s pizza makes me want to vomit.
* * *
I’ve been sittingon his number for two days now, staring at the pizza flyer on the door of my refrigerator, secured by a motivational quote magnet.
Today is going to be a beautiful day.
I finally muster up the courage to call him. My hands are actually trembling when I input his number into my phone, and I can’t believe how a person I haven’t interacted with in over ten years can still affect me so. I still hate him so much, yet… there’s still a certain excitement, curiosity, a rush of adrenaline.
He answers on the second ring. “Matt Moore.” His voice is deeper than it used to be, more serious.
“Uh…” I falter. “It’s... it’s Kayla Wilson. You wanted me to call you?”
“Oh, hi, Kayla,” he says, his tone lighter. “I’m so glad you called.”
A beat of silence follows. I don’t say anything. Why would I? He’s the one who wants to talk to me.
“I wanted to speak with you,” he starts off slowly, “to apologize.”
Still no words from me.
“I realized when you dashed off the other night that you were upset, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. I know you’re not allergic to nuts… I’ve seen you eating Reese’s Peanut Butter cups. I know I was a total jack-off back then. I was a stupid kid, Kayla.”
“Yeah, you were. Glad to see you realize that.”
He clears his throat. “I should have never treated you that way,” he continues. “I was the new kid and I wanted to fit in. When I came up with that name, I wasn’t really thinking. It was just something I said out loud, and everyone laughed. I like making people laugh, and I liked the attention, I guess.”
“You didn’t care about me though,” I manage to say, despite the large lump lodged in my throat. “Your popularity at the expense of mine, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Another long beat.
“Can you ever forgive me?” he asks. “We’ll be family soon. Can we bury the hatchet? That was ten years ago.”
Yes, ten years ago. Seems like a lifetime ago. But to me, it seems like it was yesterday.Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me, the popular nursery rhyme goes, but how so very wrong it is. My bones would have healed just fine, the physical pain long forgotten, leaving only a cool anecdote of how a stupid boy broke my leg, or arm or whatever. But unfortunately, those words and taunts, those memories will stay with me forever.
Matt Moore has no clue that as a result of his actions, I fell into a deep depression and fell victim to a serious eating disorder. I flunked out of college, and found myself in a psychiatric ward. But that’s neither here nor there.
He wants to apologize and clear his conscience, and move on with his perfect life. Who am I to stand in his way?
“How about dinner?” he says, so casually, it feels like a kick in the gut. “I want to take you out to a nice place to apologize, and we could get to know each other again.”
I’m completely speechless.
“I’ve always liked you, Kayla,” he says. “The first time I met you at that corner store, I thought you were super cute and sweet. I still remember it; you were eating jujubes and a chocolate bar, mint flavored, and it matched your green shirt.”
