“And you made yours,” she says. “You opened your heart in the middle of your worst pain. That’s not weakness, Henry. That’s courage.”
The word grates. Courage? It feels like anything but.
I look up at her. “So what now? Do I just wait? Pretend I don’t care? Or keep torturing myself by replaying those two days over and over?”
She tilts her head. “What do you want?”
The question hangs in the air. What do I want?
I want Tabitha’s laughter filling this room. I want her hand brushing mine when she thinks no one’s looking. I want to kiss her slow, the way I did in her guest room after Angie’s wedding, when every nerve in me screamed to take her hard and fast, but I didn’t. I held back. I wanted her to know she wasn’t just another rush of adrenaline to numb the pain.
The memory burns through me. The curve of her back under my palm, her breath hitching when I moved slower than either of us expected. The way she looked at me afterward, like I was more than the sum of my mistakes.
“I want her,” I whisper. “Even if it’s impossible.”
Aunt Mel lets the silence stretch before she answers. “Then the question isn’t whether you want her. The question is whether you’ll let yourself believe you deserve her.”
Her words crack something open in me. My chest feels too tight, and my hands tremble against the leather armrests.
Do I deserve her?
I don’t know. But for the first time since the accident, since Ralph, since everything…I let myself wonder.
I shift in the chair and rub my forehead. “You already know that she didn’t come to the hospital,” I say. “Mom called her and asked her to come, and she didn’t. So that says something to me.”
Aunt Mel doesn’t flinch. Simply gestures for me to continue.
“She’s in Boulder,” I continue. “She got invited to a surgical seminar, one of those once-in-a-lifetime deals. I can’t blame her for choosing it. Hell, I respect it. I respect the hell out of it.” My jaw tightens. “She’s worked hard. She deserves every opportunity that comes her way. Why the hell would she give it all up for a guy who treated her like shit the entire weekend of her best friend’s wedding? I’d have told her myself to stay there if she asked.”
I glance at my aunt, half expecting her to nod, to agree. She just studies me with those sharp psychiatrist’s eyes, like she’s waiting for the real truth to slip out.
“But?” she prompts.
“But…I wanted her there,” I admit, my voice low. “I wanted to wake up in that hospital room and see her face. Not out of pity, not because I needed saving. Just because she wanted to be there.” I let out a breath. “But she chose differently. And she was right to. I told her once that we didn’t have a future. How can I blame her for believing me?”
Aunt Mel leans back, folding her arms. “Henry, respecting her choice doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And hurting doesn’t mean you stop respecting it.”
“I know.” My throat burns. “I can’t fault her. I don’t. But it still feels like she slipped through my fingers.”
“Or maybe it means she has her path, and you have yours, and the question isn’t about today, but about whether those paths cross again.”
I rub at my temple, feeling the tug of the stitches. “That sounds like hope.”
“It is,” she says simply. “Hope doesn’t have to be foolish. It just has to be honest.”
I lean back, close my eyes, and let the words settle.
Respect. Hurt. Hope.
I let my head fall back against the cushion and close my eyes. “She stayed in Boulder,” I murmur again, as if repeating it will make it sting less. “She couldn’t turn the opportunity down.”
“No,” Aunt Mel agrees. “She couldn’t. That choice isn’t about you, Henry. It’s about who she is.”
I open my eyes and meet Aunt Melanie’s. “I know. She’s strong. But part of me wanted her to be weak. Just once. Weak enough to choose me instead.”
Aunt Mel doesn’t scold me. Doesn’t tell me I’m being selfish. She just nods. “Because you chose her.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I chose her.”
