CARSON
I can tell she’s been crying.
Shit.
I hate it when she cries. It makes me feel helpless. It makes me want to fix it.
Ayla blinks wet eyelashes at me, then says, “Come in.”
I step inside. The house smells so familiar: clean and faintly scented with her favorite honey and vanilla candles. I used to tease her about all the candles she bought. Candles and cushions. And shoes.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her small chin juts out. “Just… one of those moments.”
Yeah. She’s had a lot of “those moments.” She told me it just comes out of nowhere; she’d be doing the dishes or driving to work and a wave of grief would wash over her, drowning her.
I nod, studying her.
“Would you like a coffee?” She starts toward the kitchen. “I’m going to have one.”
“Sure.” I take off my boots and jacket, toss the jacket over the back of a chair, and follow her. I pull out one of the stools at thebig island and plant myself on it, hands clasped on the granite counter.
She gets mugs out of the cupboard and pops a K-cup into the machine. “Sorry I bothered you on your road trip the other day. I didn’t realize you were away.”
“That’s okay. We were just hanging out.”
“You won both games. That’s good.”
“Yeah. We’ve been playing pretty well.”
“That’s great.”
She seems… stiff. Cool. Not that we’ve been super friendly since we split up, but this is different. What’s going on? Is she pissed that I didn’t agree to immediately sell the house?
She slides a mug of coffee across the island to me, along with the milk she knows I use, then makes her own.
“Why do you want to sell the house?” I ask.
Her shoulders tighten. She doesn’t look at me. “I told you.”
“No. You didn’t.”
A small notch appears between her eyebrows. “I didn’t?”
“No. You just said you want to go to Paris.”
“Oh, right. It was Rachel I told.” She picks up her cup, wrapping both hands around it. “It’s too big for me. And too far away from work. And from Rachel.”
I nod slowly. “Okay, I get that.” I hesitate. “You love this house.”
Her lips twist. “I did. I think…” Her voice catches. “I think it’ll be better to move away from the memories. Start fresh.”
I guess I can’t argue with her. It’s her decision. I just want to make sure she’s not doing something rash. Although being rash is not like Ayla. She’s usually patient and practical.
“Are you sure?”
Her eyes flash. But she says quietly, “Yes. I’m sure.”
