Page 123 of When We Were Young

“Really?” she asks. “It’s our dad’s calling hours, and we’ve only been here for an hour and a half.”

“Father, not dad. These people, the family he built after us, have barely acknowledged us. I don’t see why we need to stay. Let’s go.”

“That would certainly be in poor taste.” Landon. Again.

Why this jerk thinks it’s okay to lurk behind me and then butt into my conversation is beyond me. I pretend he hasn’t spoken.

“Liz.”

The sharp tone with which he says my name grates on my last nerve. I twist my body until I’m facing him.

“My name is Lizette. Not Liz. Lizzie to my friends, which you were never one of, so you can call me Lizette if you need to call me anything. But I’d really prefer that we didn’t even have to speak.”

I turn back to Lindsay. “Seriously, let’s go.”

“We can’t just leave,” she says.

“Why not?” I ask.

“He did.” I gesture toward my father’s urn at the front of the room, where his other family is holding the small memorial.

Her eyes bulge.

“He left us, and then he kept leaving us. He’d make us think he was coming and that we could spend time with him, and then he’d turn around and break our hearts again.” No bitterness comes through in my words, just apathy.

“I know,” she whispers. “You’re right.”

“I hold no ill will toward the man, but we also don’t owe him anything, Linds.”

She nods, her eyes glassy.

Maybe I underestimated Lindsay’s connection to my father. She was already eighteen when he left, so maybe the absence at home wasn’t as palpable for her.

I pick up our purses, grab her hand, and lead us out into the hall. We’re almost at the exit when I hear it again.

“Liz,” Landon hisses.

I continue to ignore him as we walk outside. The clicking of his dress shoes tells me he’s following us. We’re halfway to the car.

“What did I ever do to you?”

I stop dead in my tracks. Is he serious? Lindsay tries to tug on my hand, but I don’t budge.

“He’s not worth it,” she whispers.

He’s not, but the thing is, I’m fed up. I wasted years of my life on this poor excuse for a man. I turn on my heel and face him, just a few feet away. I say nothing at first, but I imagine my glare and the tension radiating off my body speak for me.

I hear rustling behind me, then the jingling of my car keys. Still, I don’t turn back to Lindsay.

“You don’t throw away years together for⁠—”

“Stop! Just stop. It’s been over five years since we were together.” I use air quotes around the word “together,” and I see the familiar fury in his eyes.

He takes a step toward me. I take a step back.

I feel Lindsay tugging at the back of my dress.

“You know, the crazy thing is that I know you don’t really want me anymore. You just don’t like to be told no. And you certainly don’t want anyone else to have me.”