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“Thanks for coming,” I said.
We sat down and she waved away my offer of a coffee.
“I was very, very surprised to hear from you, Huey.”
“Bad surprised,” I guessed.
She frowned.
“Jury’s out, I guess, depending on why you called.” Then she shook her head and said, “No, not bad surprised.”
She was always so damn kind to me.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m really good. But I don’t think you called because you wanted to know how I was doing. Did you?”
“Glad you’re doing well. But no, guess not.”
She nodded and sat there, ready to listen, just as she always had.
“I wanted to apologize. Because when I apologized to you…then, I apologized for the wrong things.”
Rachel nodded, her mouth pursed like she was trying not to show any emotion.
“Told you I was sorry for cancelling dinner or for not wanting to go out with your friends. Told you I was sorry I didn’t wanna talk. I said ‘sorry’ a million times. But I never apologized for the real thing.” I took a deep breath. “Rach. I…I used you. I used our relationship to prove to myself that I wasn’t a lost cause. Prove I could still…Prove maybe someone could still care for me.”
The rush of shame was even stronger than I’d imagined. I pressed my palm to my stomach to try and hold it in.
“And, fuck, I’m so damn sorry for that.”
I looked up and saw tears running down her cheeks, but her eyes were peaceful.
“I did care,” I assured her. “So much. I wanted everything for you. And I…I was nothing then. You needed things, wanted things that I couldn’t give. And I was so damn busy trying to prove all that to myself that I couldn’t be any of what you needed.”
Those last few weeks played in a loop in my head.
“I was a coward. Made you end it with me ’cuz I couldn’t bear to do it myself. ’M so damn sorry for that too.”
Emotion tightened my throat and I fell silent. Rachel reached out a hand and placed it over mine, which was fisted on the table.
“Thanks,” she said. And even though I could see her tears, she didn’t sound upset. “I really needed to hear that. And you really needed to know it.”
“I do. I see it now. I…I never gave you a chance to be there for me, not really. We never had a chance, and that was on me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” she said, and it came out rough as her voice broke, but she was smiling.
She wiped her eyes and frowned at the black smears on her fingers.
“Ugh, damn it, Huey.” But she just wiped under her eyes with a napkin and turned back to me. “I had my own shit going on too. I wanted to believe that I could be the person you…you loved enough to let me in where you didn’t let anyone else.”
She cringed at herself.
“I wanted to feel special. But honestly? I was scared of what you were going through. I was scared I wouldn’t be enough. Or that you’d start using again and I’d have to deal with that. Our relationship wasn’t right for me either, even though I thought it was at the time.”
I could tell it had taken a lot for her to admit that to me after how much I’d hurt her. It made me realize she had forgiven me.
“Thanks.”
Rachel nodded, then her eyes narrowed. She peered at me with the perceptive look that always took me by surprise with its shrewdness.
“You met someone,” she said.
I blinked.
“Oh, man, you totally did.”
I nodded.
Rachel’s smile was wide and brilliant. She pounded on my fist with her palm.
“That’s wonderful. Really, Huey. I’m happy for you.”
I hesitated, then said, “?’M scared I’ll fuck it up. Like I fucked us up.”
“You won’t fuck it up in the same way because you’re not the same. I can tell that just by talking to you. You might fuck it up in different ways…”
“Thanks a lot.”
She grinned.
“Felix is…” I stopped, and realized I didn’t have more to say. I’d just wanted to say his name. Just wanted to sit with someone who had loved me and say the name of the person I loved.
Rachel nodded when I fell silent. “I’m glad. I’m glad for us both.”
* * *
—
I walked around the block three times. To the rhythm of my footfalls, I said to myself, You’re not the same. You’re not the same. You’re not the same.
If I wasn’t the same, then things didn’t have to be the same. I didn’t have to make the same mistakes. Didn’t have to fall into the same patterns and habits.
I’d been good at football because I ran the plays I was given. I went where I was told. I practiced the drills and stuck to the formations and always protected my man—blocked out anything that could keep him from getting the ball and making his touchdown. I was strong and dependable and predictable.
