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“Well, that’s it then,” Mason said, repeating my words with a gentle smile.
We smiled at each other like two people in a tiny boat who see the shore on the left but not the giant wave about to crash over them on the right.
“I forgive you and you forgive me,” I said.
Mason ran his thumb along my palm and said in turn, “I forgive you and you forgive me.”
My smile faltered, but I don’t think Mason saw.
“Come here,” he said and drew me toward him.
The tea from my cup spilled and soaked through my bedsheets. Despite the strength of Mason’s arms around me and the sturdiness of his chest against my heart, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground was giving way beneath us. That it was rotted. That any second we would fall through the bed. Fall through the floor. Fall and never stop falling.
This was what I wanted. What I’d always wanted. A simple explanation. A stupid misunderstanding. An unfortunate twist of fate. To know that we’d never stopped loving each other. To know that it hadn’t been us. To know that Mason was torn from me, but not his love. That I was torn from him, but not my love. That it had always been there: our love for one another.
I clung tightly to Mason. Maybe if I just held him closer, squeezed him harder, then the waves of vertigo would dissipate. I clenched my eyes shut and buried my face in the crook of his neck and hoped that breathing in his scent would steady me, wake me from this dream I insisted on making a nightmare.
Was it that I was still engaged? Was it that I had another man who I’d kept a secret from Mason? Was that the gulf between us? Was that the earthquake rumbling beneath our feet?
I wished it was. I begged and prayed and hoped upon hope that it was. That it was that simple. That easy. That a trip back to the US would fix everything, would fix us.
Or fix me.
Because I had my happy ending and I hated it. I’d gotten the answers to all the questions I’d asked again and again over the years, and they weren’t enough. I had Mason’s forgiveness and I didn’t trust it.
I could only think one thing as we held each other: it’s not enough.
Why isn’t it enough?
Something was wrong with my happy ending.
Or something was wrong with me.
