AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Before I can let the unwanted emotions get the best of me, the door opens and Addison steps inside, huddled under an umbrella that she’s quick to shake out over the mat and close. The hostess greets her as I sit paralyzed, watching Addison.
It’s still surreal to see her here. I don’t know how to react to her.
My fingers long to help her slip out of her jacket, but instead they grip onto the table.
I frown at the sweet smile she gives the hostess for helping her with her things. Addison hasn’t given me one. In fact, it falls as she’s directed toward me.
The happiness so evident only a second ago is gone as she walks over.
It makes my blood heat to a simmer but I stand anyway, pulling out the chair across from me for her to sit.
“Hi,” she offers politely and the scent of her shampoo wafts toward me.
I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I only offer her an inkling of a smile. I’m better than this. I know better too. “Thank you,” she says softly as I retake my seat.
“I didn’t know what you’d like to drink,” I tell her even though I know she’ll order a red wine. On the sweeter side.
“Oh, I’m fine with anything,” she says agreeably and just like that, the bits of irritation slowly ebb and start to fade. She offers me a hesitant smile as she adds, “I’m glad you texted me.”
Her smile broadens and she takes a sip of water before the waiter comes by again. And she orders cabernet. She’s a creature of habit, little Addison.
“You wanted to talk?” I sit back easier in my seat now that she’s here.
“I do, but I don’t know how.”
A genuine smile creeps onto my face. Little things like her innocent nature have always intrigued me. “Just say whatever you want, Addison.”
“Do you hate me?” she asks me quietly. The seriousness is unexpected and catches me off guard.
“No, I don’t hate you.” I hated that I couldn’t have her. But that was then.
“I feel like you should,” she tells me although she’s staring at her glass. She does that a lot. She looks down when she talks to me. I don’t like it. My chest feels tighter and the easiness of tonight and what I want from it tangle into a knot in my stomach. I reach for my drink, letting it burn on the way down.
The words to ease her are somewhere. I know they exist, but they fail me now because the truth that begs to come out is all I can focus on.
I’m saved by her glass of cabernet that she accepts from the waiter graciously.
“Tyler did mean a lot to me, you know?” she asks me as if my acceptance means everything. As if I couldn’t see it in her eyes back then. Every fucking time I saw them together it was obvious. He was all she had and I think she hated that fact, but loved him for simply being there for her.
“That was never a question,” I tell her with a chill in my voice. One that I can’t control.
“I just feel like,” she pauses and swallows, then takes a sip of wine. With her nervous fidgeting, she’s clearly uncomfortable and it’s pissing me off. “I’m just afraid of what you and your brothers think. Your dad, too.”
“My father died two years ago,” I tell her and ignore the twinge of guilt running through me plus the pain of the memory. The knot seems to tie tighter.
I went home for the first time in years only to watch him being put in the ground next to my mother, just twenty plots down from Tyler’s grave. And I haven’t been back since. It’s funny how guilt spreads like that. How it only gets worse, not better.
“Oh my God,” Addison gasps and reaches her small hand out on the table for mine. “I’m so sorry.” One thing I’ve always admired about Addison is how easy it is to read her. How genuine she is. How honest. Even if the things she was thinking were less than appealing.
“My father liked you, so he told Tyler that you would come back.” I don’t know why I tell her that. The memory doesn’t sit well with me and the conversation isn’t going where I’d like it to. Uncomfortable is an emotion I don’t often experience. I suppose it makes sense that I am now though. Yet again … that’s Addison’s doing. But I allow it. It would be easy to get up and leave, to not have to deal with this conversation. But having Addison tonight is worth it.
Barely catching a glimpse of the starched white shirt of the waiter, I hold up my hand just in time to stop him.
“Yes?” he asks and I order two rounds of black rose shots, which are a mix of vodka and tequila and the restaurant’s drink of choice. Plus another whiskey sour. I greatly underestimated this conversation and the need for alcohol to go along with it.
“Anything else?” the waiter asks and Addison pipes up. With her hands folded in her lap, she orders the bruschetta.
It’s only once the waiter’s left that she leans forward, tucking her hair behind her ear and says, “I didn’t eat much today.”
