13. Epilogue
One year later
The subway train’s arrival is announced first by a gust of wind, warm and smelling of the swamp this city is built on. Then there’s the squealing of metal wheels as it brakes. Finally, the train itself, tagged with layers of graffiti, lumbers into view. The double doors whoosh open, and strangers pile in. I shift my feet, shuffling in along with the nameless crowd. There are no seats available, and even if there were I wouldn’t take them. I’m young and healthy. There’s no reason for me to sit, not when other people need it more.
The doors close, and everyone clusters tightly together, a shifting mass of humanity. Since I’m shorter than average, I’m always at a disadvantage. The looped straps that hang overhead, the ones most people hold onto, are too high unless I’m on my toes. I reach for one now but miss it by a centimeter at the same moment that the train lurches into motion. Off balance, I fall backward with my arms windmilling, smacking people as I go down. I brace for the humiliation of hitting the dirty floor, but before that happens someone yells out a surprised, “Whoa!” Strong arms catch me, then right me, setting me gently on my feet.
I open my mouth to say thank you just as the scent of mint hits my nose.
My breath catches. My brain rewinds.
A white room.
Tangled sheets.
I turn sharply, my pulse hammering, and suddenly—he’s there before me. Not a memory, like the one I’ve replayed so many times. The real man, flesh and blood, tall and brown-haired. Warm brown eyes flung wide, staring at me like I’m a dream he just woke up from.
“K?” he breathes, searching my face. “Is that you?”
My hand flies up to pat my hair, purple now, but it doesn’t matter. He knows me. “Y—yes? T?”
His hands haven’t let go from catching me. They stay on my hips, large and warm. He tightens them, steadies me, because I’ve begun to wobble. I want to blame it on the motion of the train, but deep down, I know better.
Be normal. Act normal.
I suck in a breath. “H—hi. How are you?”
He smiles at me, sunshine and crinkled eyes, but there’s a shadow in those depths, one I don’t remember from before. “I’m good. You?”
I bob my head. “Yep. Good.” I can’t believe it, that he’s right here in front of me, touching me. I scramble for something more. I’m not ready for him to leave, not yet.
“Did you, um, were you able to, you know, after you left the room?”
I raise a shaky hand to my forehead and rub it, wincing.
Jesus. Way to go straight for the kill. Small talk would’ve been nice.
My question doesn’t seem to bother him, though. It’s almost like he expected it, which I guess makes sense. After all, that was our only interaction.
“Yeah. It worked every time after that.”
Every time. The flare of jealousy is so overwhelming I almost fall down again. “That’s great,” I say through gritted teeth. “Your wife must be so happy.”
His features darken. There’s a slope to his shoulders now, like he carries a burden. “I’m divorced. As you might have guessed, there were other things wrong with my marriage, more than just that. In the end, nothing I did made it better. I tried, but it just…ended.”
My heart aches for him. I know how much he believes in true love. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, meaning it with everything I have.
His throat works for a second. “How about you? How’s everything going in that department?” T says it like we’re speaking in code, which makes sense. This isn’t exactly the kind of thing you talk about on a crowded subway train.
“Oh.” Unconsciously, I run my finger over my latest tattoo. It’s an arrow on my wrist, always pointing inward. Beneath it, two words: be brave. I trace the ink like a talisman before answering, “I don’t know. I actually haven’t had a chance to try.”
He quirks his head at that, confusion flashing across his face. “You mean you haven’t…since me?”
“No.” One last grounding touch to the tattoo, then I pull myself up tall. “I realized I needed to work on loving myself first, before I could love someone else. So that’s what I’ve been doing. Lots of therapy, self-reflection. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m proud of myself. I think I’ve made a lot of progress.”
This time, it’s the smile I remember. The one that lights up his face. “I’m glad to hear that. Happy for you.”
Finally, he releases me, takes a step back. My stomach drops with disappointment. This is it. Where we say good-bye for the last time.
But that’s not what happens.
He sticks out his hand with a smile. “Hi, I’m Trevor.”
T.
Trevor.
I shake his offered hand, loving how it engulfs my smaller one. “Kristi.”
“Kristi.” He rolls my name around in his mouth as if he likes the taste of it. “That’s a good name.” He moves closer, one step, and bends down to speak in my ear. His voice is warm, familiar.
“Well, Kristi, I’m new to this city, so you might have to pick the restaurant, but I was wondering if maybe I could take you to dinner?”
Something slides into place. A key fits into a lock.
I beam at him, and he grins back.
I tell Trevor, “I’d like that.”
THE END
***
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***
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