Chapter Twenty-Seven #2

“Can I ask you something?” she asks, still staring at her feet.

I hum, letting her know she can. “Was I…” She trails off, clearly struggling to figure out how to ask what she wants to know.

“Was I the reason for your breakup?” I tense.

Not because it’s an inappropriate question, but because the answer is…

complicated. She scrunches her nose sheepishly.

“That came out way more pompous than I meant. I just mean, I said some things I probably should’ve kept to myself.

I sent you that song. I just feel like it’s my fault. ”

She may have acted as a catalyst, but not because she did anything wrong. But it also wasn’t a single moment that made me realize getting married would be a mistake but several, all piled on top of one another until they became too much to ignore.

“He changed. Once we were engaged. Or maybe I did, I don’t know.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped being partners.

It’s like we were living together but parallel to each other, not together, you know?

When I looked ahead at our future, all I could see were dinner parties and fancy restaurants and being stuck at home while he was working late and traveling to meetings.

It didn’t make me happy. I loved him, but I’d stopped loving the life I had with him.

” I release a shuddering breath. “I suppose that doesn’t make sense. ”

“It makes sense,” she says quickly.

“I feel guilty. And selfish. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to communicate my needs and expectations instead of waiting for him to figure it out on his own.” Because that’s what you’re supposed to do in a healthy relationship, right? Communicate, not expect.

“First of all, you shouldn’t feel selfish for prioritizing your happiness. Second, if he didn’t take the time to ask what you wanted out of your life together, then you weren’t a priority. And honestly, maybe he didn’t deserve you.”

“I don’t know about that.” I wasn’t perfect in our relationship. Looking back, it was clear I never loved him completely. No one deserves to be on the other end of that.

Alex takes my hand and squeezes in gentle encouragement. “I know it hurts,” she says as though she’s speaking from experience. Perhaps she is. “There’s no rush to get over it. To get over him.”

What I don’t tell her is that it wasn’t the song she sent in the middle of the night or the way she confessed that it was easier on her heart not being around me or even the memory of our grass rings.

But the slow realization that no matter how I tried to ignore it, my heart still belonged to a girl I have loved in every capacity, in every shape and form, since I was seven years old.

That every time I imagined my future, the only person I saw myself with was her.

The park is crowded despite it being so hot. July brings a heatwave that is no joke. I packed my lunch to avoid having to go out, but when Alex texted me a couple hours ago asking if I wanted to meet her in the park, not even the breath of the scorching sun could keep me from accepting.

I pin up my hair so it’s off my neck and search the spot where she told me she would be.

She’s been staying with Simone in DC since the house sold last week, and despite the three-hour drive, she’s come into Philly the past two weekends so we can stay in and watch cheesy movies.

Asking to meet me for lunch on a Tuesday, however, is new.

A couple of cyclists whiz past, and that’s when I spot her sitting alone on a bench just along the main path.

Her face is tilted toward the treetops, her posture relaxed in a way I haven’t seen on her since we were teenagers.

She’s dressed casual, shorts and a T-shirt, and her arm drapes over her helmet like an armrest. The image is almost too peaceful to disturb.

“Hi.”

She turns, and her smile grows. “Hi. You made it.” She stands and leans in for a hug, one that I fall into easily. “You look nice today.”

“Thank you. Care to tell me what you’re doing in my neck of the woods?”

She sits and motions for me to do the same, then pats the basket between us. “Bringing you lunch, remember?”

“You drove from DC to Philly to bring me lunch?” The thought is sweet, but I’m not buying it.

“And to see you, obviously.” I give her a disbelieving look that seems to amuse her. “Okay, and because I have some news, and I didn’t want to tell you over text or wait until this weekend.”

“Oh?” My heart sinks. Every conversation she has ever started this way has always led to her leaving. I brush away some invisible lint on my skirt to avoid the apologetic look that usually follows.

“I got a job at Stratton Digital. They’re this cool advertising agency that are doing some really innovative things. They’re also close to my new apartment. Which is the other bit of news I wanted to tell you. I signed a lease for an apartment just outside the city.”

“Wait.” I hold my hand up to prevent her from saying more. My brain is having a hard time processing all the information. “You got an apartment and a job just outside of the city? Which city?”

She laughs. “This city.”

I stare at her. I must’ve misheard. “You mean DC?”

“No, I mean Philadelphia.” She finishes and flashes me a lopsided grin. One that makes my stomach flip. “Mason always told me to follow my heart, so…” She shrugs, and my breath catches.

“Your heart…is in Philly?”

“Yeah.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like she hasn’t only been here a handful of times. “Where else would I go?”

“Anywhere,” I answer without meaning to, especially because I don’t mean it.

Her head tilts, and her gaze softens. “Anywhere doesn’t have you.”

My mind goes blank, but my heart thumps wildly. Like it knows what this means before my head finally catches up.

“Cheesesteaks and brotherly love, you know?” She keeps going while I continue to stare. “Speaking of…” She opens the basket to produce two large cheesesteaks. “I know you have to get back to work, so lunch. As promised.”

I take the sandwich and slowly unwrap it, a million new questions popping into my head. But I don’t ask any of them. Instead, I choose to focus on the fact that Alex is choosing to stay.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.