20. Robin
ROBIN
“Ahh yes. Here is our middle son. Micah.”
No. It was not possible. There were lots of people named Micah.
"Robin."
My mother's voice pulled my attention back and my gaze lifted.
And landed on… Micah.
At first my brain refused to cooperate. The face was familiar, blue eyes behind glasses, messy blond hair.
There had to be a mistake, but I knew that face.
No.
No, no, no.
I think the conversation moved on around us, but I couldn’t be sure. The entirety of my brain was hung up on the fact that this could not be my Micah.
Then he winked.
Anyone else at the table would have missed it entirely. The small gesture made me want to throw up. There was no denying it now. But I knew exactly what it meant. It was our thing. Or it was before whatever this was.
Was this all a trick? Some elaborate ruse? How could I have been so dumb? How could I have fallen for this? How could I have trusted him so blindly?
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stay in that room another second.
My chair scraped sharply against the floor as I stood.
The conversation stopped. Every face turned toward me. I barely noticed. My mother said something. I think she called my name. Someone else asked if I was okay.
The words blurred together into meaningless noise. The only thing I could focus on was getting out.
The dining room doors swung open as I pushed through them. My pulse hammered wildly beneath my skin as I crossed the restaurant at a pace just shy of running.
Behind me, I vaguely heard my mother calling my name again. I didn't stop.
For weeks I'd been telling myself that maybe people could surprise you. Maybe they weren't always what you expected. Maybe relationships were worth the risk.
Because somehow, despite everything I knew about the world, I'd let myself believe I was safe.
The cold hit me the second I pushed through the restaurant doors.
November air hit me like a slap, stealing my breath and snapping me out of the strange, underwater haze that had settled over everything inside. I stopped on the sidewalk and sucked in a lungful of freezing air, trying to make my brain catch up with reality. Unfortunately, reality was the problem.
I stared out across the parking lot as families came and went carrying leftovers and children and pie boxes. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. A car door slammed. The world continued moving with complete indifference to the fact that mine had just tipped sideways.
There was no way. I pressed a hand against my forehead. There was absolutely no way. Maybe I'd misunderstood.
Maybe there was another Micah. A bizarre coincidence involving two awkward blonde men with glasses and an unhealthy obsession with Star Trek. Like a Parent Trap twins separated at birth thing.
The explanation was ridiculous, I knew that.
But it still made more sense than the truth.
Because the truth meant the man I'd spent weeks falling for was the son of Pastor Nottingham.
The truth meant every conversation we'd had about Ascension Fellowship had happened while he was a part of that family.
The truth meant I had walked into that room completely blind while everyone else knew something I didn't.
The truth hurt.
"Robin!"
The sound of his voice cut through the noise of the parking lot.
My entire body locked up for one terrible second, instinct urged me to keep walking. I was going to get in my car and leave… only, fuck, I didn’t drive. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to call an uber.
I looked up and there he was.
Micah. The man who made French toast in my kitchen. Who pointed out constellations and sent me terrible jokes before eight in the morning.
For a moment, looking at him almost made it worse. Because he looked exactly the same. He looked like nothing had changed, but everything had changed.
He stopped a few feet away, breathing hard from running after me. His expression was a mess of panic and regret and something that looked suspiciously like fear.
"Please," he said. "Please let me explain."
The words cracked whatever restraint I had left.
I laughed. It was a sharp, ugly sound. "How could you possibly explain?"
His face fell. "Robin—"
"No. Seriously." I spread my hands. "Go ahead. Explain. Because I'd love to hear this."
"I wanted to tell you."
The answer came immediately like he'd been rehearsing it. The realization stung.
"You can't have wanted to tell me too bad."
His shoulders sagged.
"Please, Robin. I did. I tried so many times."
I shook my head. Every word out of his mouth felt wrong. Everything he said was a lie. Everything I felt was a lie. I didn't know what to believe anymore.
The certainty I'd felt around him was gone, replaced by something sharp and unstable.
"I’m not like them." The plea in his voice was obvious. Heartbreaking, even.
Under different circumstances it might have worked. Maybe yesterday it would have worked. Today it only made me angry.
I folded my arms across my chest and stared at him. "Oh, really?"
His mouth closed. The silence felt like an answer enough.
"Then tell me Micah, who are you? Because I don’t know who the fuck you are."
The words landed exactly where I intended them to. I watched him physically recoil.
“Yes, you do. You know me better than anyone.”
I just stared at him, my mouth gaping. “How could that possibly be true?”
"I wanted to tell you," he said quietly. "I really did."
I almost hated that he sounded sincere. It would have been easier if he was arrogant or defensive. Instead, he looked devastated. And somehow that only made everything hurt more.
"Not badly enough to actually tell me."
His eyes closed briefly.
I kept going. Because once the anger started moving, I couldn't seem to stop it. "You let me walk into that."
"Robin—"
"You let me sit down at that table."
"I didn't know." The frustration in his voice finally surfaced as desperation filled his voice.
"I swear to you, I didn't know. I spent the entire afternoon fighting with them.
I told them I wasn't coming back to the church.
I told them I wouldn't support what they're doing anymore.
I didn't know what families were meeting us. "
That made me hesitate. Just for a second. The image of the conversation flashed through my mind of Micah arguing with his parents. The picture fit everything I knew about him. I hated that even now part of me wanted to listen.
Then another realization surfaced. One so obvious I couldn't believe I'd missed it. I stared at him. "Wait."
His expression shifted.
"What?"
"You still go?"
Confusion crossed his face. "What?"
"You still go to that church."
The words tasted bitter. I think about the way his phone blew up the Sunday when he got my McDonald’s because I was hung over. Then to that very first night when he’d left after making me breakfast.
All the moments I'd never questioned because I'd trusted him… but now.
"Robin—"
"No." The pieces kept falling into place. "You were leaving my bed on Sunday mornings and going to that church."
His face went pale. I saw the exact second he realized how that sounded.
The silence stretched. My stomach twisted.
"Nothing to say, huh?"
"Robin, please." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry."
I looked away because hearing the pain in his voice was making this harder.
"Please just talk to me."
The plea hung between us. For a moment neither of us moved.
Thanksgiving traffic drifted through the parking lot behind him. Restaurant patrons passed by without paying attention. The entire world kept moving while mine had been obliterated just like the Death Star.
The worst part was that I still loved looking at him. I still knew the exact shade of blue in his eyes. Still knew how safe I'd felt wrapped in his arms beneath a meteor shower. None of that had disappeared. That was the problem. And I didn't know what to do with that.
I swallowed hard.
Then I forced myself to take a step backward. "We have nothing left to say."
The words hurt. I think they hurt him too. For a second he looked like he might argue. Instead, he just stood there, broken-hearted and silent beneath the fading November sunlight.
I turned away before I could change my mind.
Then I walked out of the parking lot. I didn’t know where I was going, I just needed to be anywhere but here.