Chapter 57
fifty-seven
For the first time in weeks, I return to my apartment. Everything is just how I left it on the morning of the marathon. A coffeepot sits in the sink, filled with water, along with a mug and spoon. At my feet, I drop a trash bag filled with my dirty clothing.
Needing to warm up, I rub my hands over my arms and turn on the heater in the living room. When it clicks three times and makes a dying groan, I kick it, but it doesn’t help. I sigh and move to my next option, the heater in the bedroom. After some whiny protests, this one works.
I cup my hands together and blow warm air between them. When I sent Aggie for clothes, I should have asked her to turn one heater on low.
I shrug out of my coat and search for a sweater to layer on, but pause at the sight of the cardboard box sitting on my bed—the one left on my doorstep the night before the marathon.
I consider its contents and the drawings in my books.
With the new information, I connect the items in the box to Evan, not my parents.
Turning the box around, I look closer at the return address on the outside flap. It’s Aggie’s writing, not my mom’s or dad’s. She’s been a part of this more than she’s let on, at least for those few days that she knew. She really is Team Evan.
I’m not mad. How can I be after everything she’s done for me? I know she would never do anything to hurt me. Is that what she sees in Evan too? Someone who wouldn’t hurt me? With our chats the last few weeks, it’s become clear she’s sympathetic to his perspective.
Ready for answers, I lift the box and carry it back downstairs to Evan’s apartment. I steady it in one arm while sliding the key into the lock with the other. Inside, it’s warm.
“Hello?” I call out even though he shouldn’t be here. His apartment looks like he picked up and left right after I did. Our water glasses remain on the coffee table.
I shut the door and return to my room. I stumble over the label, but when I snap on the light and step inside, I don’t experience the same panic as the first time. Maybe it’s sunk in, or maybe it’s something else entirely.
I set the box on the bed and step to the wall.
My gaze wanders over a pinboard. There are photos of far-off places, inspirational quotes, dried flowers, movie tickets, and a million other tiny artifacts.
I smile when I find a photo of Evan and me.
We’re younger. His hair is a little longer, his face thinner, but he’s just as handsome.
I pluck it from the board and slide it into the pocket of my jeans.
I examine the other items in the room. The clothes in my closet are a wide range of colors, not just black. I find a lot of running clothes. At least that hasn’t changed.
At the computer, I stop to trace the letters on the keyboard with a fingertip.
What will I find on it? Old emails? Old homework?
More photos? I may have run away from some of these items in my past, but I’m in a different place than I was even a few weeks ago.
Despite my lingering struggles, I’m ready for answers.
With some of my memories returning, I’ve been anxious to find proof they’re real.
After I’ve gone through what can be seen on the surface, I sit on the bed to stare at the dressing table filled with costume jewelry and framed photos.
“We paid twenty bucks for it at Goodwill.”
I don’t react to Evan’s voice behind me. Instead, I try to remember that day.
“I hated it,” he says as he steps inside, “but you had to have it. You said it had pretty details and you wanted to give it a second life. So we borrowed a pickup truck, brought it home, and you painted it.”
He stands in front of me now, pointing down. “You accidentally dumped paint on the floor while you were working. If you look closely, you can see teal paint in the crevices of the wood.”
I’m not devastated for not remembering, but I want to know more, so I point to the pinboard. “And that?”
He turns his attention to it and grins. “You called that your vision board. You filled it with photos of places you wanted to travel, goals you wanted to achieve, and things you loved.”
Within my pocket, the photo I just stole, the one of Evan, seems to burn my thigh. My face heats, so I rise and step out into the hallway. Evan follows.
“Who’s this?” I point to the photo of the blond girl. The one I thought was the other woman.
“Steph.” He says her name with sadness. A smile materializes when he adds, “She was my best friend, our best friend. She set us up in a roundabout way.”
“Does she still live in Chicago?” Maybe I could meet her. Maybe she could fill in the gaps for me too.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “No, she was with you that day in the park. She—she didn’t make it.”
“Oh.” Now I’m mirroring his expression. Sadness.
I glance to the ceiling, desperate to find an image of Steph in my mind, one where we’re doing things that best girlfriends do. When I can’t find it, I have a new sense of guilt. My forehead crinkles. My best friend died and I didn’t even know? Why didn’t my parents tell me?
After a few moments of confusion, a new question emerges. “And you? Were you there?”
He squeezes his eyes shut, as if not wanting to remember.
“You’d been locked in the apartment, working on your thesis for months.
It was a beautiful Saturday, and I talked you into going out.
I had to work, so Steph met you at the park.
The plan was for me to join you after my meeting, but I arrived right as it happened.
I—Steph—just—and you . . .” His words drift off, and he winces as if horrible images are flashing behind his eyes.
“You don’t have to . . .”
“I do. I need to. I’ve been waiting so long to tell you how sorry I am. If I had stayed home with you, everything would have turned out different. You never would have been there. Steph never would have.”
What would my life be like if that day never happened? I’ve deliberated over it so many times, and now I understand. Evan holds the key to answering that question. He’s the one person who can fill in the missing details and make everything clearer.
I return to my room and open the cardboard box, removing the contents and laying them on the bed. “Explain these.”
He picks up the tickets first. “You loved New Wave ’80s music. You drove me fucking nuts listening to Blondie, The Clash, and The Cure.” He chuckles. “This is the first concert we went to. It was the first night you kissed me. You kept everything; you were sentimental like that.”
“My shirt?” I ask.
He nods. “From the same concert.” He picks up the sock and turns it right side out. On the outside are yellow squares with big round cartoon eyes.
“You gave me the nickname SpongeBob the first day you moved in. Anytime you saw something with him on it, you would buy it for me.”
“I guess that explains the Band-Aids.”
“And the boxers, pajamas, T-shirts, and slippers. You went nuts, but I loved it. And when you called me that nickname not long ago, I about died. I thought you were remembering.”
“Did you want me to remember?” I cock my head when his gaze burns into mine.
“Every second of every day. Everything we shared didn’t mean anything unless the person I loved remembered it too.”
His admission causes a lump to rise in my throat. I glance away, unsure if he’ll find the truth in my eyes. I want to remember too. I want to remember us.
He picks up the next item—the jewelry box. “I never had the chance to ask you the right way.”
He opens the ring box, and it’s empty.
“I slipped into the hospital after it happened. It hurt so much to see you that way—so broken, so helpless. It drove me crazy not being able to help you. If I could have traded places with you, I would. In a heartbeat. I would have done anything for you, but I couldn’t.
So I did what I could do. While you lay there in a coma, I told you all the things I didn’t get to before.
I slipped the engagement ring on your finger, believing you’d recover and we’d be together forever.
I didn’t know it would be the last time I saw you. ”
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head.
“Your parents didn’t want us together, Cait.
Long story short, there was a fight and a restraining order.
It was a mess. But I can’t blame them completely; it was my fault too.
I didn’t fight hard enough. Instead, I should have done everything in my power to be with you, no matter the consequences.
I should have never given up, and I’ve lived with that regret for a long time.
I’ve made all the wrong decisions since that day. ”
There’s more to the story, I can tell, but I’m doing everything I can to remain calm and to gradually step into this world of understanding.
I don’t want to get overwhelmed again. The important information is my parents kept us apart.
Of what I know of their selfish ways, I believe they have the capacity, the money and power to do so.
My hand shakes when I pick up the photo book, which I now understand was meant to be a travel journal.
“We had mapped out a trip to travel the world after your graduation.” Evan takes the book and sets it on the bed.
He steps closer, and I don’t protest when he gathers me into an embrace, because I’m already crying and pressing my wet cheeks into his chest. There were so many experiences we missed out on, so many big plans for a huge life.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks. I grasp his sweater between my fingers. Evan cups the back of my head and shushes me. His calming breath is warm on my neck. We were never given the chance to grieve together. So much was stolen from us.
We remain like this for several moments. When I lean away and peer at him, his eyes are red rimmed. Wetness streaks his cheeks. I wipe my own face with my sleeve.
Though our journeys have been different, he’s had to live with the truth all these years without anyone to understand him.
And though I’m only starting to understand what I lost, Evan’s the one person in the world who would truly understand my pain.
It sprang from the same moment and launched us in opposite directions, only to boomerang us back together.
“There’s so much to talk about. I don’t even know where to start.” He wipes his eyes, but his eyelashes still stick together in defined points.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“From day one, you made it clear you moved to Chicago for a fresh start. I knew if I acknowledged who you were, you would have run. You were a husk of the old Cait. Anytime I tried to interact, you pushed me away. It’s not an excuse, I know, but I was selfish too.
You have no idea how happy I was to see you again, even if it was in passing.
I accepted the situation because I wanted you to have a chance to move on without your past haunting you. I just wanted to see you happy.”
“But you flirted with me. For over a year.”
“I didn’t think you noticed or cared.” He shrugs, seeming unsure of himself. “Until one day, you did. Suddenly, we were talking and laughing like old times. You were becoming my Cait again. It was like you were remembering us. And that . . .”
He snags his lip with his teeth. “I tried to stay away, but you hooked me in, offered yourself, and I couldn’t say no.
I thought if I had one final night with you, I could say good-bye and move on.
But I was wrong. I fell in love with you all over again .
. . and that last part I’m not sorry about. ”
“I understand, and I feel so much for you too, but—” I pause and watch a single tear drip down his cheek. There’s so much torment behind his stormy eyes. My eyes glaze with tears too.
I grab his hand and squeeze, reassuring him. He smiles and lifts his chin, doing his best to be stoic.
I go on, “I want to remember all the amazing things you saw in us too. Our beginning, our love story, and all the reasons we made these grand plans. Now that I know they exist, that’s all I can think about.
At the same time, I need time to process.
I only thought I lost myself, and suddenly, I’ve discovered I lost so much more. An entire life. A love. A future. You.”
I swallow and look away, my lip wobbling. My gaze returns to his.
“It’s a lot to absorb. It’s been overwhelming. Almost surreal.” My words are unsure and low. He’s already waited so long, but I’m still mourning the loss of what could have been.
“I get it,” he says with a sad expression. “Take as much time as you need in the apartment. Stay if you want. It never stopped being your place too. I’ll just—I’ll see you around, okay?”
He leaves, and I’m left staring at the spot where he stood. It’s as big as the hole in my heart. I remember standing outside his door after our night together. Inside, I screamed for a chance to see where our relationship would lead.
And now I understand why I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Why my every thought was consumed by Evan and winning him over.
It was because of the bond forged between us years ago. It refused to break, despite the interference of my family, a tragedy, eight hundred miles of distance, or the passing of time.