Chapter 34 #2
Some selfish part of me had thought I’d find her here, and maybe she’d be the same Diana from last night, trying to kiss me, not expecting me to lash out because she didn’t know.
But she doesn’t even acknowledge my presence.
I kneel beside her, careful not to startle her. The room smells faintly sterile, nothing like before, and the unfamiliarity makes me sad, but I ignore it for now.
“So… you finally got my letter, huh?” I try to keep my voice light, but it still cracks. And when her head snaps up to look at me, I can’t breathe.
Her eyes are wide, haunted, like she’s seeing a ghost. And maybe she is, seeing the ghost of what we used to be.
Then her face crumples.
She’s crying. Not a few tears either, she’s crying harder than I’ve ever seen her, guttural, complete devastation. And I don’t feel much better, but I can’t think about that right now.
I wrap my arms around her, and she clings to me, desperately, sobbing like she’s never going to stop. “It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice breaking even as I try to soothe her. “It’s okay, Di. Everything will be okay.”
The words are said through her tears, hoarse like she’s been crying since last night. “We could have been together, all this time.”
That tears through me, the truth that I’m trying not to think about, but my own tears fall from my eyes as she says it, leaning my head against hers. We cling to each other as the reality crashes down for me, the same way it has for her.
We lost 40 years.
Diana doesn’t pull away, even when her sobs from before start to turn into light sniffles. She clings to me hard, and I can understand that.
I never want to let go of her again.
But at some point, the exhaustion must catch up with her because she shifts us so that she can lie between my legs.
I lift my hand and run my fingers through her hair, the way I used to when we were young. She leans into my touch, a broken sound leaving her throat.
“My life…” she murmurs, hollowed out by grief. “My whole life was ruined.”
That stops me.
I may feel that way, I’ve been alone, going from fling to fling, my brief happiness with Pat taken away much too soon, but Diana feeling that way? I won’t allow it.
I still my hand in her hair long enough to make sure she’s listening. “That’s not true.”
She huffs in disagreement.
“Look at me.” I sit up so she has no choice but to sit up too. And it takes a second, but she does. “Your life wasn’t ruined,” I tell her. “Maybe it was hard, and maybe it would have gone differently if you had known, but it wasn’t ruined.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand—”
“I do,” I interrupt, brushing away the fresh tears falling from her eyes. “You may not have loved Scott the way you love me, but you built a family with him. You raised children. You have grandkids who adore you. None of them would be here if you hadn’t lived the life you did.”
My throat feels tight as I fight back tears. “And somehow… somehow, after all this time, you still found your way back to me.”
I think I get through to her.
Because slowly, I see some, not all, but some of the hurt leave her eyes. “You… you don’t hate me?”
I shake my head, smiling at the insanity of that question. “I could never hate you, Di. You know that. You read that horribly embarrassing letter.”
She stares down at the letter. “It wasn’t embarrassing,”
“I was hurt,” I admit. “I thought you didn’t feel the same way. I thought you read my letter and chose him anyway.”
“You broke my heart, Di.” Her lips part, and her eyes fill again.
“But you do feel the same way, right?” I add, trying to lighten it. “Turns out I wasn’t completely delusional.”
“I always did,” she whispers. “I didn’t know you gave me a choice. And knowing after everything, that all these years you thought I was using you…”
I wince as she trails off. Guilt pinning me in place. I was such a bitch to her last night, yelling at her, shoving her away, the things I said, the look on her face when I told her to leave.
“I’m… I’m really sorry about last night.”
“Lily… you don’t have anything to apologize for—”
“Yes, I do,” I say. “You don’t have to downplay it. You were trying to tell me how you felt, and I was horrible to you.”
Her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together.
“Can I…” she starts, then stops, trying again after a deep breath. “No. I want to kiss you. And don’t—” Her voice trembles, but she holds herself together. “Don’t push me away this time.”
I lift my hand to her cheek. “I won’t. Never again.”
Relief washes over her face so openly it nearly breaks me as she leans in, giving me a chance to pull back, to change my mind.
I would never.
Our lips meet, tentative after so many years. It’s not rushed or hungry. We’re both feeling too much for that right now. But it’s perfect. Real in a way nothing else has ever been.
When she makes a quiet sound against my mouth and clutches my oversized shirt, I kiss her a little deeper, my other hand sliding into her hair, fingers threading through the gray strands.
And it hits me then that this is the first time we’re kissing without fear. Or guilt. We’re not lying about what we feel. She loves me, and I love her, and I’m kissing her openly.
When we pull apart, our foreheads rest together again, both of us breathing a little heavy, a little unsteady.
She smiles. It’s small, still tinged with sadness, but love and happiness are there too, and then she says the last thing I expect.
“I want to get married.”
It takes me a second to process it, because what? She looks completely serious, and I don’t know what that says about her. We just kissed for the first time in 40 years, not even a minute ago.
I purse my lips. “Married?”
She nods, certainty all over her face. “I don’t want to lose any more time. And I want to see you in a wedding dress.”
Warmth blooms in my chest, along with so much love, pushing back the old hurt until it’s almost gone completely. I lift my hand to her cheek again, and I know it’s unhinged, but how am I supposed to say no?
“Okay, Di. Whatever you want.”
Her hands slide up to my arms, gripping me tight as she leans forward, our breaths mingling, before she kisses me again, only a peck, but we’re both trembling when she pulls back.
We get to do this now.
“I loved you my whole life,” she says, resting her forehead against mine.
I close my eyes, breathing her in. Because for the first time in my entire life, I don’t push my feelings back. I don’t ignore them or resent them, I live in them, and I smile.