Page 54 of Every Silent Lie

When I land at my desk, I chew my lip, staring down at my phone as I revisit last night for the thousandth time, picking it all to pieces. His anger. The hurt he couldn’t hide. How he walked away when I went after him. I wanted to call him and blurt my truths, try to make him understand me.

But I bottled it.

Because I’m a coward.

Just burying my head in the sand again.

When will I stop doing that?

Now? And is it too late? Will Dec even answer if I call?

I grab my mobile and dial him, pacing up and down, trying to conjure up some words. None come to me. So I cut the call before it rings and hang my head in exasperation as I drop to my chair and a knock sounds. “Come in, Thomas.” His head pops around the door as I’m fixing my fluffy hair in a low knot, his smile big and cheesy. I’m surprised he’s shown his face. “Let’s talk about the draft accounts,” I say, stern.

“I have a better idea.”

“What?”

He moves aside, opening the door wide, revealing Crystal. Not that I can see her, because she’s concealed. “Let’s talk about who could have sent you these beautiful flowers.”

I stare at the extravagant spray of winter blooms, my heart bucking. “You can leave them on the table,” I murmur, eyes fixed on them as Crystal makes her way across my office and sets them on the coffee table by the chair.

“So pretty,” she says, petting the petal of a rose. “Would you like me to get a vase?”

“What?”

“A vase. To put your flowers in.”

“No.” I get up and usher them out of my office, slamming the door and resting my back against it. He sent me flowers? He saw me on the pavement, cold, wet, barefoot, he drove away leaving me there, but he’s sent me flowers?

I approach my desk like a nervous dog, almost cowering, unsure about the gift before me that’s enticing me with promises of hope and affection.

The card is lost amid the foliage, a small white fleck among the abundance of bright colours. Lowering to the chair, I pluck it out and hold my breath as I open the envelope. Is this his way of confirming that what we could’ve had is gone? That I’m too broken, too cold, too spineless, and too weak for him to bother anymore? They’re all fair assessments. But, no. Why would he send flowers to mark the end?

Sliding the card out, I exhale when I read the words.

* * *

I don’t fuck for the sake of fucking, Camryn. And I don’t kiss for the sake of kissing. I want that to be clear. The ball is in your court. Dec.

* * *

There are so many unwritten words on this card, so many words left unsaid, but I hear them all. The ball is in my court. He won’t pursue me. And he’s not interested in doing anything for the sake of it. So he expects the same from me.

I sink into the chair, regret and shame sweeping in and eating me alive from the inside out. They’re the brightest flowers he could have found. An explosion of colour on the blank canvas of my life.

Symbolic.

I remain in my office for the rest of the day, distracted, obsessing over his words, pacing up and down, dialling him endless times and not following through with the call, because what would I say to him? Thank you? Sorry? Can we start again? Or do I let all of my demons pour out of me? Tell him the truth. Not that I’ve lied.

At least, not vocally. More . . . silently.

At four thirty, I’m going out of my mind, searching for the courage I need to move forward. It’s not so much calling Dec or even talking to him, but it’s what I’ve finally accepted it’s leading to.

I read the card for the millionth time, slipping it into my bag when Debbie wanders in. She eyes my flowers but doesn’t pass comment. “These need your signature, and I’ve been asked to remind you about Christmas Jumper Day tomorrow and Secret Santa on Thursday.” Her face is a picture of awkwardness, her pink lips rolling inward and disappearing.

“I don’t own any Christmas jumpers.”

“Of course you don’t, Camryn. Why would you?” She pivots and leaves. “Just delivering the message.”