Page 22

It’s been eight hundred and sixty seven days since I’ve last seen him, and my first instinct is to run away.

God, he looks good—different, but good. He’s still wearing those same glasses because they always said they made him look more scholarly when I made fun of him our senior year for not being able to see.

He told me once he never wanted contacts because of how much he rubs his eyes, and I hate that all these things are trickling back into my thoughts.

My heart lurches as that memory comes back, and my hand goes right to my necklace again. He looked at it before we got in the elevator, and I couldn't tell if he knew it was the same one he got me all those years ago. If he noticed, he hasn't said anything about it.

Neither of us has said much of anything as we stand here, waiting for the elevator to move .

It’s a few seconds later I realize neither of us pushed a button to get back to the lobby, so we’ve just been sitting on the same floor since we awkwardly walked in here.

He must realize it at the same time as me, because we both reach for the button for the lobby, and neither of us actually ends up pressing it. I accidentally graze his hand, and he flinches, pocketing his hand in his jeans.

“Sorry,” is the first word I say to him. That single word carries so much weight, and he knows that, even though I’m only talking about the button.

“It’s fine.”

The two of us are dancing around the actual conversation, but as his voice filters through my ears, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. All I can hear is him pleading with me, his voice thick with emotion as I tear his heart to shreds.

“ I love you.”

“I don’t.” God, what a liar I was. What a horrible thing I did, breaking this sweet man next to me. Part of me wishes this elevator would crush me after he gets out.

I reach for my necklace again, wanting the smallest bit of comfort it could bring me.

The two of us face the doors, neither of us sparing a glance at one another as Henry pushes the button and it finally starts to move.

I can’t think of anything else to say to him. There’s no amount of small talk in the world that could fill the awkward tension. We also can’t have the beginnings of this conversation in a small elevator before we go to dinner with our friends.

Oh. There’s a word I never thought I would say again.

Are they our friends again? They’re barely even my friends again, so I’m not really sure if I could even say that.

How strange to think of us once having a shared group of people who cared about us singularly and as a unit.

I ruined that for him. I ruined us, and I ruined his relationship with the guys.

Or maybe I didn't, if they invited him here for the wedding. Maybe they kept in touch. I could ask him, but again, that feels too miniscule. Anything I say besides an apology or an explanation is pretty much pointless.

So, I run away from trying to have any sort of conversation with him, even though I should at least try; it seems like the easiest thing to do right now.

I’m counting down the floor numbers before I hear him scoff and see him shake his head.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. I don’t turn to look at him. I can’t. I’m afraid if I spend a second looking into his eyes, I'll see the remnants of how much I destroyed him looking back at me, and I can’t handle that.

The elevator dings, and before it opens to the lobby, he speaks.

“You can’t spend the entire time pretending I don't exist like you have all these years, Amelia.”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“Sure it was,” he says. “But we’ll be seeing a lot of one another, so try to stop running for once, because we have a lot to talk about. I’m not leaving here without any answers like I did the last time you ran from me.”

I’m stunned. I’ve never heard him be so forward before. I thought we would dance around it like we used to dance around serious conversations, but I shouldn't have underestimated him. Of course, he wants answers. If I was him, I would too.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” I say with a whisper before he turns to look at me, stopping the elevator doors from closing on him.

“Forgive me if I take that sentence with a grain of salt. ”

And then, he walks away from me, leaving me hoping this elevator crashes. I’m sure it would hurt less than my conversations with him will go. I know he wants answers. I know my words mean nothing to him after what I did.

But it still stings he doesn't think I could change in all the years I’ve been away. I guess that’s what happens when you burn every bridge and make a thousand mistakes you wish you could undo.

He’s allowed to be angry at me. He’s allowed to because of how I treated him, and I’m going to have to remind myself of that every time I feel like punching myself in the face for what I did to him and the girls.

Deep breaths, Ames . The girls are on their way to forgiving you .

They are, but Henry isn't going to be so easy. With the girls, I said nothing and ghosted them while I was in England. With Henry, every word I said to him in that parking garage is probably burned into his memory. It’s easy to take back things I never said or did, but what’s difficult is trying to justify my actions.

There’s no way I can, but I’m sure as hell going to try and make him understand why I did it and what I’ve been doing since then to work on myself.

Maybe he’ll forgive me at some point, but I won’t be surprised if he never does. Maybe the two of us were meant to have an unfinished story, or one that ends ambiguously, where the reader and the narrator don’t know what will end up happening.

Another hand comes in to stop the elevator from closing in on me, and my thought spiral stops before I fly too far off the handle.

“Is everything okay?” Ella asks as I shake out of my stupor.

“Yup,” I say quickly. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

And when Ella and I see the others, the tension rises, and I’m sure we’re in for the most awkward dinner of our lives.

Just don’t ruin this for Paige, I remind myself, but that’s easier said than done.