Page 101 of What He Never Knew

My heart squeezed, a completely different kind of anxiety causing my muscles to seize. This time, it was born of the fear of rejection, the fear of putting my heart on the line only to have it passed up, like a bowl of peas on a dinner table.

“Now, I tell him how I feel,” I said, heart racing as an idea came to me. It was stupid. It was big. It was risky. But if I had a prayer of getting back the man I’d lost, it would all be worth it.

“And how do you do that?”

I smiled. “By using the only language he’ll understand.”

Reese

At least the weather was on my side.

Just like on the anniversary of my family’s death, there was a torrential downpour soaking all of Pittsburgh to its bones the day before Sarah was destined to leave town. I drove through the gray, miserable rain on my way across town, taking in the foggy skyline as the sun dipped away somewhere above the dark gray clouds. It was just another Friday night at The Kinky Starfish, another day in my monotonous routine of surviving — and that’s all it was, surviving.

I didn’t live anymore.

It was the same state of being I’d been in before Sarah walked into my life, and it didn’t surprise me that with the knowledge of her leaving, I was slipping right back into my comfort zone of nothingness. For the last two weeks, I’d done the same thing every day — wake up, take Rojo for a long walk, work out at the house, play piano, lose an afternoon watching movies, pop open a beer as soon as five o’clock hit — unless I was working at The Kinky Starfish — and to be honest, even sometimes then. I was doing whatever I could to get my ass out of bed and keep going, even when it felt like there was nothing to keep going for.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, my pulse beat hard and haphazardly right along with the windshield wipers on my old car trying to combat the rain. Because I knew I would see her.

And I also knew it would be the last time.

I’d made a promise to Charlie when she chose Cameron that I would let her go as gracefully as I could. Well, it turned out I had about as much grace as I did vegetables in my pantry. That is to say — absolutely none.

But with Sarah, I would follow through on my promise.

I’d tried to keep her, tried to get her to listen, to believe me, to believe inus. I couldn’t make her choose me, and so I would choose to be happy for her, for her next journey — whether I was a part of it or not. This time, I would have grace in letting the one I love go.

Maybe because she was the one I’d loved more than any other in my life.

It seemed impossible, even as my heart beat the truth of it into my chest. How could I love her after only knowing her a few months? How could I feel this connection to a woman just barely over half my age?

None of it made sense, and I guessed that was the most intriguing thing about love. It didn’t have to make sense.

It didn’t have to be reciprocated, either.

The potholes in the back lot of The Kinky Starfish were full of water, and I sloshed through them as I parked my car, pulling my rain jacket on and popping open a large umbrella as soon as my door was open. My shoes were soaked in an instant, the rest of me barely saved from the coat and umbrella. It was the kind of rain that was nearly impossible to shield yourself from.

When I made it inside, I shivered at the air blasting from the air conditioner in the back of the kitchen. Shaking my umbrella off, I propped it by the door before peeling my jacket off and hanging it on the rack.

I was in such a daze that I didn’t realize mine was the only jacket there.

Or that my car was one of only two in the parking lot.

Or that the kitchen was empty, the lights dimmed, even though our doors would open in less than half an hour.

None of it hit me, not until I walked through the swinging kitchen doors and out onto the floor to prep my setlist for the night and saw that my seat was already taken.

Itallhit me then — the dark, empty restaurant, the candles flickering from where they sat on top of the piano, the fact that I was completely alone in a place that should have been buzzing to life right now in preparation for a busy night ahead.

Well, almost completely alone.

Sarah sat at the bench I usually occupied, a soft melody flowing through the space between us as she let her hands glide over the keys. Her eyes were soft, hopeful, and yet I saw the fear in them as she watched me from across the room.

I stepped closer, broaching the circle where the piano sat under the chandelier. It was funny, the way the room was set up, because I was in almost the exact same proximity to her as when we were together in my home — her at the piano, me off in the right-hand corner. As soon as I crossed that threshold, Sarah paused, letting silence fall over us. Her eyes met mine, and I saw goodbye written all over them as I waited for her to speak.

But she didn’t.