Page 4 of Autumn on My Mind

Ice slips down my throat and into my stomach at that voice, so familiar and yet so foreign. I don’t even have a chance to prepare myself. I don’t have a minute to splash water on my face or give myself a pep talk, much less prepare a script or practice my perfect indifferent expression.

My brain is screaming at me to run away, but my body won’t listen. All I can do is turn slowly to look at him.

His appearance is rougher than it used to be; that’s what strikes me first. He’s scruffier, messier, and the hidden softness I remember is absent. Even so…I know that face. The glittering green eyes against the sun-weathered skin, the baseball cap with frayed edges, the sharp jaw and the amused smile.

Dominic Harper.

The man I once proposed to.

It’s him, undeniably.

And yet…this is not the man I knew. This is not the Dominic Harper of six years ago, the man with a rare but genuine grin, the one who carved pumpkins with me or snuck me a kiss when we passed each other on campus. I see it in his eyes.

That Dominic Harper is long gone.

And maybe it’s for the better. Because I’m not the Reese Berkeley I used to be, either, a silly dreamer, a people pleaser who loved love more than reality.

The smile slips from his lips when our eyes meet. Of course it does—he’ll probably never smile at me again. His gaze widens, like I know mine has.

It hurts. Seeing him hurts.

“Hi,” I say, except it’s more of a choking sound issuing from the back of my throat.

But this is me flying by the seat of my pants, figuring out what to say as I go, and it was never going to be pretty. I’d like to think I’m the kind of woman who can stay composed—he’s just an ex-boyfriend, after all—but…

He isn’t just an ex-boyfriend. He’s the ex-boyfriend. And because neither of us were stupid enough to think we could stay friends after we broke up, we didn’t.

I’m not sure I know this person.

Dominic’s expression has gone blank, and when he gives me a nod of greeting, it’s awkward and tense. He doesn’t meet my gaze, for which I’m grateful, because my pupils have been replaced by black holes of pure panic. For a second I think he’s not even going to speak. I stare at him, a landscape I used to paint daily, a home I haven’t returned to for years, familiar become strange.

When he finally opens his mouth, however, I blink.

“You have a little something right here,” he says quietly, pointing to the corner of his mouth. Then he slides off his barstool as easily as he slid on and walks away, tucking himself into the booth that’s as far from me as he can get.

I gape after him in indignation, lasers I direct at the back of his head. Yes, I was staring, but I wasn’t drooling.

No one ever hurt me as much as Dominic, because no one ever had enough of me to do so much damage. But I swallow that hurt now and whirl around to face forward again. My legs twitch, my muscles itching to run, run, run away from him, but I refuse to be so weak. I clench my hands instead, my thoughts spinning as memories try to claw their way from the vault where I’ve stored them.

I slam the vault shut. There will be none of that today, thank you very much.

I should have worn the freaking waterproof mascara. I should have brought an inhaler. Why am I having a hard time breathing? Why is there a weight on my chest, trying to crush my ribs?

Do I have asthma?

“Hal,” I all but gasp to the bartender. He pops up as though he’s been waiting for me, and when I gurgle at him for a glass of water, he nods. Thirty seconds later he plunks the cup down in front of me, and I drink half of it on the spot.

The cheerful jingle of a bell sounds through the bar again, and when a gust of wind hits the back of my neck, I know it must be my mother. I gulp in all the oxygen I can find in this oxygenless place, again and again until my head no longer spins. A second later I’m proven correct when I hear the clicking of heels coming closer.

“Hello, sweetheart,” my mother says from behind me. “Sit up straight; you’re not a rag doll.”

I do not sit up straight. Because although it’s not exactly what happened, I do feel like a rag doll, loved and worn and then discarded.

“Hi,” I say instead, in a strangled voice that I’m desperately trying to fix. I’m here for Alvina, not an ex from years ago. I look over my shoulder toward the entrance, where the door is swinging shut. After two very casual, very normal breaths, I say, “Did you come alone?”

“He’s on his way,” Alvina says nonchalantly. She settles herself on the stool next to mine with an ease that would be surprising if you didn’t know her. Then she drops her purse on the bar top and waves at Hal. “Hal, darling, I’d like to order, please.”

I can’t stop myself from looking her over as she talks to Hal. A rush of relief hits me when I see how different our outfits are. I’m in my favorite overalls and a sweater, half my hair hanging over my shoulders while the other half is in a careless bun on top of my head. My mother, on the other hand, is highly overdressed as per usual; she’s wearing a flouncy skirt, a soft blouse, and heels that could take out an eye. Her hair is a brown that’s no longer natural, several shades darker than mine, but the dye job is perfect, and it’s twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. A pair of sunglasses that are presumably very expensive are propped on top of her head, and while she gesticulates toward the menu, her rings and bracelet glint in the light.