Page 95 of When We Were Young

A few minutes later, we’re sitting on her couch sipping wine. We talk, sticking to safe topics. When she’s on her second glass, the tension that’s often in her shoulders and jaw is gone. The stress I sometimes see on her face is absent.

“I hope I didn’t mess up any plans you had for this evening,” she says in a hushed voice. She’s circling the rim of her wine glass with her index finger, her eyes fixed on the glass.

I study her, searching her face for a clue as to what she’s thinking.

“Hey, can you look at me for a second?” I’m careful to keep my tone soft.

She hesitates, but when her eyes meet mine, my breath catches because I see her, the Lizette I knew years ago. Her guard is down, and there’s vulnerability in her gaze. I see the woman I loved all those years ago.

Uh, you’ve never stopped loving her.

That’s a thought I’ve rejected for a decade every time it tried to push its way into the forefront of my brain. That voice in the back of my mind reminds me I loved her, and she chose someone else. Shut up, brain. Don’t overthink this and ruin tonight.

“I didn’t make any plans for this evening besides coming here. I wanted to be here.”

Her eyes widen just a touch, but I notice it. Her breathing picks up, and she drags her lower lip between her teeth.

“I know it’s been a long time⁠—”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she blurts out.

It’s the last thing I expected. I freeze. She’s giving us an opening to have a conversation I’ve wanted—no, needed—for a long time.

“I-I hurt you, too.” I hate saying it. Hate knowing that I intentionally caused her pain.

Back in college, I didn’t want those other girls. I wanted her. That first time I aimed to make her feel even a fraction of the pain I was in, I was trying to prove a point. The memory of Lizette kissing that asshole Carter tortured my mind and caused an ache in my chest that had been my constant companion since she ended things.

“You did.” Her eyes turn glassy, and she frowns. “That doesn’t make what I did okay, though. And I’m sorry. I hurt you, and then I showed up in your life a decade later, and you still stepped up to help me. You became my friend again. I don’t understand why. I’m grateful, but I’m so confused. The version of you I’ve built up in my mind after... after everything that happened isn’t this guy I’m seeing now. That version I created, he’s not kind and generous. He doesn’t make my shy little boy laugh and smile. He doesn’t try to take care of me even when I resist.”

She glances off to the side, then turns her gaze back to me, her eyes darting all over my face.

“That guy, he doesn’t make me want more.” Her focus settles, and she’s looking me straight in the eye. “But this guy, this Holden I’ve gotten to know again, he does.”

My heart skips a beat.

Deep down, I think I’ve waited for this chance, this conversation, for the last ten years.

All those years ago, when school broke for the holidays, I spent a lot of time reflecting on what a jerk I was being. The conclusion I reached was that what happened with us up until then didn’t matter. I was going to fight for her when we got back to school.

That’s what you do when you love someone. You don’t just give that kind of thing up. But she never came back. Her phone number no longer worked, and she disappeared from social media. She was gone, and I missed my chance to show her I was staying. That I wanted her and only her.

I hesitate.

How much do I say now?

My heart decides for me. “Why?” My voice is rough.

“Why what?” she asks. “Why do I think I want more?” Her voice is shaky now, and I hate that my question is most likely the reason.

“W-why did you choose him?” My voice breaks. I’m terrified of her answer, but it’s the question that’s been tormenting me for a decade. “Why did you choose Landon over me?”

She winces and sucks in a clipped breath. Then, like a rainstorm that hits suddenly, tears pour from her eyes and race down her cheeks.

“I didn’t. I p-promise I didn’t choose him. I never chose him.”

I don’t understand. She did. She told me outright.

I’ll never forget the words she said to me that night: ‘I’m choosing him. I weighed my options, and he’s the better choice for me.’ Those words have haunted me for a decade.