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“Yeah, that’s true.” I know it. I’ve lived it.
“I’m sorry too,” he says out of nowhere.
“Don’t be. I get it, it’s your history. You get to do what—”
“No, I mean I’m sorry for strong-arming you that night. Out there.” He tips his head in the direction of the door. “For treating you the way I did.”
“It’s okay,” I say, my eyes skating away. “You were shocked, that’s all.”
“But I shouldn’t have said—I should’ve treated you better.” His hand rakes through his hair in an unconscious, aggravated motion. His apology isn’t polished and it looks uncomfortable. Real.
“It’s all water under the bridge,” I say, recalling one of my grandmother’s favored sayings. I carefully fold my take-out napkin against my knee as I ponder how warmth isn’t the same as heat, but how it can feel just as exquisite. “After everything, it’s hardly surprising you reacted that way. I know you don’t have to forgive me for what happened before, but I would really like for you to hear me out. Let me say sorry.”
My chest tightens as I brace, and he makes a groan of my name, like I’m asking too much. Too much of him.
“I just . . . I really need to do this,” I say, plucking at my blouse. I put my water back on the table instead, not wanting to look like I’m trying to distract him. “You think I choose him over you,” I add quietly.
He doesn’t disagree, but I see those thoughts on his face anyway.
“Because I didn’t defend you, that I let you take the blame.” My tongue darts out to wet my lips, the words not coming so easily. “I know that’s what you remember, and you’re right.”
Something cold and a little confused mars his brow. I hurry on, my throat tight and aching.
“But I wasn’t choosing him over you—I want you to know that. I didn’t let you shoulder the blame because you meant nothing to me.”
“That’s not what I think.” His tone turns rough.
“But you think I chose myself.” Tears prick at my eyes. “And maybe I did, but I was only trying to survive him.”
“Your father wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You think?” My words are a tiny bit incredulous. Troy looks torn. “Well, he wouldn’t leave visible scars, at least. A lot happened that night,” I say, rushing on. “He said some things that he couldn’t take back. He hit me, and then—”
“He fucking what?”
“That’s not important now.” My throat works thickly. “I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
His hand lands on my knee. “Enough,” he says softly. “It’s done. It hurt, but I got over it. And, truthfully, I used the experience as rocket fuel.”
He got over it. Got over me. It’s strange that I never had that luxury, and the longer I spend with Troy, the surer I am of this. I broke his heart, but in doing so, I also broke my own. Maybe being with him has healed me some. For now, at least.
“Hey.” I’m unsure what to do with that tender note in his tone or the way he cups my cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. It’s not enough. And it’s not everything.
But I hope someday he’ll be ready to hear it.
Chapter 45
Clara
After Candy’s (my alter ego’s) successful appraisal and our somewhat breakthrough lunch, Troy orders me a car back to the apartment. Trying not to dwell on the things I can’t have, I type out an email to the interior designer / surfer dude to advise him of the final decisions for the bathrooms, along with some adjustments to Troy’s decorating scheme. They’re really my adjustments, but Troy seemed to be relieved to hand the whole thing over to me. And if I can lighten a little of his load, I absolutely will.
Maybe I’ll get to see the efforts of my labor in the future as a visiting friend.
I sit with that thought for a moment: Troy as a friend. I ask myself if I could do it, live with only his friendship. I turn the question over in my head like something fragile. We could be friends, I suppose. But it feels like I’m looking at our relationship as I would a dish with a hairline crack, being careful with it so as not to chance worsening the damage.
I chew my lip as the cursor blinks on the unsent email. It’s not about what I want. I need to be realistic. Three months was what we agreed. Living together, at least. Friendship is probably the best I can hope for afterward, outside of sex. And I don’t want to be that kind of friend, I think, glancing down at my gorgeous wedding band. No matter how great sex is between us.
