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5. Old Habits Die Hard
Jules
The TV’s on, sound muted. Every few minutes, I check for his face on the screen, but Cash isn’t there.
He’s not here either.
Cash is somewhere in between, having left a half hour ago. No matter how hard I try to remain patient, to remind myself he’s coming back, I’m incapable of exuding calmness. From the moment he left my apartment, I’ve debated on whether to watch the conference, turning the television on and off at least half a dozen times. In the end, curiosity won, but the wait is killing me.
For the second time this morning, a knock sounds, and I hurry to pull open the door, my pulse a nervous flutter in my throat at the thought of finding Cash on the other side. “I didn’t expect you back so—” I cut off, the ability to speak stolen by the sight of flowers. But Cash isn’t standing behind the huge bouquet of tulips.
“Hi,” Chris says, holding out the bouquet, his stance nonchalant as if showing up on my doorstep in Seattle is an everyday occurrence for him. “I couldn’t come empty-handed, and I know how much you love tulips.”
Words die in my throat as I reach for the flowers. Our fingers brush together for an instant, and something inside me cracks—a place I thought was impenetrable when it came to my ex.
I do love tulips. For the longest time, I loved him too.
He shuffles his feet. “Can I come in?”
No,my mind screams, but my fingers curl around the door and edge it open. He steps inside, and that’s when I find my voice again.
“What are you doing here?”
Howis he here?
“Your sister gave me your address,” he answers, as if I asked the question aloud. As if that explains everything. He gawks at me for several seconds, brown eyes taking me in from my blond locks to the painted toenails on my bare feet. “You look amazing. Are you heading to work?”
“Um…” Trailing off, I shut the door. “No. I’ve got today off.” I make my way into the kitchen to find a vase, and Chris follows.
His presence has caught me completely off-guard, and as I fill a vase with water for the tulips, I’m out of my element, even in my own apartment. Done with the task, I set the flowers on the kitchen counter, but it doesn’t feel right because they’re housed in the same vase I used for the sunflower bouquet Cash gave me.
The thought makes me want to cry.
Or maybe it’s the past standing in my apartment that’s bringing on the threat of tears. With my arms crossed over my chest, I face Chris. “Why are you here?”
“You wouldn’t return my calls.”
“So you come halfway across the country?”
He opens his mouth then shuts it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find whatever he’s trying to say. “I came halfway across the country because I’m still in love with you.”
I gape at him, at a loss for words. He’s the last person I expected to find on my doorstep.
“I want you back, Jules.” His voice cracks on my name, and I scoot past him in the tight space, not liking this boxed-in feeling. Our arms brush together, and my steps falter. The history between us is thick, suffocating, larger than the two of us.
So is the pain.
Keeping my back to him, I swipe a tear from my cheek, and that’s when I spot movement on the television. Cash is standing at the podium, his sad eyes penetrating me clear to my bones. With the sound still muted, I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his somber expression gives away the gravity of the situation.
“Jules?”
I whirl at the sound of my name. “Why are you here?” My voice is shrill enough to echo.
“I told you. I want you back.”
“It’s been two months.”
“Two miserable months.” He’s stepping closer, his sneakered feet eating up the distance. I should move, but all I can think about is how I bought him those black and white shoes last Christmas.
