Page 25 of When I Come Back
Thea
“RED is you.Youare RED. It’s perfect.”His words echo in my mind.The meaning behind them, and the fact thathesaid them has me paralyzed. I already wasn’t sure how to feel about today. I was royally fucked before he showed up—I knew it. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew it. And in the back of my mind, I knew if I called him, he’d be here in an instant. I think part of me didn’t want to admit defeat, and the other part of me didn’t want to test the waters to see if I was right.
Ever since he admitted that he doesn’t hate me, I’ve been out of sorts. I’ve been using this charity event to distract me and keep my thoughts at bay. Now it’s over, and he’s sitting right next to me. Feeding me. Complimenting me.Lookingat me.
I spent the last eight years thinking there was no way he didn’t hate me. Hearing that he doesn’t feels like a piece of me—a piece I didn’t even realize was broken—mended itself. I’vecarried around hate for myself since I made the phone call that ended our relationship.
At the time, I thought I was making the right decision. I had myself convinced love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter that being away from him made me feel like I was drowning. It didn’t matter that living a life without him barely felt like living at all.
He was happy in Seattle. He thrived there. As much as I loved him, I lost myself more and more everyday living there. I was breaking off pieces of myself every time I put his happiness and wants above my own. And I know he wasn’t to blame. He never asked me to do that. I never told him how miserable I really was. I didn’t communicate to him that I was losing myself, and the only thing keeping me stable in Seattle was him. It felt too selfish to tell him any of that knowing if I asked him to choose between me and his dream job, he’d choose me in a heartbeat. So I took the choice away. And I’ve hated myself every day since.
Once I arrived back home in Indigo Hill, it felt like I could take my first full breath since leaving for Seattle. The pressures of city life lifted, and that was the moment I knew I couldn’t go back. I went from barely surviving to thriving professionally. And for a little while… it was enough, or maybe ithadto be enough.
Life without Cary was dull though. Once I realized living without him hurt more than living in a city I hated, it was too late. Now, with him so close and the memories of our life together on constant replay in my head, I wonder why I ever thought a life without him could be enough. They’re dangerous thoughts to have, but I can’t ignore them when he’s right in front of me.
I’m spiraling too much to respond to what he said. The cadence of the music playing over the restaurant speakers surrounds us, and the second the start of “Die a Happy Man”reaches my ears, I’m transported back to a night almost eleven years ago.
10.5 Years Ago
(20 years old)
I throw my head back in laughter as Cary spins me around then catches me again, pulling me back into his arms. We’ve been dancing for almost an hour, and I’m still not sated. I could dance with this man all night long and still want more. The glow of the neon signs hanging from the walls illuminates the dive bar we’re in. We stumbled upon this place walking home from dinner. The second Cary heard the country tunes pouring from the open door as someone slipped out, his mind was made up. He pulled me into him by my hand, whispering into my ear, “Let’s dance the night away, Lemon.”
The bar reminds me of the one in our hometown. It’s dark, stuck in the 90s, and serves greasy bar food that all smells the same. We didn’t waste our time using our fake IDs to get drinks before going straight for the small dance floor. I’ve felt the eyes of the other patrons on us the whole time we’ve been dancing, but I don’t have it in me to care. Every touch of our bodies burns me up, and the look in Cary’s eyes tells me he’s feeling the same way.
Thomas Rhett’s new single, “Die a Happy Man,” comes on next, and Cary pulls me even closer to him.
“Hey, baby?” he says directly into my ear with his head angled down to me.
“Hmm?” It’s all I can muster with how turned on I am right now.
“Have you heard this song before?”
I pull back to look at him. “Of course I have,” I say matter of factly. Anyone who listens to country music has heard this song.
“Every time I hear this song…” he starts, then pauses as his eyes find mine. “It makes me think of you. Of us. Of how happy you make me. And how nothing else matters but the love I feel for you.”
His openness and rare show of emotion surprises me. Despite loving what he’s saying, the words make me feel slightly uneasy because they’re so uncharacteristic. I know he loves me, but he usually shows me as opposed to saying it so plainly. My cheeks blush though, his words making my heart race from more than just the dancing. We’re still swaying to the slow beat of the music, but I can barely hear it. It feels like everything and everyone around us has disappeared. My eyes well up, and a tear slips past my defenses. I reach up and swipe it away before he has a chance to, then I attempt to break the tension with a small teasing smile.
“You’re such a charmer. I love you so fucking much, Cary Grant.”
“I love you too, Lem.”
He spins me out once more, and when I’m back in his arms, I push up on my tip-toes to reach his ear. “Take me home now, please.”
He wastes no time pulling me out of the bar. The walk home takes slightly longer than usual with us stopping every block to make out against the wall of a closed business, barely able to contain ourselves or wait until we get back home.
And I feel it in my bones that the song just becameour song.
Present
His words bring me back to the present. It’s the same song. The same man. But a very different place and situation.
“Dance with me, Lem.” His hand is extended, waiting for me to take it. I stare down at it, feeling like this is a dream, and I’ll wake up any moment. It’s the first time I’ve been called Lemin so long that hearing the name out loud forms a lump in my throat.
The nickname started when we were kids. He said my hair was the color of lemons—which was wildly untrue—and that I smelled like lemons too. As a child, I laughed it off, just thankful it wasn’t a name that I could be teased for. As we got older, it became endearing and proof of the love he felt for me even when he didn’t say it out loud.
That’s why he’d gotten me the lemon ring for my birthday one year. Though, I keep it locked in a drawer as a silent reminder of the worst decision I’ve ever made.
