Page 58 of When I Come Back
“I’m sorry,” I rasp out. “I’m so sorry about how this all turned out. I need you to know I never had any idea that… that would happen when I went there. I didn’t even think about it.” My words are met by a quiet scoff from her, and she brings her eyes to the ceiling.
“I should have known something was wrong when you were barely talking to me. I just thought you were grieving and needed space,” she says. Her eyes come back to me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again. I don’t have the words to express how much I regret the way I handled the situation. “There’s just… so much history.”
“I can see that now. I just don’t know how I didn’t see it in the six years we’ve been together. How could you not tell me abouther? In the back of my mind I knew there was always something off. You never really let me in fully. I should have listened to my gut when you kept putting off setting a date.” She pauses. “Tell me, Cary. Why did you even propose?”
There’s a long silence as her resentful question hangs in the air between us. I take a deep breath and answer, “I didn’t.”
3 Years Ago
(28 years old)
I have the restaurant’s monthlies spread out on the coffee table in front of me and on the couch next to me, trying to make sense of the reports Seth sent me. The man loves a good spreadsheet and seems to keep track of everything in his life on Excel. I’ve been staring at the numbers for over an hour, and I’m no closer to figuring out what he thinks I need to see here. I run my hand through my long hair and stretch out my neck.
It’s Monday afternoon, my day off since Carina Cove is closed. Iris has also organized her schedule so she has Mondays free. We typically spend the day running errands or just being lazy at home. Today, she insisted on spring cleaning, so she’s in our bedroom, rummaging through the walk-in closet tossing clothes out into several piles. She says she has a system—I just know I have to make myself scarce.
“Care Bear,” Iris says, and I hear her padding down the hall to me. She stops in front of me, the coffee table between us.
“Hmm?” I say, eyes still on the papers in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. At that, I look up and am greeted by a sheepish and worried look on her face.
“What’s going on? Why do you look like that?” She’s holding her hands behind her back.
“I’m so sorry. I was cleaning out the closet, and I found it. I know it was all the way in the back of the closet with your things, but I just wanted to shift some stuff over, and it fell offthe shelf. And then I couldn’t help but look, and it’s beautiful.” She’s rambling, which is very much out of character for her. I would find it cute, but I still have no idea what she’s talking about, and my face must say as much because she continues, “I don’t know what you had planned, but I’m really so happy, so just know, my answer is yes.”
“Arizona, what are you talking about?” I ask.
She pulls her hands from behind her back and holds a small blue box in her palm. I instantly recognize it for what it is, and my heart stutters. Memories of what seems like another life fill my head: wavy blonde hair, warm brown eyes, standing alone in a room full of lit candles and peonies.
Iris’ smile is wide and tears are welling in her blue eyes. It’s exactly the expression I was hoping for when I presented the ring, unfortunately it’s the wrong girl’s face shining all that love at me. I can’t force any words out, and Iris takes that as shock at her finding the ring. The ring she probably hates. It’s not her style at all. She hasn’t gone so far as to send me pictures of the types of rings she wants, but I just know after being with her for three years, living together for two of them.
She rushes to me around the coffee table and hugs me tightly, repeatingyesandI love youover and over. I still haven’t said a word.
Present
“What do you mean you didn’t?” she asks, tears welling.
“Iris.” I pause, not knowing how to continue. “You found the ring. You… assumed. After all the time we’d been together, I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. I didn’t know how to tell you that I was still heartbroken five years after the woman I bought that ring for left me without looking back.” My voice falters, but I continue, “I didn’t know how to tell you that I carried that ring with me for a year after she left, and it wasn’tuntil I had been seeing my therapist for months that I felt ready to leave it behind every day. I still couldn’t get rid of it though. And then you found it. And you were so happy. So I figured I could find a way to be happy too.”
“Oh my God.” She devolves into sobs.
“I’m so, so fucking sorry.” I have no other words, so I just step close to her and envelope her in a hug, trying to help comfort her the best I can. I kiss her head and whisper I’m sorry again, before pulling away.
I gather my bags from where I left them by the door and quietly leave. I thought my biggest regret in life was not following Thea when she left. Now I know it’s lying to the amazing woman I left crying on the couch. She deserves so much better than I gave her, and I’ll live with the guilt of the hurt I’ve caused her forever.
I steel myself before knocking on Seth’s door. He and Iris have grown close over the years, so I’ve put him in a difficult position. When I called to ask if I could stay with him for the next week or so, I could tell he knew what happened before I even started speaking. Thankfully, his loyalty to me won out over his sympathy for Iris.
Seth opens the door and doesn’t say anything. He just turns and walks into his kitchen. I take my time removing my shoes and coat then move my suitcase and duffle down the hall toward the bedrooms before I meet him in the kitchen.
The disappointment rolling off him is palpable as he stands with his hip propped against the counter. My actions are hitting too close to home for him. Seth’s father’s cheating while married to his mother resulted in a messy divorce. His mother was torn up about it, and he was left to help pick up her pieces even though he was barely twelve at the time.
I put my hands in my pants’ pockets and lean on the doorframe. I’m sure he’s dying to say something, but, like me, he doesn’t know where to start.
Suddenly, he pushes off and makes his way to the fridge, pulling out two beers. He pops them both open and hands one over to me. I nod in thanks and take a long pull of the bottle.
“I know I fucked up,” I finally say. “Can we just skip the part where you lay into me? Trust me, I’m feeling bad enough about what I did.”
