Page 62 of Make You Love Me
“Really? Everything?”
“Yes. It isn’t much, I realize, but until I told my story yesterday, I didn’t think my past affected me as much as it has.”
“Who did you tell?” I ask, anger boiling inside me at being the last to know again. Then, the memory of her crying on the bench outside the restaurant reminds me. “Sydney.”
“Yes. Even my best friend didn’t know, and I realized something else in that moment.”
“What?”
“I have two best friends. Two amazing people I couldn’t imagine living without.”
I search her face for answers, confused about what she’s trying to say.
“You, Jordan. You are someone I don’t want to live without. But after all I’ve done, I resign to that being my fate.”
What in the hell? My heart is throwing itself against my ribcage, the thumping sound deafening. My voice rises above it. “Why is that your fate? Because you think I won’t want you after your lies?”
“Yes, partly.” Her tone remains controlled, and I wonder how she’s doing it. How is she not losing her shit as I am? She wrings her hands together before pushing them through her hair and pacing to the sliding glass door. She looks out, her eyes clouded and distant. And again, I’m confronted with a new side of her I’ve never seen. A side created from suffering and trauma.
“What happened, Nora?” In the silence, my body begs to take hold of her shoulders and gently shake her attention back to the conversation.
Last night, I vowed to protect my heart, no matter what she said or did until she was out of my life forever. But these awkward pauses, her detached stare, her confession, and the agony in her eyes, they’re all chipping away at that resolve like it’s made of glass.
“I can’t have children,” she says so softly I’m not sure I hear her correctly. “Courtesy of my mother’s stellar partner choices.”
She doesn’t look at me, and the frustration fluttering around inside me ignites into fury. “What did they do to you?”
My hand clenches the edge of the cushion under me while I wait. I need her answer to stop my imagination from letting in murderous thoughts. “Nora.”
Cautiously, she tells me about being abused and assaulted by cowards claiming to be men, recounting the decision to change her name and leave it all behind when she went to college. A scream boils in my chest, and I’d give anything to bang my fistagainst the wall or kick and stomp on the coffee table until it’s a pile of shards on the rug. But the only emotion that comes out of me is a bucket of tears.
She rushes to my side and holds me as I cry on her shoulder. I can’t fathom the trauma she must have gone through and continues to experience, but I can feel it. Every inch of me aches down to my bones as waves of sobs rip through me.
After a while, I straighten, feeling drained, puzzled, and embarrassed. My gaze rises to find her eyes red and puffy. Tears glisten on her cheeks, and I steal them away with my thumb.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and leans against my palm.
There are so many things I want to ask and say, but nothing will stop her from feeling responsible for all our issues. She’s taking the blame for it as if I haven’t made mistakes. As if she’s the only one with flaws. Not having the words to articulate what I’m thinking, I say the only thing I can. “I’m sorry, too.”
“I want you to know,” she begins, taking my hand. “The day we spent together at the winery, the drive up the mountain, and that night, all of it was real.” Holding my hand to her chest, she kisses my knuckles. “I’d never felt closer to you.”
“Nora…”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. Although, I hope you can one day. I just want to help you get back on your feet, so when you’re healed, you can experience life the way you planned. The way you deserve.” She swallows hard and closes her eyes for a few seconds.
“Without you, you mean.”
The feel of her skin burns against mine, making me draw my hand away. I don’t remember imagining a life without her before yesterday. And even then, it seemed impossible. Maybe I had after her last refusal, but I doubt the picture fully formed. Surely, I assumed we’d find a way back to each other over time. She’s been a part of me and my dreams for too long to just erase hercompletely. Fulfilling the bucket list is as close as I’ve come to trying to move on when—
I pat my shorts for my wallet, but, of course, it’s not there.
“What is it?” she asks, concern leaking into her tone.
“I remember something. Where’s my wallet?”
“In the kitchen, I think.”
“Can you grab it?”
