Page 116 of A World Without You
My vision steadies and the sobs in my throat disappear. “You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you an honest answer.”
He scoffs, glancing around his apartment. “My parents already think I am, so tell me your version of crazy. Because we all have it—this rock bottom, nothing-can-make-it-better kind of lunatic resting inside us.”
I laugh and sniff simultaneously. “What if I told you there’s a world, where you live with that baby, and she grew to be the coolest, funniest five-year-old girl. And her favorite Christmas movie isElf,and she isn’t shy like her mom and she has your eyes and you’re the best dad who saved me when I was at my darkest?”
The cool air of the apartment hits my lips as he absorbs what I just asked him, then he almost smiles as he says, “I’d say you’re straight delusional.”
Tears fill my eyes, but I smile. “Good answer.”
“And it sounds like you had the weirdest fever dream, and I’m worried about you,” he continues.
I laugh, and two teardrops fall down my cheeks. “You should call my mom.”
He points at me. “Exactly my first thought.”
I laugh again. He almost does. But his smile doesn’t really even hit his face.
“Mom told me you’re off to Europe tomorrow,” he says.
I shake my head. “Not if you need me to stay.”
His expression is blank, his guard on full alert.
“Why haven’t you been around, Bennett? I know the accident was my fault. I know I was driving. And I know you may never forgive me and will hate me forever but I just—”
“I don’t hate you.” He breathes out once and I wait for him to continue. “Because it’s easier to blame than it is to heal.”
My chin trembles before he continues.
“I’ve been so angry since they died, Liv. To have everything you ever wanted ripped from you in an instant while everyone else escaped with minor cuts and bruises.” He shakes his head. “I knew you were sorry even if it wasn’t really your fault. You hit ice. It was an accident.”
There’s a distant look in his eyes telling me he needed more from me, so I say, “I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have—”
“The thing is, you were.” His words shock me. “For a while, you were. You took me to PT. You made me lasagna and filled my refrigerator with vegetables that would rot over the week and then you’d bring me more without nagging me to eat them. You remember that?” He huffs out a laugh.
I shake my head because, truthfully, I don’t remember it.
“Eventually everyone goes on with their life, and I just...didn’t.” He sniffs and I don’t know who he’s crying for. “It took me so long to forgive you, it just became easier to disappear.”
“It didn’t take you too long, Bennett. It took you all the time you needed,” I say as I move closer to him and hold his face in my hands. We stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment and I suddenly wonder if the feelings have been there for longer than I thought or if our friendship simply morphed into something more without permission and without encouragement. Maybe in every world it was always supposed to be us.
“I’m headed to Italy tomorrow,” he breathes.
I laugh. A loud cackle.
“Why is that funny?” he asks.
“Because you’re in finance,” I answer.
Now he laughs. A real one. Long and loud enough to make me want to pinch his cheeks.
“I’m a painter now,” he answers finally.
I’m breathless, eyes filling with tears as my gaze lifts from his and skirts around the room. Large paintings, small paintings. Some stacked and some hung. Each one beautiful and ornate with moments of whimsy and magic with each brush stroke, reminding me of the painting he callsthe Broken Womanhanging over his fireplace in another world.
“Time for a change?” I ask.
“Sometimes we have to start over and try again,” he answers.
