Page 38 of It's Always Been You
But I get it now.
I’m secretly terrified that I’m going to become dependent on this stupid stick. I should probably see a doctor sooner rather than later, but . . . in addition to hating hospitals, I hate doctors’ offices. Which is ironic, considering I am now Wright and West Psychiatry’s newest administrative assistant.
If God is real, He has a very twisted sense of humor.
“I got you a Coke,” Adam says, dropping into the booth seat opposite me as the waiter grabs our drinks. “That’s still your favorite, right?”
“Yep. Thank you, Adam.”
He visibly relaxes, and an awkward silence settles over the table. He looks down. “So . . .”
I look out the window, concentrating on a patch of snow on the sidewalk. “So . . .”
We look at each other at the same time and smile, then laugh. He’s about to say something when our waiter appears to drop off our drinks and take our order. Without question, we order a large pepperoni pizza to share, just like old times.
When the waiter’s gone, that same silence returns. “Adam,” I start, shaking my head. “Listen, I—”
“How did this happen, Evie?” he asks, looking at the cane resting beside me on the booth seat.
“Didn’t Trisha tell you? I fell while helping Abilene with her groceries.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t have thought a fall would render you crippled—no offense.”
“This is temporary,” I say, frowning at the term “crippled.” It’s derogatory and insensitive. “The car accident aggravated my back. And that fall just made it so much worse.” When I hit the ground after missing the curb, I knew there was no going back from that mistake. The pain was indescribable.
“Your back isstillgiving you trouble? You really need to see a doctor.”
“So I’ve been told.” Feeling hot, I swipe my beanie off my head and smooth down my hair, ridding the static. “Um, so, you wanted to catch up?”
“Actually . . .” He looks down at the table and picks up his straw wrapper.
I wait anxiously for him to continue, feeling the weight of my past mistakes now more than ever. I left this man at the altar in front of all our friends and family. It must have been humiliating.
But worst of all? I never apologized.
My foot taps out an anxious rhythm beneath the table as I work up the courage to say it. “Adam, look, I—I am . . . I’m so sorry. For what I did. For everything.”
His eyes widen. “Well . . . if you really want to go there. Why did you do it?” He focuses on pulverizing his straw wrapper between his fingers. “Everything was perfect.”
“Was it?”
Even though we were best friends, we also fought like cats and dogs at times, and it was because our worldviews couldn’t have been more different. He was a devout Christian who believed in marrying and starting a family young, just like his parents had. And I was an oopsie-baby and embittered child of divorce.
Not to mention I had so much I wanted to do before settling down. Never mind the fact that I never got to do any of those things, and now, I probably never will.
“Our entire future was mapped out, Evie,” he reminds me. “And then you bolted at the last minute. Why? Was it something I did?”
I wince and lean away, as if trying to distance myself from this conversation. “Adam. Please.”
His dark blue eyes turn sad and inquiring, like a puppy’s. The vulnerable look slices through my cold, black heart like a searing hot knife. “Did you even . . . love me?”
A thousand memories of us flash through my mind at once. Us, building Lego castles in his bedroom as tiny tots. Playing chase during recess in middle school. Spending summers at the pool together as preteens. Cheering him on from the sidelines at our high school football games. Senior prom. Our first kiss. Lying on a blanket beneath the stars, watching a meteor shower together the summer before he left for college.
All of those memories feel like pure magic.
“Of course I loved you.”Just not the way you deserved to be loved.
And as precious as all of those memories are, a sour one trails behind like a grim caboose. Adam was visiting me during the spring break of his senior year of college. I had opted not to go to college, since Dad stipulated that I had to go to the school of his choice or I’d be paying my own way. Unfortunately, Dadchose Adam’s Bible college. But there was no way on God’s good green earth that I was going to subject myself to four years of gender-segregated dorm halls, forced Bible studies, and obnoxiously early curfews.
