Page 39 of It's Always Been You
Naturally, those four years apart put a strain on our relationship. By the spring break of his senior year, it seemed like all we did was bicker about what we wanted our future to look like.
I was job hunting on my bed one evening when he said, “You’re not seriously looking for a new job, are you?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure I wanted to work at Dad’s agency forever. “Maybe. Why?”
His next words were chilling. “Sorry, Evie, but what’s the point of looking for a new job if we’re getting married this summer? Don’t you want kids?”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t plan on having kids right away . . .”
He looked puzzled. “You’re not on birth control, are you?”
My stomach dropped. “No, but . . . I could be. I mean, Iwillbe.”
Adam frowned. “I don’t know. Seems like the wrong thing to do. God said to go forth and multiply. I know our parents want grandkids sooner rather than later. And if we have kids, I really think you should be at home with them.”
“Evie?” Adam prompts, bringing me back to the present moment.
Our gazes lock, and I’m overwhelmingly grateful that it was only a flashback—that I’m no longer that girl who went along with the status quo, forsaking her own happiness to please others. As much as I hate what I did to Adam, I’ll never regret the choice I made to end our engagement. We were wrong for one another.
Our waiter appears with our pizza and sets it down onto the table.
Adam sighs when he’s gone. “Look, I’m sorry. Let’s start over. I didn’t ask you to lunch to interrogate you about the past. I really did want to catch up and clear the air.”
I nod, relieved. “Yes, sorry. Let’s start over. Maybe we could start off with a less . . .” I pick up a slice of pizza. “Meatytopic?” I give him a cheesy smile, then pluck up a piece of pepperoni and pop it into my mouth.
Adam chuckles, and the sound is gentle and sweet, and it warms me from the inside out. “I’ve really missed you, Evie. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I . . .” He looks down at his plate. “I hate that we’re not friends anymore.”
I reach across the table to squeeze his hand. “I hate that, too.”
He looks up suddenly. “Can we start over there, too?”
“Start over as friends?” I ask skeptically, feeling a little apprehensive. It’s the way he’s gazing at me . . .
I don’t know if Adam ever truly movedonafter we broke up. For years, he kept reaching out, wanting to clear the air. But I kept shutting him down, afraid to confront the fact that I had hurt him so deeply—and so . . .publicly.I never gave him the closure he deserved, and after what happened between me and Brandon, well . . . I now know how soul-crushing that can be.
“Yes,” he insists. “I’m willing to start over if you are. As friends.”
I hesitate, feeling torn.
Adam sighs and lowers his voice. “I know you were scared to get married so young. I asked too much of you. You weren’t ready, and maybe I wasn’t, either. We were just kids then.” He leans back, surveying the restaurant. “But I miss you, Evie.” His gaze returns to mine, and he offers a boyish smile. “You can’t say you don’t miss me, too. And all our antics.”
I laugh as a memory of us listing his parent’s house for sale on Craigslist springs to mind. To this day, his mom still doesn’t understand why she kept getting random phone calls inquiring about a viewing. She was definitely onto me, though. Especially when I kept asking her if she’d gotten any offers on the house . . .
No wonder she never liked me. I was the rotten apple, souring her perfect son’s life.
“I do miss you,” I admit. “That’s never been the issue.”
His head tilts, but he doesn’t ask me to elaborate, which I’m grateful for. But the way he’s speaking to me . . . it’s as though he’s expecting this do-over as friends to result in a different, more favorable outcome for him—like he thinks I’m going to wake up one day and realize I’ve been head over heels in love with him all this time.
I can’t shake the feeling.
But I refuse to be the type of person who gives someone false hope.
He extends his hand across the table. “Friends?”
The wordfriendsevokes a frown from me. Brandon has ruined that word for me. Still, I reach out and clutch Adam’s hand in mine, forcing a smile as I meet his gaze. “Friends.”
We shake on it.
