Chương 8 - Đường Về Nhà Đầy Nước Mắt

I didn’t feel any need to fill it.

Finally he said, “I’m sorry.”

I looked at him.

No explanation came after it.

No “but.”

No “I was drunk.”

No “you have to understand.”

Just:

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded once.

“Okay.”

His eyes got red.

“I know that doesn’t fix anything.”

“No.”

“I didn’t understand what I was doing.”

I almost corrected him.

Then he did it himself.

“That’s not true.”

I waited.

He looked down at the concrete.

“I understood more than I admitted.”

That got my attention.

He rubbed his thumb against the paper bag in his hand.

“I knew you were upset about Megan.”

“Yes.”

“I knew you hated the parking thing.”

“Yes.”

“I knew you didn’t like how often she was at the condo.”

“Yes.”

He swallowed.

“I just thought you’d get over it.”

There it was.

Simple.

Ugly.

True.

He looked at me.

“You were always the reasonable one.”

I smiled a little.

“I hated that word by the end.”

“I know.”

He looked away.

“I thought being reasonable meant you would keep giving me another chance.”

“That wasn’t reasonable.”

“No.”

He nodded.

“It was me being selfish.”

We were quiet again.

Then he said, “Megan and I don’t speak.”

“I know enough.”

“I figured Rachel told you.”

“Some of it.”

He looked embarrassed.

“She kept saying I chose her.”

I waited.

“And?”

Ryan gave a tired laugh.

“I think I chose being needed.”

That was probably the smartest thing he had ever said about the entire mess.

“Megan needed something every day. A ride. Help with work. Help parking. Someone to talk to.”

“And I didn’t.”

“You did.”

He shook his head.

“I just didn’t notice because you weren’t falling apart in front of me.”

My throat tightened slightly.

He continued.

“I treated your ability to handle things like permission to keep handing you more things to handle.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

Then I checked the time.

“I need to get to the airport.”

“Yeah.”

I unlocked my rental car.

Ryan stepped back.

“Claire?”

I looked at him.

“I really am sorry.”

“I believe you.”

Hope flickered across his face for half a second.

So I added:

“That doesn’t mean I want to try again.”

The hope disappeared.

But he nodded.

“I know.”

I opened the driver’s door.

Then I stopped.

There was one thing I wanted to say.

“Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make the next person wait in the rain because somebody else might feel uncomfortable.”

His face changed.

He looked down.

“Okay.”

I got in the car.

I didn’t look back until I reached the exit.

He was still standing there.

A year earlier, that image would have destroyed me.

It didn’t.

I drove to the airport.

Back in Seattle, life kept moving.

Work got busier.

I was promoted again.

Nothing dramatic.

A bigger team.

More meetings.

More responsibility.

I started having friends over for dinner.

Real friends.

People who knocked before entering.

One Friday evening, almost exactly twelve months after the wedding was supposed to happen, I pulled into my apartment garage.

It was raining outside.

Of course it was.

My phone buzzed.

Bank notification.

$800.

Ryan’s final reimbursement payment.

A text came in a few seconds later.

It was from a number I hadn’t saved.

I knew who it was anyway.

That’s the last payment.

I hope Seattle has been good to you.

I stared at it.

Then another message appeared.

I hope you’re happy.

I deleted the conversation.

Then I put my phone down and backed into my parking space.

The camera showed two clean white lines.

Plenty of room on both sides.

No crooked SUV hanging over the boundary.

No one protecting somebody else’s car at my expense.

No one waiting upstairs with an apology that required me to make their life easier.

I centered the wheel.

Shifted into park.

Turned off the engine.

For years, I thought love meant knowing when to give someone a little more room.

Sometimes it does.

But if you keep moving over and moving over and moving over, eventually you look down and realize you’re not standing in your own space anymore.

I picked up my groceries and locked the car.

Then I walked upstairs.

I wasn’t angry.

I wasn’t lonely.

And I didn’t need anyone to tell me I had finally made the right choice.

For the first time in a long time, there was enough room for me.