Chương 4
Someone doing a small job in the middle of someone else’s disaster.
Ryan watched the waiter leave.
“You really got an order?”
His voice was quieter.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked at the papers again.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“You planned this before you came here.”
“No.”
I paused.
“I prepared for the possibility that you wouldn’t let him go.”
His eyes moved toward mine.
“That’s what you think of me?”
I almost answered quickly.
Then I stopped.
Because the truthful answer was complicated.
“I think you’re someone who convinces yourself your choices are justified when you’re hurt.”
Ryan looked down.
Jordan shifted beside him.
“You do that too.”
The words came from her.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just honestly.
Ryan turned toward her.
“What?”
Jordan swallowed.
“I said you do that.”
The expression on his face changed.
It was not anger yet.
It was disbelief.
Like he had forgotten other people were allowed to disagree with him.
“You’re taking her side?”
Jordan looked uncomfortable.
“I’m not taking anyone’s side.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“No.”
She folded her hands together.
“I’m saying I’m sitting here realizing I don’t actually know the whole story.”
Ryan stared at her.
“What did you think happened?”
Jordan hesitated.
That hesitation said more than the answer.
“I thought you were separated because the marriage ended.”
“It did.”
“But you made it sound like she left and then disappeared.”
Ryan looked away.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The restaurant noise seemed louder around us.
A couple at the bar laughed.
A glass clinked.
A blender started somewhere behind the kitchen door.
Life continued moving around the table where three people were finally saying things they had avoided.
Ryan rubbed his hand over his face.
“I was trying to protect myself.”
Jordan gave a small, sad laugh.
“From what?”
He looked at her.
“From being the only person who cared.”
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
Because I knew that feeling.
Not from him.
From myself.
The loneliness after a marriage ends was strange.
You could hate someone and still miss the person who knew how you took your coffee.
You could know leaving was right and still feel like you were abandoning a part of your own history.
Ryan looked at Biscuit.
“He slept by the door every night.”
I said nothing.
“He waited for you.”
My fingers tightened slightly around the leash.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice cracked.
Just slightly.
“You weren’t there.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
“I wasn’t.”
The admission hung between us.
“I should have been.”
Ryan blinked.
For a moment, neither of us knew what to do with that.
An apology from me was not what he wanted.
An apology made things harder.
Because then he could not simply be the person who was abandoned.
He had to remember the parts he contributed.
“I called you,” he said.
“I know.”
“You never answered.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
I looked at the table.
Because the real answer was embarrassing.
Because every time my phone lit up with his name, my entire body reacted before my brain did.
Because I was afraid I would hear his voice and run back before I had figured out why I left.
Because I knew one conversation with Ryan could make me doubt myself.
“I was afraid.”
Ryan looked confused.
“Of me?”
I looked up.
“Of going back.”
He became very still.
That was the first time all night he looked like he actually heard me.
Not the words.
The meaning.
Maya leaned back slightly.
She had heard that sentence before.
Not from me.
From the nights when I sat on her apartment floor eating cereal from a coffee mug because I had forgotten to buy bowls.
She knew how hard it was for me to say it.
Ryan looked toward the window.
Outside, cars passed along the street.
Headlights moved across the glass.
“I didn’t know you were that unhappy.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the sentence was impossible.
“I told you.”
“When?”
I stared at him.
That question hurt.
Not because he was pretending.
Because he might actually not know.
“I told you when I stopped asking you to come to counseling.”
His face tightened.
“You stopped asking.”
“Yes.”
“Because you gave up.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“That wasn’t fair.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“It wasn’t.”
Ryan looked down.
The anger left his face for a moment.
Then came the shame.
He hated shame.
He always had.
Anger gave him something to hold.
Shame took everything away.
A phone buzzed on the table.
Ryan looked at it.
A message preview appeared.
His expression changed.
I did not see the full message.
I did not need to.
Jordan saw it.
“Your sister?”
Ryan turned the phone over.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Jordan noticed.
So did I.
“You don’t have to lie anymore,” she said.
Ryan looked at her.
“Jordan.”
“No.”
Her voice remained calm.
That made it stronger.
“I’m tired of finding things out after everyone else.”
The sentence seemed to surprise him.
“You think I lied to you?”
“I think you told me the version where you were the victim.”
Ryan looked wounded.
But he did not deny it.
That was worse.
Jordan reached down and touched Biscuit’s head.
The dog leaned toward her automatically.
My chest tightened.
Not from jealousy.
From sadness.
Because she was not cruel.
She was just another person who had been handed a carefully edited story.
“I like him,” she whispered.
Biscuit looked up at her.
“I really do.”
Her eyes moved to me.
“And I’m sorry.”
The apology was unexpected.
I did not know what to do with it.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.”
She looked at Ryan.
“He told me you gave him up.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“Jordan.”
“He told me you didn’t want the responsibility anymore.”
I looked at Ryan.
May you like
He did not look back.
The truth was not the dramatic kind.
