Page 68 of The Echo of Regret

And I don’t want that to happen again.

“I think I might skip out on TV time,” I say to Nicole as we push out of the bakery, croissants in hand. “I have a bunch of work to do.”

She makes a face. “Oh, come on. I have a bunch of questions and couldn’t ask them earlier because of stupid yoga.”

“You’ll have a chance to ask me—another time.”

“But you know how impatient I am.”

I laugh. “Do you want a ride home?”

Nicole waves a hand at me then hooks a thumb in the direction of her apartment. “Nah, I’ll walk. Go ahead and be all committed to your clients or whatever.”

I yank Nicole into a hug, a grin on my face. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

Forty minutes later, my croissant has been completely devoured and I’ve changed into work clothes and an apron. When I take a seat at my wheel, I end up just staring at it blankly. My conversation with Nicole swirls, unanswered questions about my relationship with Bishop weighing heavy in my mind.

I’ve been enjoying the time we’ve been sharing together, our weekly chats and the odd hangout, but now that things have become physical, that hard line I drew for myself of being just friends feels a little less firm. As much as I don’t like to admit it, my feelings are involved again, though I guess it was foolish of me to ever think they wouldn’t be.

Eventually, I get my new piece moving on the wheel, though I remain distracted as I wet the clay and begin centering. Is there a possibility that Bishop and I will get back together? Is that even something I want? Or that he wants? For all I know, maybe he really does want to be friends and this whole sex thing is just an enjoyable way to pass the time.

Though that sounds wrong. He wouldn’t be so dedicated to talking to me about it, wouldn’t be saying such big, emotional things to me like Let me show you that something good can come from all of this. I highly doubt he just meant a few orgasms.

A shiver races through me at the reminder of the fact that he brought me over the edge three times. Is it bad form for me to acknowledge that he’s learned a few things in our time apart? I mean, it would be wrong for me not to admit that I have, too. I’ve always had a strong sexual appetite, but now I feel more confident in bed, a bit more adventurous, maybe. I don’t doubt that played a role in how explosive things were.

Sighing, I realize my distraction has resulted in my bowl spinning out, and I turn the wheel off, accepting that right now might not be the best moment for work. I chuck the clay into the bucket in the corner and move to the sink to wash my hands, but the questions are still there, about who we were…who we are now…who we might become.

And then there is the unanswered question I still have from years ago, the one I try not to think about anymore.

Why did we really break up?

I’ve never felt like I received a truthful answer, never felt like I fully understood why. Maybe I was wrong all those weeks ago to assume getting closure wasn’t something I needed. Maybe I do. Maybe I need to fully understand what happened between us in order to move on from some of these questions that still feel…so exhausting.

That said, now that Bishop and I feel like we’re in somewhat of a good place, there’s part of me that doesn’t feel brave enough to ask.

Me: Do you have plans tonight?

Bishop: No. And if you’re asking me to do something, the answer is yes.

My lips tilt up at his response. I’ve been waffling back and forth for the past few hours on whether I wanted to reach out to Bishop. I’m not even sure what I hope happens tonight, but I know I want to see him, and I’m trying to learn to trust my gut.

Me: You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you.

Bishop: Doesn’t matter.

Me: Really?

Bishop: Really.

Me: So if I asked you to come over and organize Leah’s antiques?

Bishop: I can be there in an hour.

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