Page 20 of Forever Writing You

Was I supposed to say, “It’s okay,” and change the subject? Was I supposed to remain silent until the universe intervened with a convenient excuse for me to walk away?

“My mom told me that one of her old friends passed, but I didn’t make the connection that it was your mom,” he said. “I don’t think she can bear to say it aloud, since I talked to her yesterday, and she made it seem like they just got tea together.”

“She comes by every day at noon to sit at their spot at the pond, like nothing has changed.” I felt tears welling in my eyes, but I tried not to let them fall. “They still used those matching pink and yellow mugs we got them for Christmas that year.”

“The ones that say, ‘My son is dating her daughter?” and ‘My daughter will marry her son?’”

“Yeah.” The tears broke free and fell past my cheeks.

“I’d like to take you to dinner tonight,” he said.“If that’s okay.”

“It’s not.” I wiped my face. “I literally just told you I have somewhere important to be.”

“I don’t believe you.” He looked into my eyes, reading me with ease. “I think you’re starving and could use the company.”

“Are you suffering from short-term amnesia?” I snapped. “Do you not remember the last rude ass email you sent me?”

“I still have it saved in my sent box.” He had the audacity to smile. “I meant every word.”

“So, let me go home and eat a cup of Ramen noodles in peace,” I said.

“I thought you had somewhere important to be.”

“Okay, you caught me.” I shrugged. “I’ll go to dinner with you, Everett Anderson, but only under three conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“One, we will only spend one hour together. That includes the time it takes to get to the restaurant.”

“Good idea.”

“Two, I don’t want to hear a word about your engagement, your fiancée, or your wedding.”

“You’ve said enough about all those things in your letters.”

“Three, I will order the most expensive course, the best wine, and the chef’s top dessert, and you will pay for all of it. Deal?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you know how to handle your liquor these days, or do you still get tipsy after two drinks?”

“Grief has done quite a number on my tolerance,” I said. “I can handle up to six a day now.”

“Good to know, but I’ll drive to be safe.” He helped me out of the car. “I’ll start our timer now.”

ELEVEN & A HALF

Dahlia

How any woman could ever cheat on the perfection of the man sitting across from me would forever remain a mystery.

It had to feel like cheating on a perfect dream life with an unattainable fantasy or having the world in your hands and trading it away for a glimpse of the ground.

Then why did you do it? That ugly thought reared its head, and I shook it away.

“Welcome to Lumen’s Cafe,” the host said as he stepped before our table. “We’re honored to have you join us for dinner and—Hey! I know you two! It’s me, Harrison Daniels!”

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