Page 45 of The Reunion

I stand up so quickly that my handbag goes flying to the bottom of the steps. Shaun is on his feet in a moment to fetch it for me; I remember he used to help his parents put away the shopping, jumping up to help as soon as he heard the car pulling up. He was always happy to step in.

But now I wish he hadn’t, because I can only stand and watch helplessly, wordlessly, as he smoothly shuffles lipstick and my phone and keys back into my bag, and his hands linger over the photos of the orchestra trip, and the one of the pair of us has slid out from the pile, our happy, enamoured faces staring up from the floor.

He picks it up slowly.

And I was wrong – this is the moment the storm breaks. This is the lightning strike.

I blurt out, ‘Of course I wonder about us, Shaun. I loved you.’

I stop just before I can admit, I think part of me always will.

It’s such a simple statement, that I loved him. That he loved me. It’s a piece of our history, together and alone, a truth woven into the fabric of our hearts. A story, from a long time ago.

Except it … it feels like so much more than that. The air between us is too still, too charged. The muted, distant sound of voices raised as they sing along to what sounds like Smash Mouth’s ‘All Star’ feels like something from another world. Even the breeze seems to skirt around us, leaving us alone in this moment, afraid to intrude. There is only me, and Shaun, and the weight of the engagement ring on my left hand.

He takes a step forward, coming to a stop at the foot of the little stone staircase we’ve been sitting on. My bag is still in his right hand, the photos in his left. All of his attention is on me, and it swallows me whole. I don’t know if it’s real or only a memory, because this is exactly how it used to feel when we were alone – like an out-of-body experience, but also like every inch of my body is hyperaware and hyper-sensitive, attuned to his every breath and blink, two halves of a whole. Like, without him, I stop existing.

Shaun braces his wrist against the railing, his body leaning closer to me even though his feet stay planted exactly where they are. His fingers hold the photos so delicately. Afraid that creasing or smudging them will tarnish the memories that went along with them. That it’ll fracture whatever is going on here, now.

‘You never got in touch,’ he says, voice as soft and warm as the summer night air that cocoons us. ‘After uni. When we were home for the summers. You didn’t …’

‘Neither did you.’

He shakes his head, a faraway, dazed look in his eyes. It’s distant, as if he’s just woken up from a dream. Or maybe like he’s still in one. I imagine I must look much the same way. It takes everything in me not to reach out and cup his cheek, turn his gaze back towards me. I know, I want to say, I feel that way too.

This whole night is a dream. A nightmare. Both, neither, I don’t know anymore. It’s too surreal and unexpected to really wrap my head around, but at the same time … Did I really think it would go any differently? Did I really expect to see Shaun and not have all those old feelings resurface, not feel that undeniable connection with him? It would all be so much easier to suppress and ignore if I knew he didn’t feel it, too.

Coming here was a mistake.

Wasn’t it?

Shaun takes a deep breath. He tells me, ‘It didn’t feel fair. Pushing back into your life, if you weren’t interested in …’

‘Me, too. And you were seeing that girl during your third year—’

‘It only lasted a couple of months. You were going on dates—’

‘They were never anything serious.’

He shakes his head and again, I understand. This isn’t things left unsaid, loose ends we might have liked to tie up all these years later, a nice, neat seal on the ending of our story – this is entire lifetimes of what if, that could have led us back to where we used to be. Where we thought we were supposed to end up.

Where, maybe, we should be now. Most likely to end up together.

I remain frozen, fragile, watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow, ragged breath. Every inch between us feels like a chasm and too short a space all at once. He looks down at the photos in his hand, the one of us on the top of the pile, nostalgia in his smile.

‘We had it good, didn’t we?’

I nod, not trusting my voice. Even if Shaun isn’t quite looking at me, I know he sees.

‘You were always the one who got away, you know? I’d just … Sometimes, I’d wonder, think about reaching out, seeing if you wanted to grab a drink or maybe just have a phone call and catch up. Maybe … maybe rekindle things. Maybe not. I don’t know. I – missed you. I know it was the right thing, us breaking up like we did, but …’

‘I missed you, too.’

It’s not fair of me to say it. It’s not fair of Shaun to say it, either. We’re not being kind to each other by bringing any of this up, and it feels disrespectful and dirty when we’re both engaged to other people, but …

But.

There are so many what-ifs, when it comes to me and Shaun.

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