Page 107 of Always You

HUNTER: Will you ever talk to me again?

***

HUNTER: I’m not giving up.

HUNTER: We’re best friends, Charls.

HUNTER: Please don’t give up on me.

HUNTER: Come on, Charls. It’s been two weeks. Talk to me.

HUNTER: You can’t ignore me forever.

***

HUNTER: Heard you’re going to UNC.

HUNTER: Congrats.

HUNTER: I know you’re going to kill it.

HUNTER: I miss you.

37

Iwalk up the porch, a deep sigh erupting from my entire body when I spot the pink peonies on the doorstep. They are set up in a big vase I know isn’t my mother’s, so it has to come from the flower store as a whole. With my keys in one hand, and the groceries in the other, I look for the card, even though I already know who they are from.

The front of the card is white, embedded with gold letters in a cursive font that says“sorry,”and rolling my eyes, I flick it open.

If I could turn back time, I would be sitting on your porch right now.

Goddamnit. The asshole is going bigger and better every day, and it’s annoying me as much as it’s tugging on my heart to text him back. I lift the white vase, setting it next to the other five that came in the last five days.

“More flowers from Hunter?” Mama steps onto the porch with a cup of tea in her hand. Her blonde hair is growing longer every day, but she keeps it in a red headband so she can grow it out of this awkward length.

“Yup.”

“He’s persistent.” She glances at me from over her mug, her long beige skirt flowing around her curves as she moves closer.

“That he is.” He’s also a first-class asshole, a relentless player, and a distant memory.

Okay, the last one is a lie, but I’m hoping that the more times I tell it to myself, the sooner it will become true.

“How long are you gonna keep this up?” I don’t miss the hint of judgment in her tone. She leans against the porch railing, and a spark in her eyes I remember so well. It’s filled with sass and adventure, like before she became ill.

“Probably forever.” I challenge her with a slight scowl, but she counters it with a bored expression. “You think I should forgive him.”

“I think you miss him and he misses you.”

“Whose fault is that?” I snarl.

“His.” She nods, not an ounce of doubt in her green eyes. “And if you’re a hundred percent sure that your relationship with him isn’t salvageable, by all means keep ignoring him, and eventually, he’ll give up. But if there’s a part of you that still wants him to be part of your life… stop torturing yourself.”

A lump the size of a marble forms in the back of my throat, aching.

“He really hurt me, Mama.”

It feels different this time. Like something actually cracked in my chest. All that time in high school, I felt special. He ruined that in one night.

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