Page 34 of Christmas With My Ex

Not that I was ready to quit. I wanted to work it out, figure out a middle ground. He was the one who was done talking.

In the nine months we were together, most of what I wanted took a back seat to his schedule, his job, his son. I wanted to travel, to push the limits, to live without boundaries, and I could feel those dreams fading into oblivion with each fight and each compromise.

And I hated it.

We fought. Brutally. Words thrown like punches, accusations, frustrations bubbling over. But in the end, what hurt the most wasn’t the words. It was when he threw up his hands and walked away.

Like we weren’t worth fighting for.

Like I wasn’t worth fighting for.

This time, I walked away first.

I stare into the fire, the flames dancing and flickering, the heat reaching out but never really touching me. That familiar tightness is back in my chest, the same feeling I had when he left all those years ago. The fear that no matter what happens between us, he’ll never put me first.

But even as the anger simmers, there’s something else creeping in. Guilt. Because he isn’t the only one keeping secrets.

I glance down at my hands, the half-eaten s’more barely holding my attention. The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks into the air, and I pull myself out of my thoughts. I can’t go there, not now.

Still, the thought lingers. Maybe we’re both to blame for the distance between us. I’m not as innocent in all of this as I wish I was.

If I expect him to be completely open and honest, then I should expect nothing less of myself.

How will he feel when he learns he’s not the only one whose been keeping secrets?

The courtyard is lively, people all around laughing and chatting, happiness in the air. I’m alone with my thoughts, alone in a sea of people. Alone with the memories of the man who walked away, and the fear that it’s happening all over again.

I stare into the flames, trying to make sense of it all. The fire flickers, the heat warming my hands, but the cold inside me remains.

The fire is sending little sparks into the cold afternoon air, and I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to focus on the warmth in front of me instead of the storm still swirling inside.

I sense footsteps crunching behind me, and it feels different somehow, like they are directed toward me. There’s something familiar about the cadence, the way they slow as they get closer. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“Nicholas,” I say quietly, barely glancing his way when he sits down beside me.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he moves slowly, putting his feet up on the stone fire pit beside me. The two chairs leave just enough space between us to feel the weight of everything unspoken. The fire reflects off the surrounding snow, the flames dancing in the quiet.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The tension between us is palpable, thick and heavy, but I can’t bring myself to break the silence first. Even though I concede this isn't all him, I'm not ready to let it go. The fact that he came looking for me doesn't go unnoticed.

Eventually, it’s him who speaks. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

I glance at him, his face half-shadowed by the flickering light. “How else was it supposed to happen?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, looking as tired as I feel. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I didn’t know how to say it without making everything worse.”

I stare into the flames, letting his words hang in the air. The heat of the fire licks at my skin, sufficiently keeping us warm in the chill. “You didn’t think seeing me at my worst was worth mentioning? Or, better yet, comforting me while I was down, letting me know I wasn't alone?”

“Yeah, that was shitty,” he says quickly, turning to face me fully. “All I can say is I made a poor decision on the fly and I regret it. I'm so sorry..”

I clench my jaw. The frustration bubbles back up. “You don’t get it, Nicholas. This isn’t just about the fall. This whole thing brought back everything that happened before. We never had closure before, and it was hard to move past. When you kept that from me, it made me think you would do the same thing again, that you didn't really care about me.”

He’s silent, his gaze dropping to the ground. I can feel his hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should push or stay quiet.

“That's fair,” he finally says, his voice low. “I know I walked away. I'm sorry I stopped returning your calls. I had a new baby, a fairly fresh divorce, and I didn't know how to step up for you. I was stretched thin. And that wasn't fair to you.”

The words hang between us, heavy and real. I take a shaky breath, my heart tightening as I finally give voice to the bitterness I’ve been holding onto for so long. “I didn’t want to give you the chance to do it again.”

I don't let him know, but hearing him saying those words, even if he is just saying what he thinks I need to hear, feels good. I felt disposable before, so knowing he has some regret, however small, is a small victory.

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