Page 32 of Still the One

“It sounded like it,” he says.

I ignore him, because the last thing I want is Jamie back in my life. “When she came into the kitchen just now, she said we should have a frank conversation sometime soon. Can you believe that?”

“That’s on me,” Leila says. “When we were on the roof, I suggested that.”

“This is why I didn’t want to see her again. I don’t want to deal with all that bullshit again. What would we even talk about? Like I want to know about all the relationships she managed to have these past two decades.” At least, she doesn’t have kids, I think. It’s an ugly thought I regret immediately, because I would never begrudge anyone having kids. On the contrary.

“Mac.” Izzy’s voice is calm and soft. “You’re obviously hurting. Maybe Leila’s right. Maybe you should have the conversation you don’t want to have and then you can start to feel better again.”

“I felt perfectly fine before I went to Sandra’s wedding.” I might not have had the family I always dreamed of, but I was satisfied with what I did have. My job, my friends, my home. My life was more than adequate until Jamie came along and reminded me of what I really wanted. “I’m sure that, given a little time, and no more encounters with Jamie Sullivan, I’ll be right as rain again.” Where’s the fast-forward button of my life? I’d like to press it really hard, so I no longer have to live with that ache of longing in my gut. That increased pulse between my legs whenever I look at her. How my skin yearns for her touch sometimes because I’ve also had to resign myself to the fact that no one else can make me feel like Jamie does.

Maybe Izzy and Leila are right. Maybe I need to get Jamie out of my system once and for all. Hurl all the things I’ve buried deep inside myself at her. Call her unspeakable names for tearing up my heart and my dreams. Make her understand that if I failed at one thing in my life, it wasn’t that I didn’t manage to keep her, but that I wasn’t able to get over her completely.

“Sleep on it,” Izzy says, as though I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.

Chapter 18

Jamie

Let’s talk then.

The message arrived at half past three in the morning. It was the first thing I saw when I woke up and switched on my phone.

It’s now four in the afternoon, and Mac is about to arrive at my home. I’m on edge because while we were texting back and forth to arrange our meeting, Mac also wrote that it wasn’t going to be pretty. I don’t know how to prepare for that—and I’m already so defenseless when it comes to her.

I pace back and forth through the living room, fluffing up pillows, straightening frames on the wall, noticing all kinds of imperfections that I’ve never paid any attention to before.

Mac’s place was flawless—and she used to be so messy. I was the one who insisted on a clean kitchen, especially after one of her disastrous cooking spells. Once in a blue moon, she’d get it in her head to prepare us a meal, her chaotic efforts creating pandemonium in our tiny kitchen.

A shadow crosses the window, but it’s just a passerby. There’s noise upstairs. My landlady, Miss Carol, is probably puttering around in her kitchen. Unlike Mac, Miss Carol is an excellent cook, and she usually makes a humungous portion of something delicious on a Sunday afternoon, always sharing some of it with me.

Even though I can’t really see who’s in the street, I know Mac has arrived. I can feel it—it’s as if I still have a sixth sense when it comes to her. An instant later, the bell rings. I hurry to the door and brace myself.

There are no pleasantries, let alone a kiss hello. Mac waltzes into the living room like a human tornado. It’s only when she’s reached the dining table, a natural stopping point, that she takes a second to glance around. She doesn’t comment on my interior design choices. It’s not why she came.

“Drink?” I ask.

In response, Mac just sighs. “Fuck,” she says, after a few seconds pass in silence.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that,” I joke, because this tension needs to be broken as soon as possible. It hangs too heavy in the air. But it clings to Mac like a second skin and I’m afraid that as long as she’s here, things are going to be very fraught.

“I’ll take something strong.” She shrugs off her coat and tosses it onto the back of a chair.

“Manhattan?” I quirk up an eyebrow. She used to love my Manhattans.

“Sure.”

“Still no cherry?” Oh, fuck. I only realize when I say it.

“No,” Mac says drily.

“Sorry. That was not an inappropriate joke, I promise.”

“It’s actually kind of funny.” The first hint of relaxation breaks on her face, but it’s just a hint, and we have a long way to go.

“I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

The kitchen is at the back of the apartment but not in a separate room, so I can keep an eye on Mac. She walks around, looking around the place. She stops at the wall behind the dining table to look at the pictures hanging on there. Unlike Mac, I never removed all evidence of her existence from my life. I framed a few pictures of our time together. In my view, a decade warrants a couple of photographs.

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