Page 5 of Actions and Reactions
Is that the right word?
I have no clue, but I do know it’ll be better if we’ve done some talking before we’re in front of our families.That would save us some awkwardness and possibly a lecture or two.
Being an adult means very little when you have parents like ours.
They do want what’s best for us, though, and we all know it—Silas and Charlotte with Paul and Elle, and Lex and me with Mom and Dad. But they’re meddlers and they don’t believe in letting us make huge mistakes to learn a lesson.
Small mistakes are okay, though.
“Hey.”
The soft but deep voice startles me out of my thoughts.
I look up sharply and it’s to see Silas wearing gray sweats and a simple white T-shirt. He’s standing in the aisle, looking anywhere but at me.
“He-hello,” I stutter.
Fuck, all that waiting did nothing.
How the fuck am I supposed to talk to him after all this time? What are we supposed to talk about?
You know, besides the whale in the room.
We’re beyond elephants now.
“Please take your seats,” the nice flight attendant tells us, appearing out of nowhere. It feels like a lifeline, though. “We’ll start taxiing shortly.”
I nod and busy myself making sure my already buckled seatbelt hasn’t magically snapped open during the last minute.
I can feel Silas moving to the seat in front of mine—theone directly facing me. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not.
I mean, if he had any intention of ignoring me for the five-and-a-half-hour plane ride, then he’d probably sit somewhere else, right?
Anxious thoughts fill my head for the next twenty minutes. I try to come up with a way to ease into a conversation, but when the seatbelt sign turns off and we’ve both been served our bottled waters, I realize the perfect words will never come.
Patience isn’t my only fault, I’m also blunt and not delicate with my words, so I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise when my words come out short.
“I want to apologize.” It’s a simple enough sentence, but Silas looks up, clearly confused.
I feel a ridiculous sense of hope bloom in my chest when I recognize the look right away. His blue eyes are wide and his mouth set in a grimace. That’s the way he’s looked all his life when he doesn’t understand something and it’s about to annoy him.
“Why?” he demands, his voice as clipped as mine.
“Because telling you I loved you and would give hockey up for you when you’d just lost hockey against your will was a very selfish thing to do.”
His face goes blank.
I guess he didn’t expect me to say it right out loud or something?
He presses his lips together and looks down at the table between us.
“We were kids,” he mutters, as if that’s any excuse for either of us.
Yes, we were kids, and in an awfully emotional situation, but we knew each other better than anyone back then.
The words still sting, though. Like he’s belittling what I was feeling in that moment, and what he was going through.
Is that why he said those cruel things to me? Because he was immature?
