Page 51 of The Lies You Love
“Auden. My god, you’re a vision.”
I close my eyes for a beat. His voice brings me back to a whole different time and place. The good and bad memories hit with a swift punch. He leans down and picks up a large gift-wrapped box.
“What do you want?”
He licks his lips. “A friend of yours got in touch. He, ah, asked me to give you this.” Walker pauses. “He ordered me, actually. Said it would be good for you.” The box lets out a small yip.
Butterflies flap around wildly in my belly as I try to make sense of the scene in front of me. “Can I come in?” he asks, jiggling the box. “I haven’t seen you in so long. It would be good to talk, Auddie.”
Courage, Auden. You need this closure. You need this. I let him in and take the lid off the box. “A puppy. He thinks I need a puppy right now? He’s lost his mind.” It’s actually terribly cute. I meet Walker’s eyes. “Tell me then what do you want to talk about?”
“We never had closure, Auddie. I know you know I moved on with my life and it felt selfish after what happened to you.” His gaze dips to my chest, even though it’s covered by an oversized sweatshirt I know he means my heart. The accident. The one he wasn’t there for when I woke up from. “That night I told you the truth and haven’t been able to forgive myself for what I did to you. Please. I’d never ask for your forgiveness—I don’t deserve that. I’m only begging that you can try to understand why I did what I did. I was terrified of myself. Every day I woke up in skin that wasn’t my own. The way you loved me, though? That was the only thing that felt right. I loved you, Auddie. I loved you so much that I tried to change who I was because you fit.”
A tear sneaks down my face as I look at the man who is both my savior and my curse. The tan puppy puts his fat paws on my chest and licks my face. I open my mouth to speak but close it. Then once again. New and improved Auden holds no grudges. Life is too short. “How is your family, Walker?” I ask, my throat tightening. “Tell me about them.” I pour him a glass of the wine I have out and extend the glass to him.
His green eyes glass over. “Jesus, you really are a first-rate babe.” His smile is huge. “You know that, right?”
I sniffle and pet the wagging ball of energy in my lap. “Of course, I know that.”
We both laugh and conversation is easy. Even though he’s talking about the man he loves and their life, it’s familiar, and it gives me a warm feeling in my stomach. It makes sense, and I’m happy for him. I didn’t understand before when the wound was fresh and the rug was pulled from under me. Now that we’re both living different lives and he explained it in almost the same exact way, it makes perfect sense. Perspective is a terrifying thing. If I’d had it back then, maybe I wouldn’t have run into that street. Maybe I wouldn’t have almost died. He shows me photos on his phone and when he plays a video of his child toddling around a living room with a remote control in his hand, I think I may burst from joy. I want that. I want that so bad it hurts. “Walker, I understand, and you should know you do have my forgiveness. For everything. Even though you’re not asking for it.”
His eyes narrow. “Is this because of him? That big-ass intimidating man?”
I wipe the tears under my eyes, trying to keep emotions at bay. “It didn’t work out, but he’s the reason I’m okay now. Well, not really okay, because you know I’m here drinking wine by myself, but he’s the reason I know I’ll eventually get the life I want.” My lips tremble, and Walker, out of old habit has an immediate reaction.
He pulls me into a hug. One I didn’t know I needed. Especially from him. “You will one-hundred-percent get the life you want, Auddie. You deserve it all. Why didn’t it work out, if I can ask? He sure jumped through hoops to get me over here, with this specific dog, on this date.” He kind of chuckles, but it’s sarcastic.
I sigh. “Extenuating circumstances keep us from being us, but I’m just realizing he cares a lot more than I thought he did. In his own, sort of messed up but touching way. It was a whirlwind, you know?” I look at Walker and cock my head. “What else did he say? He can be frustrating when things don’t go his way.”
“Only that I shouldn’t take no for an answer, and if I made a move on you my life would end.”
I laugh. “You’re joking,” I say, heartwarming at the thought of Beck trying to make this happen. Another person might be upset with a forced encounter with their ex, but this is exactly what I needed. Even the dog. I get choked up. I want to be in Beck’s arms.
“Kind of,” he teases. “He said we needed to talk. And that the owner of the super successful pet store really should have a fucking dog.”
We laugh in unison like we did so many times in the past. This is the first time it’s true, though. We’re stripped of lies. I look at the dog. “He’s right, isn’t he?”
“Seems he knows you well, Auddie. You should try to make the extenuating circumstances a little less extenuating if you ask me.”
I exhale. “Can I ask you something? I mean, it’s your opinion I’d like, actually. You always did have the best advice.”
“You flatter me. Ask me anything, though. I’d love to give my opinion.” He winks, smarmy like usual. That hasn’t changed. I’m relieved he doesn’t seem like a totally different person.
“What makes a person, do you think? What is it that makes someone who they are?”
Walker’s eyes glaze over as he processes the question. “I don’t think it’s anything quantifiable. I think who you are is measured by your experiences. A little from each meaningful moment compiles until one day you look around and know without a shadow of a doubt who you are.” He didn’t say heart. He didn’t. That’s what the internet says makes a person, but mine is just an organ that keeps me alive. I’m grateful for it, but it doesn’t make me who I am. “A lot of you makes me who I am, you know?”
I nod. “Same.” The puppy licks my cheeks now that I’m not trying to stop the tears. “Thanks for this. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. That it might be too hard, but it’s not, is it?”
Walker shakes his head, drying his glasses on his shirt and returns them to his face. “It’s not. Dare I say, it’s a little like coming home to a best friend?” Grabbing my hand, the one that used to wear an engagement ring from him, he says, “I am sorry for wasting so many of your years. I truly am.” His eyes are earnest.
“You didn’t waste them. You gave me pieces to form who I am today.”
He squeezes my hand and the puppy bites my ear. “A puppy though? You really want to deal with all those teeth? And the poop?”
I laugh. “The good news is nothing lasts forever.”
“And the bad?”
