New Year Second Chance

I know I didn’t. I never told her about my mom. All those times I left to take care of her, I told Jenna something else. I never said anything about my father. I never spoke about my life before college. How could I when I had mostly bad things to say? Besides, I’ve never let anyone in before. I don’t let people in. It’s just what I do.

Still, I understand that that has to change. If I want Jenna to trust me again, if I want her to take me back, I can’t keep shutting her out. I can go on turning everyone else away, but not her. If I have to let one person in, I know it’s Jenna. Even if she decides not to take me back, she deserves to know the man she was with, the man who still cares so much about her.

I put on my clothes and go to her room. I press my ear against the door to listen for a sound that will tell me she’s inside. For a few moments, I hear nothing. Then I hear another door open. Probably the one to the bathroom. I straighten up. I draw a breath and knock on the door.

“Jenna?”

No response.

I let out my breath. “Jenna, I just…”

“One moment.”

I hear the floorboards creak. I hear footsteps and rustling. Then the door opens. Jenna stands behind it in a robe, her hair damp. I guess she felt like she needed a shower, too.

I ignore the smell of her shampoo and pull my shoulders back. “I just wanted to apologize for losing my temper earlier.”

Jenna shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” I tell her. “You did nothing wrong.”

She pauses, then nods. “Then I accept your apology.”

“Thanks.”

Now what? Do I ask her to let me in even though she’s just wearing a robe? Do I wait for her to come downstairs so we can talk?

“I – ”

“Would you like to come in?” Jenna opens the door wider.

I nod. “Yeah.”

She steps aside and I enter the room. It’s just like mine except that the sheets are gold instead of black, the chaise lounge red instead of white. The smell of Jenna’s shampoo is stronger here, probably wafting out of the open bathroom door, along with other scents. All nice. All intoxicating. Still, I ignore them as I sit down.

Now, where do I start?

“I’m sorry about your mother.” Jenna is the one who starts the conversation as she sits on the edge of the bed facing me. “I didn’t know.”

“Because I didn’t tell you,” I say.

She clasps her hands on her lap. “So when we were in college, when we were dating, she was…?”

“Already sick,” I complete the sentence for her. “That’s why I took a semester off.”

“Is that also why you didn’t go to college right away?”

I nod. “She got diagnosed just before my high school graduation.”

“That’s… awful.”

I can’t say it wasn’t. In fact, I still remember the day my mother told me the news. She sat me down, looked me in the eye and told me straight. No prelude. No tears. She always did resent drama. In fact, she seemed fine. Me? I felt like the ground beneath my feet had just vanished.

“What cancer?” Jenna asks.

“Bone.”

The toughest, most painful son of a bitch.

“I didn’t want to go to college anymore,” I go on. “But my mom insisted on it. So I went. Still, one time, she got it so bad that I had to go back. She got better after that. I went back to college. Shortly after, I met you.”

And even though things were still shitty and didn’t make sense, life became more tolerable.

“I wish you’d told me,” Jenna says. “I wish I could have helped you with your mother.”

I shake my head. “There was nothing you could have done for her.”

“But there was something I could have done for you.”

“You were there,” I tell her. “That was enough.”

She disagrees with a frown.

“But you’re right,” I say. “I should have told you. I guess it was just too… painful. I felt guilty, you know, about going to college. I was constantly worried about her. But when I was with you, I forgot all that.”

Jenna meets my gaze. “When did she…?”

“Die?” I lean forward on my knees. “A short while before… before we broke up.”

“So we were still together?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t say a word?”

“She was gone. There was nothing left to say.”

Jenna nods. “And it never occurred to you that I would have wanted to share in your pain?”

I give her a puzzled look. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I loved you,” she tells me.

And I can see it. I see that now in her eyes. Shit.

“But you never believed that, I guess. I suppose you didn’t feel the same way. That’s why you left.”