I almost shake my head.
Is this really happening?
It seems almost too good to be true.
“Oh.” Candace pins her lower lip with her teeth as her gaze flickers away. “I’m not sure. That might not be possible.”
Some of the pretty façade in my head falls away as I crash back to earth with a painful thud. I straighten on my seat. “Why not?”
“My husband, Roger,” there’s an uncomfortable pause as she shifts on the chair, “he doesn’t know that I was previously married.”
I blink and attempt to wrap my brain around what she’s saying. “You,” it takes effort to swallow down the hurt and pain, “never told him about me?”
“No,” she whispers faintly, “I didn’t.”
Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips as I retract my hand. “You have to understand what it was like for me.”
For her?
I have to understand what it was like for her?
You know that feeling you get when you fall and land flat on your back? The way it knocks the air from your lungs, making it impossible to breathe? You gasp, can’t talk, and your eyes sting?
That’s exactly how I feel at this moment.
When I remain mute, at a loss, she rushes to fill the void of silence that stretches between us.
“After I left your father, I was in a really dark place. It was my therapist who helped me to realize that I’d been suffering from post-partum depression. The creativity I’d always taken for granted was no longer there, and that was terrifying. It was like having an arm amputated. Who was I without my art? Even though the decision was difficult, I chose to leave.” She presses a hand to her chest. “There was no way I could be the mother you needed when part of me was missing.” There’s an uncomfortable pause. “You understand that, don’t you?”
Yeah, I understand perfectly.
When I’m finally able to summon my voice, it’s completely devoid of emotion. “You chose your art.”
Over me.
Instead of me.
The unspoken words hang painfully in the air between us. The tentative bridge we had been building has now been destroyed.
Her eyes widen. The gathered wetness makes them shiny. “I know that’s what it sounds like, but my motives weren’t that selfish.”
A humorless laugh bubbles up in my throat. Or maybe it’s all the emotion I’ve kept locked away for all these years.
“You might not realize it, but you were better off without me,” she whispers.
She just might be right about that. Although, we’ll never know.
“It sounds like your father’s wife—”
“Jenna,” I snap, cutting her off. “Her name is Jenna.”
“Sorry.” She swallows thickly. “It sounds like Jenna treated you well.”
For all Candace knows, Jenna could have been pure evil. Thank fuck, she wasn’t. I have a couple of friends with stepparents, and they don’t get along. I really lucked out in that regard. Jenna is everything that Candace is not and could never be.
Was unwilling to be.
I fold my arms across my chest and press against the back of the chair, needing to put as much space between us as possible. All of a sudden, the walls of the coffee shop are pressing in on me, making it difficult to breathe. I suck air in through my nostrils, filling my lungs, attempting to calm everything racing inside me. The urge to bolt hums beneath my skin, making me twitchy.
“Colton?” She leans forward, stretching her hand out across the table. “Please, talk to me.”
It takes effort to fight my way out of the pain that pounds through me before blinking sightlessly at her fingers.
I can’t.
I can’t bear for her to touch me.
“If you never had any intention of letting me back into your life, why did you bother with this?”
She gulps as if thrown off by the blunt question. “I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay. That I made the right decision all those years ago.”
Ah.
So the point of this little exercise was to assuage her guilt.
Got it.
I clear my throat, unable to sit in her presence any longer. “As you can see for yourself, I’m good. No need to worry or think about me for another sixteen years.”
“Colton,” her face drains of all color, “I don’t want it to end like this.”
Yeah, well...it’s a little late for that.
Sixteen years too late, to be exact.
This woman could never understand the kind of damage she inflicted. She has no idea the emotional scars I carry around with me or how they’ve affected every single relationship. Only now do I realize the extent of the destruction.
Silently, I rise from the chair. I think we’ve said everything that needed to be said.
Her dark eyes widen as she scrambles to do the same. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” I hear my voice as if from a great distance. “I need to get back to school.”
“Please, let me explain it better.” Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips as a frantic light enters her eyes. “I didn’t do a good job.”