Her name is forever inked on my chest.
My feelings for her haven’t diminished in the least.
I need to stop thinking about it before I get my hopes up for nothing. The last thing I want is for the one woman I’ve wanted to be in my life to reject me once again.
I’m mixing the noodles in with the sauce when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call. “Can you grab the garlic bread from the oven?”
“Sure.” I hear her set her things down before she grabs a nearby potholder and pulls out the pan. “Smells good,” she comments. “I hope it tastes as good.”
“It will.”
We’re quiet as we fix our plates and drinks and then sit down at my table. Mere wastes no time tackling her first topic of choice.
“So, Mom called you.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “She was worried about you and she wants me to keep an eye on you, be here if you need me.”
She watches me for a moment before picking up her glass. “That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
That seems to be an acceptable answer. “What happened with your girlfriend?”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I correct. “She left after you did.”
“Ex?” she questions. Is that hope in her tone? “Why? How long were you together?”
“Only since May. We argue more than anything else. I was planning to do it once I returned. Why are you here, Meredith?” That’s a way better topic than Erica.
She feigns innocence as she answers with a dubious look, “You invited me for dinner, Noah.” I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “Can’t we just have dinner first? Talk about hockey or something. Or we don’t have to talk at all.”
I can give her a few more minutes of peace. “What about hockey?”
“Tell me about your career. I...I didn’t follow you, but Mom would tell me when you were traded to a new team.”
Not going to lie, that stings. I’m not prepared at all to hear that when she left, she wasn’t curious enough to learn more about my life than that. Mostly because I definitely followed her career. Maybe a bit obsessively. I kept up with her matches and got those alerts to have any articles mentioning her sent to my email. I always knew what was going on, and she only knew when I moved? The hurt must show on my face.
“It was too difficult, Noah,” she explains quietly. “If I was to truly leave you behind, then I couldn’t allow that indulgence. I’m hoping to finally see you play a game this season, though.” Her tone turns hopeful. “How is it different than when I last saw you play?”
“It’s more physical and the arena is bigger. I could probably give you a tour some time.”
&nbs
p; “I’d like that. I’ll help.”
She stands to help me put the leftovers away and to place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Once done, I lead her into the living room. Dinner is over and it’s time for her to talk. We sit next to each other on the couch. Meredith pulls one leg up as she turns to face me.
“Talk to me, Mere,” I urge.
She bursts into tears, a sob ripping from her throat. Without thinking about it, I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her. I barely have time to take a second to appreciate the fact that she’s in my arms before she starts blubbering her story with her head on my shoulder.
“Everything’s wrong, Noah. I had a plan and it all blew up in my face. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t play tennis and might never get back to that point. I didn’t finish college. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how to, or if I can, recover from this. What if I have to retire? Even my backup plan has gone to shit. I can’t coach if I can’t even play or demonstrate. I can’t get a good job if I don’t have a degree, not that I would even know what I want to do. I was supposed to play until I was ready to retire and then start coaching or something. I was supposed to get married and,” she chokes as she continues, “have kids.”
She lifts her head to look at me. “I was even thinking about reaching out to you, but then I met Vance and...” Meredith shakes her head. “When I look back and try to figure out how I messed up, how my plans got so screwed up, I keep thinking it’s because I walked away from you. I don’t regret that so much as I should’ve come back to you sooner. Then none of this might’ve happened.
“God, I really am pathetic,” she says, wiping her tears away harshly as she tries to move from my lap. I hold her firmly in place; no way in hell is she leaving me. “I’m crying and freaking out because nothing worked out the way I wanted. I’m practically worthless now. If my shoulder doesn’t recover, then I don’t have a job or a plan for the future, and I’m so lost it hurts. I hurt. I hurt in so many unimaginable ways, Noah. Am I crazy for thinking you can make me better?” she finishes, holding her breath as she stares at me and waits for an answer.