"Naked truths, Lily. That's all I want from you right now. Can you please give me that?"
I nod.
"Did you know he worked there?"
I purse my lips together and wrap my arm over my chest, grabbing at my elbow. "Yes. That's why I didn't want to go back, Ryle. I didn't want to run into him."
My answer seems to release a little of his tension. He runs a hand down his face. "Did you tell him what happened last night? Did you tell him about our fight?"
I take a step forward and shake my head adamantly. "No. He assumed. He saw my eye and your hand and he just assumed."
He blows out a laden breath and leans his head back, looking up at the roof. It looks like it's almost too painful for him to even ask the next question.
"Why were you alone with him in the bathroom?"
I take another step forward. "He followed me in there. I know nothing about him now, Ryle. I didn't even know he owned that restaurant, I thought he was just a waiter. He's not a part of my life anymore, I swear. He just . . ." I fold my arms together and drop my voice. "We both grew up in abusive households. He saw my face and your hand and . . . he was just worried for me. That's all it was."
Ryle brings his hands up and covers his mouth. I can hear the air rushing through his fingers as he releases his breath. He stands up straight, allowing himself a moment to soak in all I've just said.
"My turn," he says.
He pushes off the car and takes the three steps toward me that previously separated us. He puts both hands on my cheeks and looks me dead in the eyes. "If you don't want to be with me . . . please tell me right now, Lily. Because when I saw you with him . . . that hurt. I never want to feel that again. And if it hurts this much now, I'm terrified to think of what it could do to me a year from now."
I can feel the tears begin to stream down my cheeks. I place my hands on top of his and shake my head. "I don't want anyone else, Ryle. I only want you."
He forces the saddest smile I've ever seen on a human. He pulls me to him and holds me there. I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can as he presses his lips to the side of my head.
"I love you, Lily. God, I love you."
I squeeze him tight, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I love you, too."
I close my eyes and wish I could wash away the entire last two days.
Atlas is wrong about Ryle.
I just wish Atlas knew he was wrong.
Chapter Sixteen
"I mean . . . I'm not trying to be selfish, but you didn't taste the dessert, Lily." Allysa groans. "Oh, it was sooo good."
"We're never going back there," I say to her.
She stomps her foot like a little kid. "But . . ."
"Nope. We have to respect your brother's feelings."
She folds her arms over her chest. "I know, I know. Why did you have to be a hormonal teenager and fall in love with the best chef in Boston?"
"He wasn't a chef when I knew him."
"Whatever," she says. She walks out of my office and closes the door.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Ryle: 5 hours down. About 5 more to go. So far so good. Hand is great.
I sigh, relieved. I wasn't sure if he'd be able to do the surgery today, but knowing how much he was looking forward to it makes me happy for him.
Me: Steadiest hands in all of Boston.
I open my laptop and check my email. The first thing I see is an inquiry from the Boston Globe. I open it and it's from a journalist interested in running an article about the store. I grin like an idiot and start emailing her back when Allysa knocks on the door. She opens it and sticks her head in.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," I say back.
She taps her fingers on the doorframe. "Remember a few minutes ago when you told me I could never go back to Bib's because it's unfair to Ryle that the boy you loved when you were a teenager is the owner?"
I fall back against my chair. "What do you want, Allysa?"
She scrunches up her nose and says, "If it isn't fair that we can't go back there because of the owner, how is it fair that the owner gets to come here?"
What?
I close my laptop and stand up. "Why would you say that? Is he here?"
She nods and slips inside my office, closing the door behind her. "He is. He asked for you. And I know you're with my brother and I'm with child, but can we please just take a moment to silently admire the perfection that is that man?"
She smiles dreamily and I roll my eyes.
"Allysa."
"Those eyes, though." She opens the door and walks out. I follow behind her and catch sight of Atlas. "She's right here," Allysa says. "Would you like me to take your coat?"
We don't take coats.
Atlas glances up when I walk out of my office. His eyes cut to Allysa and he shakes his head. "No, thank you. I won't be long."
Allysa leans forward over the counter, dropping her chin on her hands. "Stay as long as you like. In fact, are you looking for an extra job? Lily needs to hire more people and we're looking for someone who can lift really heavy things. Requires a lot of flexibility. Bending over."
I narrow my eyes at Allysa and mouth, "Enough."
She shrugs innocently. I hold my door open for Atlas, but avoid looking directly at him as he passes me. I feel a world of guilt for what happened last night, but also a world of anger for what happened last night.
I walk around my desk and drop into my seat, prepared for an argument. But when I look up at him, I clamp my mouth shut.
He's smiling. He waves his hand around in a circle as he takes a seat across from me. "This is incredible, Lily."
I pause. "Thank you."
He continues smiling at me, like he's proud of me. Then he places a bag between us on the desk and pushes it toward me. "A gift," he says. "You can open it later."
Why is he buying me gifts? He has a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend. Our past has already caused enough problems in my present. I certainly don't need gifts to exacerbate that.
"Why are you buying me gifts, Atlas?"
He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. "I bought it three years ago. I've been holding on to it in case I ever ran into you."
Considerate Atlas. He hasn't changed. Dammit.
I pick up the gift and set it on the floor behind my desk. I try to release some of the tension I'm feeling, but it's really hard when everything about him makes me so tense.
"I came here to apologize to you," he says.
I wave off his apology, letting him know it isn't necessary. "It's fine. It was a misunderstanding. Ryle is fine."
He laughs under his breath. "That's not what I'm apologizing for," he says. "I'd never apologize for defending you."
"You weren't defending me," I say. "There was nothing to defend."
He tilts his head, giving me the same look that he gave me last night. The one that lets me know how disappointed in me he is. It stings deep in my gut.
I clear my throat. "Why are you apologizing, then?"
He's quiet for a moment. Contemplative. "I wanted to apologize for saying that you sounded like your mother. That was hurtful. And I'm sorry."
I don't know why I always feel like crying when I'm around him. When I think about him. When I read about him. It's like my emotions are still tethered to him somehow and I can't figure out how to cut the strings.
His eyes drop to my desk. He reaches forward and grabs three things. A pen. A sticky note. My phone.
He writes something down on the sticky note and then proceeds to pull my phone apart. He slips the case off and puts the sticky note between the case and the phone, then slides the cover back over it. He pushes my phone back across the desk. I look down at it and then up at him. He stands up and tosses the pen on my desk.
"It's my cell phone number. Keep it hidden there in case you ever need it."
I wince at the gesture. The unnecessary gesture. "I won't need it."
"I
hope not." He walks to the door and reaches for the doorknob. And I know this is my only chance to get out what I have to say before he's out of my life forever.
"Atlas, wait."
I stand up so fast, my chair scoots across the room and bumps against the wall. He half turns and faces me.
"What Ryle said to you last night? I never . . ." I bring a nervous hand up to my neck. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. "I never said that to him. He was hurt and upset and he misconstrued my words from a long time ago."
The corner of Atlas's mouth twitches, and I'm not sure if he's trying not to smile or trying not to frown. He faces me straight on. "Believe me, Lily. I know that wasn't a pity fuck. I was there."
He walks out the door, and his words knock me straight back into my seat.
Only . . . my seat is no longer there. It's still on the other side of my office and I'm now on the floor.
Allysa rushes in and I'm lying on my back behind my desk. "Lily?" She runs around the desk and stands over me. "Are you okay?"
I hold up a thumb. "Fine. Just missed my chair."
She reaches out her hand and helps me to my feet. "What was that all about?"
I glance at the door as I retrieve my chair. I take a seat and look down at my phone. "Nothing. He was just apologizing."
Allysa sighs longingly and looks back at the door. "So does that mean he doesn't want the job?"
I've got to hand it to her. Even in the midst of emotional turmoil, she can make me laugh. "Get back to work before I dock your pay."
She laughs and makes to leave. I tap my pen against my desk and then say, "Allysa. Wait."
"I know," she says, cutting me off. "Ryle doesn't need to know about that visit. You don't have to tell me."
I smile. "Thank you."
She closes the door.
I reach down and pick up the bag with my three-year-old gift inside of it. I pull it out and can easily tell it's a book, wrapped in tissue paper. I tear the tissue paper away and fall against the back of my chair.
There's a picture of Ellen DeGeneres on the front. The title is Seriously . . . I'm Kidding. I laugh and then open the book, gasping quietly when I see it's autographed. I run my fingers over the words of the inscription.
Lily,
Atlas says just keep swimming.
--Ellen DeGeneres
I run my finger over her signature. Then I drop the book on my desk, press my forehead against it, and fake cry against the cover.
Chapter Seventeen
It's after seven before I get home. Ryle called an hour ago and said he wouldn't be coming over tonight. The confushercackle (whatever that big word he used was) separation was a success, but he's staying at the hospital overnight to make sure there aren't complications.
I walk in the door to my quiet apartment. I change into my quiet pajamas. I eat a quiet sandwich. And then I lie down in my quiet bedroom and open my quiet new book, hoping it can quiet my emotions.
Sure enough, three hours and the majority of a book later, all the emotions from the last several days begin to seep out of me. I place a bookmark on the page where I stopped reading and I close it.
I stare at the book for a long time. I think about Ryle. I think about Atlas. I think about how sometimes, no matter how convinced you are that your life will turn out a certain way, all that certainty can be washed away with a simple change in tide.
I take the book Atlas bought me and put it in the closet with all my journals. Then I pick up the one that's filled with memories of him. And I know it's finally time to read the last entry I wrote. Then I can close the book for good.
Dear Ellen,
Most of the time I'm thankful you don't know I exist and that I've never really mailed you any of these things I write to you.
But sometimes, especially tonight, I wish you did. I just need someone to talk to about everything I'm feeling. It's been six months since I've seen Atlas and I honestly don't know where he is or how he's doing. So much has happened since the last letter I wrote to you, when Atlas moved to Boston. I thought it was the last time I'd see him for a while, but it wasn't.
I saw him again after he left, several weeks later. It was my sixteenth birthday and when he showed up, it became the absolute best day of my life.
And then the absolute worst.
It had been exactly forty-two days since Atlas left for Boston. I counted every day like it would help somehow. I was so depressed, Ellen. I still am. People say that teenagers don't know how to love like an adult. Part of me believes that, but I'm not an adult and so I have nothing to compare it to. But I do believe it's probably different. I'm sure there's more substance in the love between two adults than there is between two teenagers. There's probably more maturity, more respect, more responsibility. But no matter how different the substance of a love might be at different ages in a person's life, I know that love still has to weigh the same. You feel that weight on your shoulders and in your stomach and on your heart no matter how old you are. And my feelings for Atlas are very heavy. Every night I cry myself to sleep and I whisper, "Just keep swimming." But it gets really hard to swim when you feel like you're anchored in the water.
Now that I think about it, I've probably been experiencing the stages of grief in a sense. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I was deep in the depression stage the night of my sixteenth birthday. My mother had tried to make the day a good one. She bought me gardening supplies, made my favorite cake, and the two of us went to dinner together. But by the time I had crawled into bed that night, I couldn't shake the sadness.
I was crying when I heard the tap on my window. At first, I thought it had started raining. But then I heard his voice. I jumped up and ran to the window, my heart in hysterics. He was standing there in the dark, smiling at me. I raised the window and helped him inside and he took me in his arms and held me there for so long while I cried.
He smelled so good. I could tell when I hugged him that he'd put on some much-needed weight in just the six weeks since I'd last seen him. He pulled back and wiped the tears off my cheeks. "Why are you crying, Lily?"
I was embarrassed that I was crying. I cried a lot that month--probably more than any other month of my life. It was probably just the hormones of being a teenage girl, mixed with the stress of how my father treated my mother, and then having to say goodbye to Atlas.
I grabbed a shirt from the floor and dried my eyes, then we sat down on the bed. He pulled me against his chest and leaned against my headboard.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him.
"It's your birthday," he said. "And you're still my favorite person. And I've missed you."
It was probably no later than ten o'clock when he got there, but we talked so much, I remember it was after midnight the next time I looked at the clock. I can't even remember what all we talked about, but I do remember how I felt. He seemed so happy and there was a light in his eyes that I'd never seen there before. Like he'd finally found his home.
He said he wanted to tell me something and his voice grew serious. He readjusted me so that I was straddling his lap, because he wanted me to look him in the eyes when he told me. I was thinking maybe he was about to tell me he had a girlfriend or that he was leaving even sooner for the military. But what he said next shocked me.
He said the first night he went to that old house, he wasn't there because he needed a place to stay.
He went there to kill himself.
My hands went up to my mouth because I had no idea things had gotten that bad for him. So bad that he didn't even want to live anymore.
"I hope you never know what it's like to feel that lonely, Lily," he said.
He went on to tell me that the first night he was at that house, he was sitting in the living room floor with a razor blade to his wrist. Right when he was about to use it, my bedroom light went on. "You were standing there like an angel, backlit by the light of heaven," he said. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."
&nb
sp; He watched me walk around my bedroom for a while. Watched me lie on the bed and write in my journal. And he put down the razor blade because he said it'd been a month since life had given him any sort of feeling at all, and looking at me gave him a little bit of feeling. Enough to not be numb enough to end things that night.
Then a day or two later is when I took him the food and set it on his back porch. I guess you already know the rest of that story.
"You saved my life, Lily," he said to me. "And you weren't even trying."
He leaned forward and kissed that spot between my shoulder and my neck that he always kisses. I liked that he did it again. I don't like much about my body, but that spot on my collarbone has become my favorite part of me.
He took my hands in his and told me he was leaving sooner than he planned for the military, but that he couldn't leave without telling me thank you. He told me he'd be gone for four years and that the last thing he wanted for me was to be a sixteen-year-old girl not living my life because of a boyfriend I never got to see or hear from.
The next thing he said made his blue eyes tear up until they looked clear. He said, "Lily. Life is a funny thing. We only get so many years to live it, so we have to do everything we can to make sure those years are as full as they can be. We shouldn't waste time on things that might happen someday, or maybe even never."
I knew what he was saying. That he was leaving for the military and he didn't want me to hold on to him while he was gone. He wasn't really breaking up with me because we weren't ever really together. We'd just been two people who helped each other when we needed it and got our hearts fused together along the way.
It was hard, being let go by someone who had never really grabbed hold of me completely in the first place. In all the time we've spent together, I think we both sort of knew this wasn't a forever thing. I'm not sure why, because I could easily love him that way. I think maybe under normal circumstances, if we were together like typical teenagers and he had an average life with a home, we could be that kind of couple. The kind who comes together so easily and never experiences a life where cruelty sometimes intercepts.
I didn't even try to get him to change his mind that night. I feel like we have the kind of connection that even the fires of hell couldn't sever. I feel like he could go spend his time in the military and I'll spend my years being a teenager and then it will all fall back into place when the timing is right.
It Ends With Us Page 17
