That Yesterday

by Teal Haviland

  He laughed.

  I got mad.

  Then, I wrote my book. I wonder sometimes if I did it just to prove to him I could so he’d have to apologize to me. I still haven’t figured out if I would have written it if he hadn’t laughed at me that day.

  He still hasn’t apologized.

  And, in all honesty, I truly didn’t know if I’d ever be able to actually do it. Five books and a publishing deal later, I still don’t know if I can really do it, even though I obviously can. I hear most writers feel the same, no matter how many books they write.

  I take a break from my ponderings and writing to stretch my legs and warm my hands at the fire that has just been stoked by someone sitting next to it. It’s nice to be here again, especially when the fireplace is being used. After feeling like the blood is circulating again in my legs I turn to go back to my table. It’s just in time to see the barista that took my initial order and then came to get Seth placing another coffee on my table.

  “Excuse me!”

  The employee turns with an expectant look on his face.

  “I didn’t order that.”

  “I know,” he says as he turns again.

  “Wait!”

  He keeps walking but turns to respond. “He ordered it for you”

  “What? Who?” I say as I glance around the room for a familiar face.

  “Over there,” he says as he nods his head toward the corner behind me.

  I scan the faces more closely, but I don’t recognize anyone. Then, I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn. It’s him.

  I look into eyes I’ve not seen anywhere except in dreams for a long time, eyes that I still love, but never wanted to see again. They belong to the man that broke my heart, what seems like, a lifetime ago, and I suddenly realize that I’ve made a huge mistake in coming here and, also, that God must think He’s very funny for arranging this encounter. But, I don’t find any humor in it, at all.

  “Hi, Jo.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Don’t call me Jo,” I say as my insides do a flip. It’s a feeling that I’m not sure I’ll recover from any time soon. I’ve spent so many years trying to avoid seeing Ben that I thought for sure, after hearing that he had moved with his wife to some remote area a couple of hours northeast of Atlanta, that I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him popping up here. And why, of all days, did he have to show up here the same day I decide to come back?

  The smile Ben wore when I first looked at him ebbed a little. “Why not? It’s your name.”

  I sit, trying to ignore Ben as I look down at my laptop and begin to hit keys like I’m completely unaffected by seeing him when, in reality, I’m not even able to form words—I’m typing nothing but a bunch of absolute gibberish, and I pray he doesn’t come and look over my shoulder to see what I’ve typed. “My name is Jolynn.”

  “I’ve always called you Jo.”

  “Untrue. You called me Jolynn before we started dating.”

  “And then I called you Jo.”

  “Well,” I say in an aggravated tone and stop typing. I look up at him with the steadiest gaze I feel I can muster. “We aren’t dating anymore. Or does a wedding band being on only one of our ring−fingers confuse you for some reason?”

  Ben crosses his arms and rests them on his chest as he studies my expression for a moment. “No. I’m not confused by anything, except why I’m getting this reaction from you.”

  “You really have to wonder? I think it should be crystal−clear for you.”

  “Come on, Jo—Jolynn. It’s been eight years.”

  “I know how long it’s been.”

  “Why are you holding onto a grudge?”

  “A grudge,” I say and shake my head as I look back at my computer and resume typing pure gibberish. At least it makes me look like I’m trying to get rid of him, even when I’m feeling an agonizing urge to put my arms around him, instead.

  Why does he still have this effect on me?

  “What do you call it, then?”

  “Honestly, Ben, I don’t call it anything. You know I’m not the type to allow someone back into my life who’s hurt me. And,” I look back up at him to try to drive my point home, “we both know how badly you hurt me.”

  “I’m not trying to get back into your life, Jolynn. I just saw you and thought it would be nice to say hi and catch up for a while.”

  “Why, Ben? What’s the point?”

  “Come on, Jolynn. Can you please just try to forgive me? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

  Well, shit. Now I have to talk to him so I know how he’s suffered. Because, wouldn’t it be nice to hear about, to know he didn’t get out of feeling at least some of the pain that I have?

  I sit back in my seat and watch him for a moment and, damn it, he does look sincere.

  He looked sincere when he told me he loved me, too, though.

  “Okay,” I say through a sigh, motioning to the seat across from me as I did, “have a seat. Let’s catch up.”

  Ben takes the seat across from me and, in true Ben−fashion, turns it backwards so he has to straddle it. I watch him with an ever−deepening curiosity as he settles himself, noting that he still looks relatively the same as he did when I last saw him—same curly, blond hair, same muscular build, same low−key confidence. The only thing that seems different, maybe, is that there are a few, deeper creases around his eyes. But he’d always had quite a few there since he was almost always smiling about something.

  I wonder if he thinks I look the same, too.

  “So,” he says, “you look great.” He smiles more broadly, again. “Really, Jolynn, . . you do.”

  An unwanted smile betrays me. “Thanks. So do you.” It isn’t a lie, though I don’t really want to say it out loud. Now that I have, though, I hate myself for it because it makes me admit even more to myself that he does, in fact, look amazing. So good, it makes my chest ache in a way it hasn’t since we broke up and in the many months that followed until I got some kind of hold on myself and my emotions, again. It’s the kind of ache that only those who have loved that deeply, and lost that love, can understand.

  “So . . . tell me,” I say, “exactly how did you suffer when you broke up with me, considering you didn’t skip a beat by falling into Ashley’s bed and then marrying her six months later?”

  Ben doesn’t answer right away, and instead is looking at me in the way he used to—when I felt he could connect to my soul with just his glance. I loved the way he made me feel, then, when he looked at me this way. Now . . . now, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Part of me likes it, and the other part, my heart−part, is shattering all over again.

  I break Ben’s gaze and glance toward the counter. Seth is looking toward us but, really, is mainly staring a hole through Ben. He shifts his gaze from Ben to me, holds my gaze for a moment, gives me a knowing nod, and then turns his attention back to his work.

  “I still loved you, Jolynn.”

  My heart feels like it has stopped, and I know my breathing does, as I turn my focus back on Ben, feeling my brows pulling together as I do. “Bullshit, Ben.” My tone is straddling that of angry and stunned. “You sit down here, a married man, saying you aren’t trying to get back in my life, and then expect me to believe, as you slept next to her and married her, that you still loved me?”

  “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. I still loved you. Jo . . .” Ben puts his hand on my arm that I have resting on the table, “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  I pull my arm back quickly, hitting my coffee cup as I do, knocking it over and spilling its contents too close to my laptop. “Fuck you, Ben,” I say in a harsh, lowered tone to try to keep from any more unwanted attention being cast my way because the ruckus already being made from the spill and my ensuing rush to get my things out of the way.

  “Here, Jo,” Seth says as he puts his hand on my arm. His touch is, somehow, is instantly calming. I look at him, and his kind eyes and smile relax me further. “I’
ve got this.” I sit back as he quickly cleans the table off, then glances at me. “I’ll bring you another.”

  “No need,” I say to him, “I didn’t buy it.” I throw a glance at Ben, then back to Seth. “Thank you for helping me, Seth.”

  “No problem. But I’ll bring you another, anyway. Maybe,” he says as he now focuses his attention on Ben, “you’ll have better luck with a new one.” Seth gave an acknowledging, borderline dismissive because of his expression, nod to Ben. “Ben.” And then he made his way back to the counter.

  I glare at Ben and he holds my gaze. He never was one to back down from anything or anyone. It was something I once loved about him, but now I feel more annoyed by it. “You seriously have a lot of nerve, Ben. You expect me to believe that you not only suffered as a result of our break−up, but also that you still loved me when you married her and, even more ridiculous, that you have never stopped loving me.”

  Ben doesn’t respond immediately, and instead looks off toward the, once again, giggling couple for a long moment. When he does respond, he’s still staring either at the couple, or through them. I don’t know which. “It’s hard to explain.”

  I laugh sarcastically. “Poor thing.”

  Now he looks down at his hands that are clasped together and rested on the table. “You can believe what you want, Jolynn . . . but it is the truth. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Then, why’d you do it? That doesn’t make any sense, at all.”

  “I know . . . it’s just . . . I thought I wanted something else, someone else, but I was wrong.” Ben looks at me and something inside of me that’s been hard and unfeeling since the day we broke up seems to soften. I feel a tear slip from my eye as he continues. “I cannot tell you how wrong I was, or how sorry still am, not only that I hurt you, but that I was such an idiot.”

  “Yeah . . .” I say as I sit back in my chair and sigh, “don’t expect me to argue with that last point.”

  “Excuse me,” Ben says as he stands and starts to walk away.

  My heart drops. He’s leaving, and though I shouldn’t care, I don’t want him to.

  “I need to step out and make a business call real quick,” he says over his shoulder.

  “Oh. Okay,” I respond, and then think I sound relieved so I throw in, “Whatever,” Then begin typing to try to distract myself as he’s walking toward the door because, damn it . . . I don’t want to look up to see if his ass still looks as good as it used to. But . . . I do, and . . . it does.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Ugh . . .” I say quietly to myself in mock disgust, “why can’t at least that part of him not be so damn appealing, anymore?” Then I sit back and glance toward the counter in time to see Seth walking over to me. He smiles as soon as our eyes meet and so do I, but neither of us are doing so as enthusiastically as we were before when we were catching up—before Ben showed up.

  ‘Here you go,” he says as he places a new caramel macchiato on the table. “Hot and sweet. Just like you.”

  My brows raise.

  “I mean,” the words stumble out of his mouth, “Just like you like them, meaning your drinks.” Seth fidgets with the kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. “I remember that you like your macchiato very hot and way too sweet for most of the world’s population.” Seth smiles sheepishly and I decide to give him a way out of being so visibly embarrassed.

  “Thank you! But I think that’s a matter of opinion. The sweetness of my macchiato, that is. Not that I am hot and sweet, because that’s definitely not an opinion. That’s fact. At least I’m going to believe it’s true.” I laugh to try to ease him further and it seems to work as I think I see his body relax a little.

  “May I?” He asks as he gestures to Ben’s now−empty seat.

  “Of course. Ben stepped out to make a call.”

  Seth turns the chair the right way before sitting, apparently he isn’t a chair−straddling, chair turned the wrong way, kind of guy like Ben. But . . . I imagine there’s much about him that is very different from Ben and I find my interest is piqued.

  I wonder what he’s really like—the Seth that exists outside of this place he owns and runs, when he gets to just be Seth.

  Seth looks a little uncomfortable, again, though I’m not sure why. Maybe my attempt at making him feel less embarrassed didn’t really work, after all.

  “Jo, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I can tell your more tense than before Ben showed up . . . are you okay?”

  I smile and nod. “I’m okay. And I don’t mind you asking. It’s sweet.”

  “Good. Because I know the owner and I can have him removed, if you like.” Seth smiles and winks playfully and I’m stunned as I feel my stomach fill with butterflies, though I’m not sure why.

  I laugh them away.

  “Really, I’m fine. I hear the owner is a pretty great guy, though. Maybe you can introduce me to him someday.”

  “Ehh . . . he’s okay, for an old guy.”

  “He’s always been far more than okay from what I’ve heard about him. I wouldn’t know first−hand since I don’t know him, of course.”

  Seth’s expression remains kind and happy, but becomes suddenly more thoughtful. “Maybe,” he says, “that should change. Maybe you should get to know him.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I’m stunned into silence, which is a situation I rarely find myself in. Maybe it’s the writer−side of me, but words are kind of my thing and I normally don’t have a hard time finding them. Is Seth really flirting with me? Is that a sideways way of asking me out?

  “Sorry I had to step out,” Ben says as he’s suddenly standing next to the table, startling Seth and me. I look up at Ben, but Ben isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Seth. When I also look at Seth, I find he’s recovered from being startled and is focused back on me.

  “Remember what I said, Jo,” Seth says as he starts to stand. Then walks away without another word.

  I don’t stop watching Seth as her goes behind the counter, but I have to when he goes into the kitchen and the swinging door finally stops swinging and completely blocks my view. I’m not looking at Ben as he starts to sit down, but I hear as he turns the chair back around, once again, to straddle it before he does.

  “What’s up with Seth?”

  “Hmm?” is the response Ben receives as I turn my attention away from the now−motionless door Seth just disappeared behind and back to him. I’m wondering what’s up with Seth, too, but I doubt it’s for the same reason. As I look at Ben’s face I feel my butterflies return. Damn these things. I take a long drink of my coffee to try to drown them.

  It doesn’t work.

  “I asked what’s up with Seth. He’s not being very sociable toward me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” I say, then turn my tone to be a bit more stabbing, “you hurt him in some way, too.”

  “I haven’t done anything to him, Jolynn. His attitude toward me did change, though, after we split. I think he had a thing for you and blamed me for you not coming around, anymore.”

  “I doubt he had a thing for me, but you were the reason I stopped coming here, so with that point you’re correct . . . you are to blame.”

  “I wish you hadn’t stopped. I wanted to see you. To try to be your friend, still.”

  “My friend? Ben, after how you let me find out you were planning to marry Ashley after you and I had only been broken up for a month, I don’t think you can say you wanted to be my friend. Friends care about how they make each other feel, and me finding out you were engaged through the grapevine didn’t show you had any consideration for my feelings, at all. You might be able to believe your own bullshit on that one, but I won’t.”

  “You’re right. I was a coward. I hated I’d already hurt you and I didn’t want to face that me getting married so quick after we split was going to hurt you all that much more.” Ben reached for my hand, again, but this time I didn’t pull away. “I’m so, so sorry, Jolynn. I screwed up
. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s not that easy, Ben. Sure I can say I forgive you and you can walk out today feeling better about me saying it’s okay. That I’m over it. But that only makes it easy for you. Not for me. I’ll still feel the absence of a love that I thought was so real and special—a love that I thought you felt too.”

  “I did feel that our love was special, was rare.”

  “Then why did you throw it away? Why was it so easy for you to leave what we had behind to be with her? Don’t you see how that doesn’t make any sense?”

  “Yes. I do. And I can’t really explain it. She was different from you, more daring and exciting.”

  “Gee . . . thanks,” I say as I now pull my hand away from his.

  “Jolynn, let me finish,” he says as he reaches out further and finds my hand again. “She did have those qualities, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have your own that were just a good and, honestly as I found out later, were better in so many ways. I mistook your steadiness, your calmness, as a negative. I was wrong. It’s exactly the sort of trait that she doesn’t have that I crave, now. I miss how you always made me feel I was home. And I don’t mean because of a place to live. I mean you. Your heart and mind and soul . . . it was my home. I thought I wanted more, and she was there. She fit the thing I thought I wanted. It was too late when I figured out I was wrong. Way too late.”

  “Well . . . that’s a good story, Ben. But,” I turn his hand over and spin his wedding ring around his finger, “you’re still with her, I see. So, I guess you don’t regret your decision too much.”

  “I am. Even though I didn’t do what was right by you, I’m trying to do what’s right by her. She’s my wife, the mother of my children. It’s the bed I made.”