Living With Regret (30 page)

“What were you going to tell me?”

“Just that I never thought Cory was the person you were meant to spend your life with. Loving a person doesn’t always make them the best forever choice. He didn’t seem like the guy who was going to make you the best version of yourself.”

“Is that what Dad does for you?”

She looks away from me, and I know the answer instantly. “I should get the kitchen cleaned up. Do you want me to save you a plate for later?”

“No,” I say, pushing my plate back. “I think I’m just going to go to bed. It’s been a really long day.”

“Okay, get some sleep.” I slide down off the barstool and tug my sweater across my chest. Dinner didn’t go quite like I’d thought it would, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least now, Mom will understand why I’m moping around the house for the next few weeks or months. This is going to go down as the year I’m always going to want to forget. I loved one guy, no, make that two, and I lost them both. At some point, it’s going to prove to be more than I can take.

When I get up to my room, it’s completely dark outside. Fall has its positives, and getting darker earlier is one of them. Before I crawl into bed, I go to the window and gaze up at the stars. Usually, when I look up at them, I think of Sam, and this is no different. Instead of making me feel like everything is going to be okay, though, they bring back the nauseous uneasiness I felt this morning. This is definitely something that even the Big Dipper can’t fix.

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my car. Cory’s in the driver’s seat, his wrist resting against the top of the steering wheel. “Why are you so against going to this party?”

“I don’t know. We just got home, and I wanted to spend time alone with you.”

His jaw tightens. “We’ve been away for months, Rachel.”

We have. We’ve been away at college, but it seems like there are always other people around us. Beau. Kate. Emery. Cory’s drinking buddies. There’s always someone.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” I say, sinking back in my seat.

“Look, I’m sorry. Tomorrow, we’ll go out to the lake, just the two of us.” His hand reaches for mine across the seat, and the annoyed feeling fades. Cory does that … he always melts me.

“I guess I can compromise.”

Within minutes, we’re driving down a gravel road and onto a large grass field. It’s packed with cars and, in the clearing, my old classmates surround a large fire. When I left for college, I thought I was going to miss them—that they would be hard to replace, but that wasn’t the case. I found people I connected with on a deeper level … people more like me. Coming out here doesn’t even sound like fun anymore.

We both slip out of the car, meeting at the rear. Cory wraps his arm around my shoulders and ushers us toward the crowd, breaking his step long enough to kiss the side of my head. “We’ll leave early, okay?”

I relax into his side, lifting my hand to clasp my fingers with his. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I don’t expect anything less.”

Everyone looks at us as we walk up to the fire. It’s always been like that. We’re “the couple.” I think they’re all waiting for us to fall on our ass or get married. I’d go as far as to bet there’s a wager going on. I hate the attention; it only brings pressure.

“I’m going to get something to drink. Don’t go too far, okay?”

“I’ll wait here for you.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing me one last time.

That’s how this one ends, with him walking away from me. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach because deep inside, I know that was our last kiss.

I toss the sheets off the bed and stumble to the bathroom, needing to fully wake up from this dream. I turn on the dim light above the shower, which is just enough to see my reflection in the mirror without bothering my tired eyes. Cold water … that’s what I need to escape this.

Turning the faucet on to the coldest setting, I fill my joined hands with water. I wait until it’s to the top and splash it across my face. I feel more alive, but it’s still not enough. I place my hands under the cool water again, and repeat the whole process multiple times. When I finally stop, my hands are numb from the water’s temperature.

This recollection reminds me how much Cory and I had grown apart. We used to be salt and pepper. Popcorn and butter. Ice cream and hot fudge. Things shifted slowly until I wasn’t so much afraid to lose him but rather the idea of him. No one should hold onto an idea that long; it either needs to become a reality or be abandoned, because ideas are just thoughts without effort or belief behind them.

For the first time I realize that if I could turn back the clock, I wouldn’t just go back to the night of the accident. I’d go back to the first semester of college and let go of the idea.

NORMAL FEELS GOOD.
I wear it like a designer coat as I step into Ms. Peters’ shop. Two days spent moping around the house, drowning in my own guilt is all it took for this to feel like a corner of heaven.

“Hey Rachel, how was your weekend?” Ms. Peters smiles, having spotted me while stepping out of the cooler.

“It was okay,” I lie.

“Isn’t that how they all are? I wonder if I’ve already had my best or if it’s yet to come.”

I think about it. She makes a good point, but she also gets the wheels in my head turning again. Are my best days already behind me? Are guilt and anger all I have left?

“What do we have going today?” I ask, tying my apron. I need a distraction now.

“Well, I have a few deliveries ready for you in the cooler. I think there’s two for the hospital and one office delivery.”

“Do you want me to run those now or wait?”

She looks up at the clock. “Why don’t you take them now. If anything else comes up, you can take it later.”

“I’ll do anything to keep myself busy,” I say, heading to the cooler. On the second shelf are three beautiful arrangements with the Peters’s touch. One is a huge bouquet of red roses. It’s probably for the office delivery. I’d guess an anniversary. The other two are brighter, a mixture of fall yellows, oranges, and reds with a hint of green and white—an elegant mixture of roses, carnations, and daisies.

I place them all in a box, careful not to damage the delicate petals. After loading them into my backseat, I grab the delivery tickets and start toward the hospital. It’s not my favorite place. It’s never going to be.

Today, I make it through the lobby without running into anyone. The delivery is quick—in and out in less than two minutes. Back in the car, I turn the key back, and out of all songs, “What Hurts the Most”
by Rascal Flatts plays on the radio. I’m frozen in place, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. My mom listened to this song all the time when I was younger. It was literally always on when you turned on the radio one summer. But now, after living through so much, the song holds the key to unleashing my heartache. The words sink into the pores of my soul, freeing the emotions I’d tried to lock up. Pouring rain would be the only thing that could increase the sensations of this moment.

‘
And having so much to say’
repeats over and over. Every time I think of what I would say to Cory if he were here right now. If he were sitting in this car next to me, I’d set him free. I’d let him go. Tell him that I love him, that I want the best for him, but that I think he’d have better luck finding what’s best without me. He is an important part of what I’ve become, and for that I’ll never forget him.

I thought by holding on to him, the mad, deep, consuming love would come back. I thought our relationship had encountered a bump. Now, though, I know what it feels like to fall out of love. There’s a difference between being in love and loving someone because they’ve played such a big part in your life.

I swipe away the warm tears as I listen to the last verse. The song ends. A new revelation begins.

I should have let him go. I felt the distance growing in my heart, and Cory … I think he felt it, too. Our relationship became too comfortable until it wasn’t comfortable at all.

This doesn’t necessarily make me feel better or worse about what happened, but it fills in holes. When I compare how we were in my older memories of us to the final ones, the difference is a glaring red light. If only I’d seen it five months sooner.

I pull a travel-size package of Kleenex from the glove compartment and dab it lightly under each eye. By now, the makeup I applied this morning has washed away. The best I can do is clean myself up—make myself presentable enough to walk into an office where everyone is probably dressed in suits and drop off a vase of roses.

Checking the address, I recognize it as the car dealership on the outskirts of town, not too far from my house. I roll down my window, hoping the cold air will help remedy my blotchy, red face.

As I pull back on the street, I press the power button on the radio. One musical therapy session is enough for today. While I head across town, the wind blows through my blond hair, whipping it across my face. I push it behind my ears while I attempt to keep my mind free.

A few minutes later, I’m pulling onto the short frontage road that leads to the one and only new car dealership in town. It’s nothing like the massive ones in the city, but they stay busy with farmers buying trucks for their farms, and the town’s elite trading in for a new model every year or two.

I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror, taking a few seconds to slide my tissue-covered finger under my eyes again. Waterproof mascara is wonderful until you try to clean it from your skin.

I get lucky on this one. The young lady who greets me at the door is also who the flowers belong to. I recognize her. She was a couple years ahead of me in high school. Turns out, she’s married and has a kid on the way. It’s interesting how our lives fork in different directions.

As my car starts back down the road, I see Sam’s property in the distance. That stirs something else inside of me. Something more like slow burning anger. The flashback started it, but when he didn’t even try to contact me, it spread. Slowly, taking little pieces of hope right along with it. I didn’t want to talk to him. I wouldn’t have answered, but I wanted to know he was thinking about me. I wanted to hear the pain in his voice as he begged me to give him another chance. I basically wanted to know he felt as shitty as I did—still do. I’ve never been a vengeful person, but these last few months are testing that. Maybe this is just the world’s way of getting revenge on me. I just didn’t think he’d let me go that easily.

I pull in front of the flower shop and slowly count to ten, inhaling a deep, refreshing breath after each number.
One … two … three…
Cars pass by as I hold on to the top of the steering wheel like it’s my lifeline. I attempt to read the expressions on the faces of the passersby. Are they having a good day, bad day, or just indifferent? We encounter people every day without giving much thought to what’s going on inside their heads. It’s a full, yet lonely, world.

After I-don’t-know-how-much time passes, I climb from the car, taking a few extra seconds to soak in the fresh air. Cool and refreshing … it’s exactly what I need. This has definitely been an emotionally taxing few days.

As soon as I open the door to the shop, I’m halted in my tracks. I haven’t seen her in months. She hasn’t called or stopped by to see me. All contact ceased after she visited me in the hospital, but now she’s just a few feet in front of me going through a catalogue of floral arrangements with Ms. Peters. She’s got the same shoulder-length brown hair with caramel highlights. I’d recognize her anywhere.

I quietly walk up behind her. I’m afraid she might just run away if she sees me, because that’s what she has been doing. I never really tried to chase after her, because she obviously didn’t want to be a part of my life. Rejection fucking sucks.

Ms. Peters says something I can’t quite hear and pats Madison’s shoulder, disappearing into the backroom. Madison’s back is to me. It has been since I walked in, but now that Ms. Peters isn’t holding her attention, her eyes scan the display of balloons around the shop before landing on me. They actually shoot a little ways past me before snapping back.