CHAPTER 44
THREE YEARS AGO
It’s been two years. We’ve been fighting the contract in court. I’ve been in jail two times for breaking a new restraining order. The second time was sixteen months. I haven’t worked since Cait left. I’m not even sure I’ve showered since she left. I can’t remember the last time I ate, left the apartment, or saw Linden. Sometimes I don’t even leave the couch. Food magically appears in my fridge. I have a sense that Linden hired someone to look after me, but I can’t be sure. Sometimes my bedsheets smell cleaner than they should, and I find clothes I left on the floor hung in my closet or folded in drawers.
Life feels fake without Cait.
I sit in front of my TV, transfixed by her image. Her hair is shorter, a long bob. She’s wearing a boxy suit her mom probably picked for her and too much makeup. She’s slimmer, her muscles softened, no doubt from the arduous battle of recovery. Does she still run—can she physically? Even though she looks different, I can’t peel my gaze away. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since that day in the hospital when I gave her the engagement ring, the one she’s not wearing.
She’s on a national TV morning show with her parents. They’re interviewing them as a family. Her mother, now secretary of state, and her retired father are discussing new laws. They’ve been using Cait as a poster child, promoting their agendas. Mrs. London’s popularity has skyrocketed since. I tried to tell the world the truth. When I shared my story with the media, they labeled me a nutcase and ignored my claims. Her mom’s PR company made sure of that.
Thankfully, the morning host is more interested in hearing Cait’s account of her recovery. After a few questions, it’s clear she remembers nothing from before. She speaks about all she’s been through over the last two years. She stumbles on a few sentences; her words come a little slower. She’s unsure of herself. Her shoulders are hunched and hands twist in her lap. It may be she’s nervous, but her mannerisms have changed. She’s a shell of the woman I knew before.
The interview ends with Cait revealing to the audience she’s heading to Georgetown University in the fall. She’s doing exactly what her parents want her to do. Is she studying law again? She probably doesn’t even know it but this is the life she ran away from originally. Does she want it this time? In this second chance at life, is she so different from the woman I knew that she wants all this?
If she met me today would she even want to date me? I’m unsure of everything we stood for as a couple, including if I’ll ever have the chance to make up these past years to her.
Whatever the outcome, I decide this is my chance. This is what I’ve been putting my life on hold for. It’s time to find her and tell her about who we were for three years. If she believes me, we can move forward. Somehow. I don’t have a plan. But if not... I don’t even want to consider the if nots.
A few weeks later, I’m on Georgetown’s campus. When I told Linden my plan he was just happy I was leaving the apartment. He found me Cait’s class schedule in the way Linden can—with a lot of money. I’ve been here for a few days. Stalking? Preparing? I’ve seen her but I haven’t approached yet. I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity. Linden tells me it’ll never come and to do it. He’s right. When’s a good time to tell a woman you miss and love her even though she doesn’t know you?
She appears from a stately university building with an arm full of books and papers. She’s chatting with another student. I have to stop in my tracks to watch her. Every day before now, seeing her freezes the world around me until it’s only her and me.
The breeze blows through her hair. A long tendril sticks to the peachy gloss of her lips and she swipes it away. She smiles and laughs. The hollowness that’s been living in me twists as if it’s a sinkhole caving in on itself. Being near her makes it beg to fill it again.
A passing student bumps me, bringing me back to reality.
Cait’s alone and crossing the path in my direction. There’s contracting tightness in my throat the closer she moves, but I step one foot in front of the other, acting as normal as possible.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Five.
I open my mouth to say her name and the wind gusts across the park, tearing the papers from her grasp. They flutter in every direction, escaping her. I snag several spinning through the air, while she chases the remainder, snatching them one at a time.
I organize the papers and approach. Grass and leaves crunch beneath my boots. I’m hyperaware of everything, like my chilled ears, the hammering of my heart, the dryness of my mouth, and rigidness of my legs.
“I think I caught them all,” I tell her when we’re standing face to face.
She finally looks at me, her brown eyes warm and sparkling. She looks. But does she see. Will there be any recognition of who I am behind her beautiful eyes? I’m praying now that our gazes are connected she’ll relive our experiences: every kiss, every laugh, every tear, every second we shared together in her mind without me having to say a single word.
I hold her here for as long as I can. Three seconds. Five? It’s too short of a time. Not enough. She breaks our connection first and brushes the hair blowing around her face. I want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” she says.
She holds out her hand, and I return the papers to her. But this is where things turn bad. I lock up. Everything I wanted to say, all the words I’ve been replaying in my mind for years evaporate. They’ve twirled into the wind, mixing with the leaves, and now they can never be caught.
I realize the monumentally incorrect decision I made two years ago and every day since. I should have fought harder. I should have done everything I could have to prove I was the one who needed to be by her side. I should have been there for her recovery. I should have helped her through the pain.
Yes, she may have rejected me, but at least she would have known I was there for her from the moment she woke, and I would have done anything for her, even beyond spending over a year in jail.
How do I explain what a huge mistake I made? Would she even want someone who wasn’t there for her on the worst day of her life? Would she ever forgive me?
I don’t forgive me. I hate me. I. Hate. Me. I let her go for the second time because there’s no way I can convince her I’m good enough or worthy of her heart if I don’t believe it myself.