Forgetting August(76)
“I took the day off,” he admitted. “Been a little off my game.”
I stood facing him but had trouble looking him in the eye. The way he looked…the fact that he was missing work—all because of me.
“I hate this, Ryan,” I stated. “I wish we could go back to the way it was.”
“We always knew this could happen, Ev. He would have woken up eventually. I was just the fool who thought I was enough to help you move past him. But you need to figure that out on your own.”
I took a step forward, tears rimming my eyes, but stopped myself. “Ryan, please don’t think that. This was never about you or him. It’s always been about me. There are so many issues—feelings I pushed aside when he went into that coma. A coma is not a way to end a relationship—no matter how turbulent it may be.”
“And now you need time. I understand.”
Silence settled between us before he continued, taking a hesitant step forward. “But let me make one thing clear. I may have stepped aside, but by no means am I bowing out. I’ll wait, Everly—for however long it takes for you to realize I’m the one.”
“Ryan—”
“No, let me finish. You may need time. Time to work out whatever unresolved feelings you have for him, but he’ll never be good enough for you—no matter how much he’s changed.”
“You don’t know that,” I countered.
“I do. He’s hurt you before. He’ll do it again.”
Shaking my head, I began zipping up bags and swinging them over my shoulder with force. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Ryan. You don’t know how truly sorry I am, but please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
I needed out.
“Still running, I see. Well, at least some things haven’t changed.”
He was right. I was still running, but at least this time I knew where I was going.
Stopping just shy of the door, I turned to face him. Wrapping my fingers around the slim gold ring that I’d thought would be there until the day I died, I pulled it off and placed it on the table.
“Good-bye, Ryan.”
His light brown eyes were the last thing I saw as I turned to walk out of the apartment we’d shared—the home we’d built together.
The simple life I’d left behind.
God, I hope I was making the right choice.
* * *
“So, this is called a pan…and this large square-looking thing is called a stove. You can cook more than just eggs on it.”
August eyed me suspiciously as I placed the pan on the stove and turned the knob to raise the heat.
“Please tell me you actually cooked those eggs on the stove?” I asked, as his eyes darted to the microwave.
“You microwaved them?” I asked incredulously, my hands going to my hips.
“Well, I mean—it worked, didn’t it?”
“I have no words. Seriously. No words. This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“For a women of no words—you sure are talking a lot,” he joked.
“Shut it,” I laughed, slapping his arm as I moved toward the refrigerator.
“Have you used the stove at all?” I asked, pulling open the monstrous refrigerator in search of ideas. I had plans of making some sort of pasta, but I needed ingredients. I found a block of cheese and some shaved ham I assumed he’d been using for lunchmeat. Moving to the freezer, I found a bag of frozen peas, which could work.
“Okay, we’re going to make dinner. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” he laughed, his hazel eyes flashing green with amusement.
“Just put this down as one of those new life experiences you’re always wanting, okay?”
“For some reason, I somehow already know I’m going to hate cooking. Just call it a sixth sense.”
I shook my head and laughed. He’d always been scared of the kitchen. It was why I’d grown so found of it in the first place. When we first moved in together, I quickly realized neither of us knew our way around the kitchen, much less a box of ramen. After several failed attempts to make meals together, I took the lead, teaching myself during my free time how to prepare simple dishes that were low cost and filling.
Later, when budget was no longer a concern, I branched out and began experimenting more with fancier ingredients and more intricate recipes. August was always proud of me and loved the food I produced.
At least until the end—when he was too busy to care about anything.
Then all he wanted to do was grab a quick bite and rush out the door.
But now, all that was behind us. We were starting new and I needed to remember that.
So, on with the cooking lesson.
“Do you have any garlic?” I asked. The vacant look in his eyes told me that was a definite no. “Okay, tomorrow—when I get off work, we are going shopping. And we’re stocking this kitchen. This is horrifying. I refuse to live someplace that doesn’t have food.”