Every once in a while he mumbled an "I'm sorry," and I hushed him and responded with a soft, "It's ok." Eventually he pulled away from me, wiping his eyes and taking deep breaths.
"Wow," he said through his hands that were covering his face. "I feel like that was a long time coming."
I didn't know what to say. I honestly felt like I could forgive the nineteen-year-old who had made a mistake in a moment of high stress. He didn't react to a pregnancy any differently than many boys his age would have. Was it shitty? Yes. Could I forgive him, years later, for it? I knew I could. I could let that one piece of heaviness off of my chest. But I knew I needed to give my own apology.
"Asher, there's something I need to tell you." My eyes were on the pond, but I knew he turned to me, his cheeks still wet from tears, eyes red from crying. "I haven't told anyone this, so you'll have to forgive me if it's difficult." I looked down and my hands clasped together, holding me up against the railing. "When I was losing the pregnancy," my voice shuddered. I shook my head, trying to shake off all the guilt and shame I felt for so long. I raised my head and looked Asher right in his beautiful gray eyes. "When I was having the miscarriage," I began again, "in the hospital, they gave me an ultrasound. They were trying to figure out what was wrong." I took in a deep breath, readying myself to say the words I avoided for so long. "I could see them, Asher, both of them." His eyebrows scrunched in confusion, not understanding me. "I was pregnant with two babies. Twins. I lost them both." My last words were lost in my cries, unable to hold them back as I had hoped, but also I was muffled by Asher pulling me into him. He held me, comforted me. And in that moment I allowed myself to feel it. I allowed myself to get lost in the feeling of his arms wrapped around me.
This was all I ever wished for. All I ever wanted was for Asher to be there for me, to share the pain with me. Now that he knew and he was here, I was equally upset by reliving the loss of my children as I was by the feeling of his arms encasing me. He put a piece of my soul back together and he didn't even know it. There was no way for him to realize what this moment meant to me. I let myself feel all of it, wanted to ache from all the emotions running through me, wanted to be exhausted, for once, from feeling instead of hiding.
I hugged him harder and let myself cry into his chest. It was his turn to comfort me, running his hand through my hair, whispering apologies into my ear. I heard him and I felt him. With my eyes closed it was almost as if we were young again – two kids, in the throes of a passionate and all-consuming love. I wanted to go back to that time when we were young and in love and nothing could hold us down, before life's tragedies took our sunshine, took our innocent love and made it dark and twisted.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered into my hair. That's all it took to remind me. He was sorry because he wasn't there. And the one reason he wasn't there was because I shut him out. I shut him out because I found him with another girl wrapped around him. I could forgive him for his response to the pregnancy, but I could not forgive him for burying himself in someone else.
I stepped back, pushing my hair back behind my ears, trying to put a few feet between him and me. I needed some distance; his arms felt too good and I didn't fully trust myself.
"I think it's good that we had this conversation," I said coolly. I made sure I turned from him, wiping my eyes. "I think closure is something I've been lacking from our whole situation. So, thanks for making me meet with you and allowing me to get this off of my chest."
"Closure?" He asked. I could hear the strain in his voice.
"Yes. Closure. I think it's important to have a little closure in order to move on. Lord knows I could use a little moving on in my life." I laughed a little, trying to make it seem like I wasn't being shredded on the inside.
"Hey," he said as he gently gripped my arm and turned me towards him. I shied away from his hand but turned to face him. He dropped his hand and I saw the hurt on his face that came when I pulled away. "Are you going to run away again? Hide from all of us?"
"Hide from who, exactly? I've got no one to hide from." I swiped my empty hands through the air, motioning to the emptiness around me, emphasizing my point, that I was all alone.
"From Reeve. From me."
"Reeve has moved on, Asher. She's got a family now, a husband and children. Her life is full and complete without me interfering."
"I don't think you're giving her enough credit here. She cares about you. She worries about you. She wants to be your friend." He paused, his eyes searching mine. It took all my strength not to look away from him. I held his gaze, not allowing myself to shrink away. "And what about me? You're going to run away and hide from me too?"
"We're not friends, Asher."
"We could be."
"No. We couldn't."
"Charlie, don't push me away. We were friends for so long before. Best friends."
Before. I couldn't go back to before. Before what? Before I lost my two babies? Before he cheated on me? Before my father died? There was no going back. There would only be moving forward.
"I can't go back, Asher. I can't pretend like nothing ever happened. It's not possible for me. I appreciate your apology, and I hope you can appreciate and accept mine. Our history is too painful to allow us to have anything between us in the future. I think it's best if we just move on. Separately." I started to walk towards the entrance of the park where my car was parked, but I knew he was following me.
"Wait a damn minute. Why do you get to decide everything? What if I'm not ok with this?"
"It's not up to you, Asher. I can't be around you."
"Why?" He nearly yelled. "I've already apologized and I meant it too. I meant every word. I just want to be a part of your life again. We don't have to be anything but people who don't hate each other. Charlie, please."
To hear the pain in his voice felt like tiny knives were taking stabs at my heart – a sharp pain, a slow burn. Everything about being around him was painful, except when he was holding me. That seemed to heal more than anything. In that moment I wished I could let go of everything and just live in his arms. I shook my head at the thought. He didn't want me like that; he wanted my friendship. And I couldn't give him that. I couldn't give him anything.
"I hope you have a good life, Asher." My quiet words sliced as they left my mouth. I turned from him, once again, and walked to my car. This time he didn't follow me.
I drove to my father's house, angry that I had to go back to perhaps the only other place on the planet that held more memories of my friendship with Asher. Every room of the house had a piece of him in it, a memory of who we use to be together. With the renewed and fresh memory of his arms around me, I wasn't sure it was the smartest place for me to be. I knew, though, that I had to take care of my father's house. I owed it to him, and to myself, to face the process of moving on, of letting go.
I decided, however, to let today end and start fresh the next day. There was only so much emotional turmoil I could handle. When I entered the house I went straight to the bathroom, intending on taking the hottest shower I could stand, hoping the water would ease some of my tension. I stripped off my clothes and turned on the shower. When I saw myself in the mirror, I stared intently at the script emblazoned on my ribcage. Asher. My eyes fell to the necklace that was around my neck. A simple silver chain with the ring he gave me nestled between my breasts. Since the day I put it on, I never took it off. Every once in a while I thought about it. I question whether or not it was healthy to have this physical reminder of him hanging on me. In the end, every time, regardless of how harmful I thought my actions to be, I wasn't giving them up. The tattoo, the ring, they both brought me a sense of peace.
The shower helped alleviate some of the anxiety from the conversation with Asher and I found it surprisingly easy to slip into my old bed and fall into a restful sleep.
When I woke the next morning it was past noon. I rubbed my face with my hands and tried to remember the last time I slept for more than four or five hours at a time. I still felt a little groggy, but it was a good feeling, a feeling like my body was finally relaxing. I felt loose.