What We Were

It was strange. Strange to be sitting in this booth, in a town that was once so familiar to me. A town I hadn’t been in for years. The last time I’d been here, the circumstances were much different. It almost felt like I’d been a completely different person then. In a way, I supposed, this was true. It had been five years.

People change a lot in five years. I wondered what you would be like. Now, after half a decade apart; half a decade for you to continually rue the day you met me. Half a decade for you to forget about me. Do something for yourself. Find someone better. Me? Five years had allowed me—forced me—to grow up. To move on. To forgive myself. I could only hope you forgave me too.

“You’re early.”

Your voice startled me from my staring contest with the swirling foam in my latte. Your voice hadn’t changed much.

Slowly, whether out of apprehension or uncertainty, I could not tell, I lifted my eyes up to meet yours.

Oh.

I never forgot that your eyes were my favorite part of you. Their intensity had only strengthened since the last time I saw you, but your endless soul searching stare was still just that. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

I could only give you a weak smile, feeling myself rising out of the chair, “Your clock is just five minutes slow.” I offered a nervous laugh.

Why had I stood up? Did you even want to touch me, let alone hug me? Was reaching for a handshake too awkward? Who shook hands with friends anymore anyway? Well, guys did. But I hugged all of my guy friends. Were we friends? I knew I shouldn’t have had coffee before coming.

As though you read my discomfort perfectly, which would not have surprised me one bit, you returned my weary smile with a friendly one and reached out, pulling me into a warm embrace.

“It’s good to see you.” You finally said, pulling back to look at me. “You don’t look a day over 21!”

Unable to stop the blush that crept across my face, I rolled my eyes with a smile. “Thanks. You look great too.”

And it was true. You did. You looked content, fulfilled, happy. It showed in the way you broadly grinned, excusing yourself to grab your own latte. It showed in your new, more confident saunter up to the counter. It showed in the charming smile you gave the barista, who could only giggle when you dropped your change into her tip jar. And it definitely showed in the way you looked at me. No longer were you the 19 year old boy whose lips quivered at me when I snapped at you, or hung your head in upset when I said I wasn’t in the mood. You were definitely not that boy anymore.

“So.” You said as you sat back down across from me, “We have much to catch up on.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say. So I said the only thing that came to mind.

“Five years.”

Unfortunately, one thing I was sure of was that my ability to communicate in my personal life had diminished in those five years. You didn’t seem to notice, though, and just laughed. “Has it really been that long?”

Hiding the inward flinch at your carefree words, I just nodded again. Why was I offended by that statement? After all, it had been my decision to leave. The last time we were sitting here, you were the speechless one. I was not supposed to be the hurt one here. But for some unfathomable reason, I was.

You took a sip from your still steaming cup and raised your eyebrows at me. “So tell me. What’s going on in the life of Jessica now?”

I snorted, shrugging my shoulders with a wry smile, “Nothing exciting.”

“Really?” You sat up straighter, leaning forward to stare at me with scrutinizing eyes. “I find that extremely hard to believe, Jess. Five years is a long time, but I refuse to believe that five years has done a 180 on you. You always were the life and soul of everything you ever put your heart into doing.”

While this was true, and while I was flattered that you still thought of me as “the life and soul” of things, I knew this was no longer the case. But I couldn’t truly explain what had happened to me. Most days, I wondered that myself. So I just shrugged and began giving you the laundry list of my life since I left. It was much easier to talk about than anything…real.

“Well…after I left….here,” I had to look down at my drink again, “I moved as far away as I could. I wanted to go somewhere no one knew me. California seemed right. Everyone seemed to love it there – they seemed to love their lives there. So I figured, why not. I had nothing to lose. I started there, made new friends, got a job…I’m a consumer research analyst at a marketing firm…but…” I looked back up at you, realizing who I was talking to, and just shook my head.

You, of course, caught on to the “but” and to my hesitant tone. And you, of course, could not let that go. “But…” you prodded, encouraging me to go on.

I sighed. “I guess…I want to move back east.” I said finally. And before I could stop myself, I added on, “I miss home.”

It was the first time I’d actually said it aloud. And when I realized what I’d said, I closed my eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. This was embarrassing.

All you did was smile gently. “You know that’s okay, right? To miss home.”

I shrugged and laughed dryly, “It’s a hard thing to admit when all I did was vehemently say that I needed to get as far away as possible and never come back.”

“Your 21-year-old self could never predict the future.” You told me, reaching out to pat my hand gently. “So now that you’re back, what are you going to do?”

I shrugged, unconsciously retracting my hand. “I don’t know. I’m not officially back yet. Just in the process of moving. I guess…find a job. Do something with myself.” I shrugged again. I took a sip from my cup and changed the subject. There had been a little too much sympathy for me, for my liking. I didn’t deserve it. Why were you so forgiving?

“What about you?” I asked, steering the conversation safely away from me. “Tell me about the last five years in the life of Josh.”

You laughed and shook your head. “It’s been an exciting five years, to say the least.” You said pointedly. I wasn’t looking—on purpose—but I could feel your eyes staring at me.

I just nodded my head mutely.

“But,” you continued without a ripple in your voice, “I think I’ve come to a great place in my life. You know, there were a lot of ups and downs, but I think I’m finally where I want to be.”

When you saw that I wasn’t going to say anything, you continued. “I’m in a band now.”

“I know.”

Shit. I’d said that aloud. My filter was truly failing me.

“You do?”

I smiled sheepishly at you, “Guilty. I may or may not have stalked you a bit on Facebook before I came here to meet you.”

You just laughed, “Well I’d hope your stalking led you to listening to some of my music…”

“Oh, it did.” I assured you, “And it was great. It really was. Much different from the stuff you came up with in college, though.” I teased.

“I’d hope that was the case.” You laughed again, “Well. Aside from the band which, dare I say, has gained some traction around these parts, I’ve been teaching music lessons for the extra cash. But it’s a ton of fun too.”

“That’s great.”

And it was. For the longest time, all I ever heard you talk about was how much you wanted to make music a career path for yourself. All you ever did was hole yourself up in your homemade studio with your Macbook and a couple of your friends. All we ever talked about was how you were playing at this coffee house and going to that music business seminar. I distinctly remember music being your most annoying quality.

You nodded. Then, you opened the door for awkward conversation.

“Are you seeing anyone?” you asked me casually.

“No.” I said with a shrug, “Not really.”

You raised an eyebrow, “What does not really mean?”

I shrugged again, “I went on a date with this one guy before I left. I don’t know what, if anything, will come of it.”

“Ah. Did you have a nice time?”

“I guess.” I decided, once again, to steer the conversation away from me, despite the fact that neither of us wanted to talk about what was coming next. “What about you?”

“Well…yes.”

And for the first time in the entire twenty minutes we’d been sitting in that booth, you seemed uncomfortable. I got a sick sense of…was that satisfaction? I couldn’t explain why at the moment and still, I’m not sure why the tightness in my stomach loosened. Perhaps it was because, for the entirety of our relationship, I had been the confident one. That’s how I knew you. You were my less confident, less sure counterpart. When you walked in with this aura of certainty about you, it was unfamiliar. It wasn’t how I remembered you to be. And I didn’t know how to act.

“I’m actually…engaged.” You finally said. It was almost as though you were hesitating to disclose this information to me; almost like you didn’t want me to know how well you were truly doing.

My first reaction was to dive into client service mode, raising my eyebrows with a big smile, “Oh really? Congratulations! Who’s the lucky girl?”

As you proceeded to tell me about your fiancé, my secondary thoughts kicked in. They were a cacophony of happy, sad, and confused thoughts. Was I surprised that you were engaged? Yes. Why was I surprised that you were engaged? Did I think that after all this time without communication, without an apology, you would not have moved on from the havoc I wreaked upon your life? It pained me to admit to myself that this might be the case. You were so happy now, especially as you talked about her. Your eyes lit up in a way that I never saw for me. But how could I expect such things now? Now, five years after I completely ripped and shattered your heart. Five years after I did everything I could to change myself into a different person—someone you wouldn’t love.

All because my 21-year-old self couldn’t just say to your face, “I don’t love you.”

And before I knew what I was doing, I blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

It took you a minute for you to figure out exactly what I was talking about, but I knew you would eventually. You always knew how to read me better than anyone else. That hadn’t changed. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, obviously taken aback by my sudden outburst. Your expression went from surprised to weary.

Then, a blank stare.

Finally, you settled on taking a sip from your cold coffee before saying, “For what?”

It was clear to both of us that we knew “for what.” I could not believe I’d said that aloud. But it was too late to deny that I had said anything.

I sighed and looked at you. “For…everything.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time. The silence between us was heavy, awkward, and painful at best.  By this time, I had already concluded that setting up this meeting to “catch up” was, in fact, one of the worst ideas I’d had in a long time. But for some reason, I thought I could do it. I thought I was ready to do it. But we had left so many loose ends—I had left so many loose ends—that it was impossible to avoid the subject of us. Or what used to be us. Or what we could be now. If we could even be anything.

Finally, you broke the silence with a sigh of your own. Then, you looked at me and said, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though. I was awful.”

You looked at me for a few seconds, searching every inch of my face, and I couldn’t help but look away. All I wanted to do was run out of there. But I had done that to you once already, and I was here to prove that I had really changed. So, with every ounce of energy in me, I stayed rooted to my seat. It didn’t mean I had to look at you though. My eyes were trained on my empty coffee cup, fingers squeezing the sides of the cardboard cup in a fruitless effort to calm myself.

“I really don’t want to talk about this, Jess.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “And we don’t have to. I just…I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I don’t think I ever told you that. And you, at the very least, deserve an apology from me. For everything.”

You bit your lip and gave me what looked like the most forced smile I’d ever seen come out of you. “Apology accepted. I…don’t really know why I told you I would come meet you here today.” You finally confessed to me.

I should have been offended by that, and perhaps a small part of me was. But most of me wasn’t. I’d been surprised that you’d even responded to that e-mail, much less agree to come see me. It surprised me even more when you suggested this café. I didn’t think you would want to come back here with me after our last meeting.

“I don’t know why either.” I revealed, looking up to meet your eyes. “But…I’m glad that you did.”

“Is this the closure you wanted?”

Your question caught me off guard. I frowned and pushed my coffee cup to the side, “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, “I guess…I assumed you wanted to see me so that you could get closure. We never officially said goodbye.”

That hurt.

You noticed and leaned forward a little bit, a small frown etched into your features. “You…didn’t expect us to be friends, did you?”

Ouch.

I just shrugged back at you. “I don’t know. Maybe a part of me was hoping that we would be.” I shook my head, “It was a stupid thought. I’m surprised that you wanted to talk to me at all.”

You gave a short bark of a laugh, “Me too. Amy…my fiancé…she doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t think I’m going to tell her either.” When I didn’t say anything you continued, almost like you were explaining yourself to me, “When…you left, I was…well, I was a disaster.”

I nodded.

“And I met Amy about three months after you left town. We took things slow. I wasn’t ready for anything remotely close to a relationship after…”

“Me. I understand.” I nodded again, feeling like I was on autopilot. It hurt to hear you talk about me in this way, like I was a monster. But in some ways, I had acted like one towards you. And maybe I needed to hear this. Maybe you were right. Maybe I did need closure.

You swallowed visibly and continued, “Yeah. But Amy was always there. She gave me space, she never pushed for anything. I mean…we were more just friends for awhile.” You let a fond smile slip, “Maybe friends with benefits. And she was so great about just letting me do what I needed to do until I was ready. And when I was, she was still there.”

“That’s great, Josh. It really is. I’m so glad that you had her to help you through everything.” Then, I asked the question that had been on my mind since the day that I left, “Do you…do you ever regret…us?”

You looked slightly taken aback by the question, as though you never expected me to ask. And that? That made me afraid of the answer.

“Honestly?”

Fuck.

“Always.” I forced myself to say. I needed to know.

“Yes.”

I flinched.

You bit your lip and reached over, putting your hand on mine. It took everything in me to not automatically withdraw it from you. “Jess…look, you wanted the truth. I hope you know that I don’t hate you, that I forgive you. You know you will always be special to me. But…sometimes, I do regret that we happened.” You sighed, squeezing my hands, “You were the first person I ever loved. And, me being my stupid 19-year-old self, thought we were going to get married.”

I closed my eyes, squeezing your hands back because if I didn’t, I knew I would start crying.

You gave me a sad smile as you continued, “I should have caught on to the way you never sounded sure when you said that you loved me, or how you never initiated making plans, or one of the many other signs that you just weren’t into our relationship. At all. But hindsight is 20/20 and I was young, stupid, naïve. And I know that you didn’t mean to let it drag out for as long as you did. I know that you didn’t know how to tell me that you didn’t love me. That you never really loved me. I do. We were both young. I was only 19. You were only 21. We had no idea what we were doing at the time. But it doesn’t change that it happened. It doesn’t change that it took me over a year to stop associating everything with you, to stop thinking about what you might be doing at any given moment. It took that long for me to stop thinking about you, let alone move on from you. The last half of my college career was plagued with me missing you. And sometimes? Sometimes, I wish that I just had fun. I wish I went to the bars with my friends and got wasted because it was fun, not because it made me forget about you for a few hours. I wish I could take all that time back. Because maybe then, I wouldn’t have hurt so fucking much. And maybe I wouldn’t have such terrible memories associated with college.”

Before I could say anything, you reached out and put your hand on my cheek. I automatically leaned into your touch, opening my eyes to look at you.

“Jess…” you murmured, “I want you to know that you’re still beautiful, still amazing, still the person I fell in love with. My opinion of you hasn’t changed. But…” you looked away, taking your hand away and sitting back in your chair, “I can’t. Everything I’ve done in the past five years, everything I’ve worked for…if I let you come back into my life again, it will all go down the drain.”

I just nodded. I didn’t think I could actually form words. So this is what the other side of the table felt like. I don’t know what I’d been expecting. But it hurt.

“I’m sorry.” You offered. “I wish I could tell you that we can definitely be friends. You know I’d love to if I thought I could do it. But I’ve built a life with Amy. She was the one who I hurt because you hurt me. And she still opened her arms and let me in when I was finally ready, after everything I’d done to her. I can’t let that go. And I know I can’t have both of you in my life.”

“I understand.” I finally said, swallowing the lump that had crept up my throat, looking at your concerned expression. “Really, Josh, I do.”

You nodded slowly, standing up, and I knew this was going to be the last time I saw you.

You walked around the table and pulled me to my feet. “Thanks.” You hugged me tightly, “It was good to see you, good to know that you’re doing well.” You said, voice muffled by my hair.

“You too.” I said softly, hugging you back, “Congratulations again, on the engagement. You deserve it. You deserve to be happy.”

We pulled back from each other and you gave me a smile, a genuinely content smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you wanted to meet up. I hope you got the closure you needed.”

You started to turn away, but stopped, looking at me thoughtfully. You leaned over to kiss my cheek, “Goodbye Jessica.”

“Bye…” I managed to get out as you walked out of the café without a glance back at me.

And that was it.

I wondered vaguely, as I looked back at our table, if this was what heartbreak was supposed to feel like. I didn’t question why I felt like this. I didn’t care.

Five years ago, I left because I thought we were too young to be in love. That I hadn’t been personally fulfilled yet. Seeing you again, hearing your voice, touching you again led me to an ugly realization. Five years ago, I left happiness behind.

[Prompt: "Have you ever been the object of someone else's regret?"]