Chapter Thirteen
1138 Words
I knew what day it was before I opened my eyes.
Didn’t need the calendar.
Didn’t need the reminder on my phone.
My body remembered.
Three years.
Three years since the hospital.
Three years since the phone call.
Three years since everything went wrong.
I lay staring at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then got up.
Because staying in bed wasn’t going to change the date.
Unfortunately.
⸻
Work was useless.
Absolutely useless.
I answered emails.
Ignored emails.
Read the same report three times.
By lunchtime I’d achieved absolutely nothing.
A personal best.
Everyone noticed.
Nobody mentioned it.
They knew better.
⸻
By five o’clock I gave up.
Shut down my computer.
Grabbed my keys.
And left.
No destination.
No plan.
Just driving.
The radio stayed off.
The silence suited me.
⸻
I ended up outside the cemetery.
Of course I did.
The universe enjoyed predictable patterns.
Rain tapped lightly against the windscreen.
The gates stood open.
Waiting.
I sat there for almost twenty minutes.
Never getting out of the car.
Just staring.
Like an i***t.
Eventually I started the engine again.
Coward.
Maybe.
Wouldn’t have been the first time.
⸻
My phone buzzed just after eight.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the name.
Emily.
A knot tightened somewhere in my chest.
I opened the message.
Three words.
I hate today.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
No question.
No request.
Three words.
That was all.
I stared at the screen.
Read them twice.
Then a third time.
I knew exactly what she meant.
Of course I did.
⸻
I typed:
Me too.
Then sat there.
Phone in hand.
Engine running.
Thinking.
A dangerous activity.
Eventually I threw the phone onto the passenger seat.
Started driving.
⸻
By the time I reached her house, I’d convinced myself this was a terrible idea.
Unfortunately, I was already standing on her doorstep.
Too late now.
⸻
The lights were on.
I knocked once.
Then again.
A few seconds later the door opened.
Emily looked surprised.
Then annoyed.
Then relieved.
The last one disappeared quickly.
But not quickly enough.
“What are you doing here?”
I lifted the paper bag.
“Emergency supplies.”
She looked inside.
“Chinese food?”
“It was either this or whiskey.”
Emily considered that.
“Fair.”
Then stepped aside.
Letting me in.
⸻
The house felt different without Sofia.
Quieter.
Emptier.
Wrong.
I’d never realised how much noise one small girl could generate.
Apparently quite a lot.
⸻
We ended up in the kitchen.
Eating takeaway.
Talking.
Or at least trying to.
At first the conversation stayed safe.
Work.
School.
Sofia.
The weather.
Anything except the obvious thing sitting between us.
⸻
Tomas.
⸻
Eventually Emily picked up a photograph.
Studied it.
Smiled.
A small sad smile.
“He hated this jumper.”
I looked at the photo.
Immediately laughed.
The awful green Christmas jumper.
The one with the reindeer.
“Oh God.”
“He said your idea was stupid.”
“It was funny.”
“It was terrible.”
“It was festive.”
Emily shook her head.
For the first time that evening, she genuinely laughed.
The sound hit me harder than expected.
⸻
After that, the stories came easier.
One memory becoming another.
One disaster becoming another.
Tomas had collected disasters the way other people collected hobbies.
There was the camping trip.
The barbecue incident.
The kayak incident.
The two separate ladder incidents.
Honestly, the fact he’d survived into adulthood was impressive.
⸻
Hours passed.
Neither of us noticed.
For the first time in years we weren’t talking about how he died.
We were talking about how he lived.
The difference mattered.
More than I realised.
⸻
Around midnight the conversation slowed.
The takeaway containers sat empty.
The wine bottle wasn’t far behind.
Rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
The kitchen lights seemed too bright.
Or maybe not bright enough.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
⸻
Emily stared down at one of the photographs.
Running her thumb across the edge.
Quiet.
Tired.
Sad.
Beautiful.
The thought arrived uninvited.
I immediately hated it.
⸻
Three years.
Three years and I still hadn’t figured out how to stop feeling guilty.
And now this.
Perfect.
⸻
“I miss him.”
Emily’s voice barely rose above a whisper.
I looked down.
Because looking at her suddenly felt dangerous.
“Yeah.”
My throat felt tight.
“Me too.”
The words weren’t enough.
They never were.
But they were true.
⸻
Silence settled between us.
Not awkward.
Just honest.
The kind that only exists between people carrying the same loss.
⸻
I looked up.
Mistake.
A very large mistake.
Emily was already looking at me.
Neither of us looked away.
Neither of us seemed capable of it.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
The distance between us shorter.
The air heavier.
⸻
I should leave.
The thought came immediately.
Stand up.
Go home.
End this now.
Simple.
Easy.
The right thing to do.
⸻
I didn’t move.
⸻
Neither did she.
⸻
For one second.
Then two.
Then five.
Long enough to know better.
Long enough to stop.
Long enough to walk away.
⸻
Neither of us did.
⸻
Emily leaned forward first.
Barely.
Almost not enough to notice.
A question.
Not an answer.
Not a decision.
Just a question.
⸻
I should have stepped back.
I knew that.
God help me, I knew that.
⸻
Instead I closed the distance.
⸻
The kiss lasted only seconds.
Soft.
Tentative.
Careful.
The kind of kiss two people share when neither of them expected it to happen.
The kind that changes everything anyway.
⸻
The second it ended, reality hit.
Hard.
⸻
Tomas.
⸻
The name crashed through my head like a train.
The memories.
The guilt.
Everything.
All at once.
⸻
I stepped back immediately.
Too fast.
The chair scraped against the floor.
Emily blinked.
Confused.
Hurt.
And somehow that made it worse.
⸻
“Chris…”
The nickname stopped me cold.
Because she almost never called me that.
Not anymore.
Not since before.
⸻
I ran a hand through my hair.
Trying to think.
Trying to breathe.
Trying to find something that would make any of this better.
Nothing came.
⸻
What had I done?
⸻
Three years.
Three years carrying this guilt.
Three years telling myself where the lines were.
And tonight I’d crossed every single one.
⸻
“I should go.”
The words sounded wrong the second they left my mouth.
But they were the only ones I had.
⸻
Emily stared at me.
Waiting.
For an explanation.
An apology.
Something.
⸻
I had none of those things.
⸻
Because the truth was far worse.
The truth was that for one impossible second, kissing her had felt right.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
- Writer
