He nodded. “I applied to the Culinary Institute and got in. I went in the fall. But Coco, you have to believe I wanted you back. I called, I wrote. I even drove to your parents house, but you were gone.”
“My mother and I took a vacation.”
“Did your grandmother tell you I came?”
“Yes. She did.” And I’d gone into the bathroom of our hotel room in Rome and cried my eyes out in the shower. If my mother noticed my puffy eyes that night, she didn’t mention it. “Sitty always liked you because you were Catholic. And because you cooked and were interested in her recipes. But it wasn’t enough to change my mind. I still didn’t want to hear your damn apologies.”
“I know. It was clear the divorce was what you really wanted. Eventually I figured I should just leave you in peace.”
My eyes went wide. “Peace? I didn’t have any peace where you were concerned. Not for years Maybe not ever!” I put a hand to my chest. “I never got over it, Nick. I never got over you.” Admitting it to him now was like cutting out my own heart. I burst into tears, and Nick gathered me into his arms. Maybe it was stupid but I went, crying into my hands against his shoulder. This was all so fucking sad. It wasn’t that I was sorry I’d gone to Paris—it was a wonderful experience, one that I’d want my own children to have—Nick was right about that. But still…
“You gave up on me. You gave up,” I wept. “You left, so I left. And you gave up. You could have fought harder, longer. I was back from Paris the following summer, and not once did I ever hear from you.”
“I didn’t give up on you, Coco, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have the guts to show up on your doorstep after everything that had happened. I thought about it a million times.”
I took a few slow, calming breaths and backed away from him. “It’s better you didn’t. I don’t think there was anything you could have said to make me listen. I was too angry to forgive you.”
“And now?”
We stared at each other a long moment, during which we both realized that a second chance might be impossible. “I don’t know.”
Nick took a deep breath. “Coco, not a day goes by that I don’t regret what happened between us. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I made a mistake. And it cost me the love of my life.”
My lips fell open.
Argue with him. Say it didn’t. Say what you planned to say before you jumped in the lake. Tell him you love him again and maybe you always have. Tell him you accept his apology. Admit that you made mistakes too, that you know what it’s like to act on impulse, that, in fact, part of what thrilled you about his spur-of-the-moment proposal was that it was much more like you than like him. Say that you knew it was a bad idea, that you knew your parents and friends should be a part of your wedding day, that a Vegas quickie was not what you’d had in mind as a young girl dreaming of her wedding day. Own up to the fact that you booked those tickets to Nevada within minutes of accepting his proposal, putting them on your own credit card, because you were scared that he’d change his mind. Tell him that you saw getting married as a way to hold on to him, a way to ensure he’d never sleep with anyone else ever again. Tell him you saw it as a way to show your parents they couldn’t control you.
Tell him your wedding bands are still in your jewelry box.
Tell him how you cried the day your tattoo was altered.
Tell him you’d put his name on your body again.
Tell him you might be crazy enough to run away with him again.
Tell him he makes you feel alive.
Tell him he makes you feel everything.
The words were all right there in my mind. But uttering them would’ve meant peeling back every layer of protection over my heart, an open wound.
I wanted to say them, but I didn’t.
I was afraid of bleeding to death.
Nick sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Maybe you were right. This talking about the past stuff kind of sucks.”
I nodded. Swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Ready to go back?” Nick asked. “I should get dinner started.”
“Yes.” But the thought of running back made my limbs feel heavy in the water. Rehashing the past had exhausted me. I dragged myself to the ladder on the dock, and Nick motioned for me to climb up first.
“I wish I had a big warm towel to wrap you in,” he said as I emerged, my running clothes dripping. I was shivering, but it wasn’t because of the water.
“I’m OK.” Squeezing the water from my ponytail, I walked toward my shoes on the grass, my legs shaky and my footsteps squishy. “Guess I should have stopped to take my socks off too.” I looked down at them, wrinkling my nose.
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have beaten me into the lake.”
“True.” I pulled my shoes on and leaned over to lace them up, tempted to make a joke but not quite up for it.
Nick sat on the grass to tug his socks and running shoes on. “You up for running back? Or would you rather just walk?”
I straightened up, pulled out my ponytail elastic, and shook out my wet hair. “I think I’ll walk, but you go ahead. I know you have to get dinner going.”
He got to his feet. “No, that’s OK. I can walk with you.”
“Actually, Nick, I could use the alone time.”
He nodded. “You know the way back?”
“Left when the path reaches the road, right?”