Some people might be able to say the same thing about you—
Not unlike the busted up car she'd driven all through undergrad, across the country, and into her doctorate, every ounce of air in Bek's chest stuttered. Stalled. She could so easily tuck herself within the spaces of those words. So easily let her homesick heart draw conclusions it had no right, or reason, to.
And yet—Her head canted toward the right, just a fraction. Her eyes held firm in their gentle appraisal, reluctant, or perhaps unwilling, to break from his gaze. "Yeah?" A beat. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes she'd tensed into a soft sort of stillness. A breath. "How so?"
But did she really want him to answer?
Yes. No. Yes—Maybe? She didn't know.
Half of her wanted to leap from whatever precipice Jeremy's statement left her balanced upon and dive head first into his thoughts, gathering his truths like some gathered sea glass. The other half was too scared to find out.
Because if she'd gotten ahead of herself, if she'd given too much meaning to those words, she wasn't sure she could stomach the blow. And if she'd been right, if she hadn't imagined the way the timber of his voice held unspoken weight, she wasn't sure she was ready to know that, either.
It was such a tricky thing—Being lost to the boy she once pictured growing old with, the man he'd become, and a desperate attempt to connect the dots between both.
Ultimately, Bek's lips pressed into a faint smirk before she drawled, "I mean... I have been recommended a few salons since moving back, but—" on the wind of a soft laugh she let fingertips skim over the loose wisps of hair near her temple, one blind pass to seek out a solitary, silver strand— "I promise I've come by my grays naturally. No improvements, or enhancements, needed."
Delicate mirth waltzed through her gaze, then dimmed. It wasn't difficult to clock how his own warred between settling on melancholy or fondness, and it didn't take a mind reader to understand each shift.
Quietly, she segued, "I'll have to send Lauren some chocolate to say thanks for being my fall guy, I guess."
Amends and apologies couldn't be made with his mom, and it was that—the reminder that she hadn't been there with Jeremy through his lowest lows—that left an iron weight in her throat.
She didn't say it aloud but she hoped he'd be able to feel that truth hang in the air all the same.
Another moment stretched, just wide enough for Jeremy to issue his request. It was tender in its delivery but the thread of command laced within couldn't be denied, and that—That pooled warmth at the base of her spine.
Bek's attention snapped to the rest of the bar, awareness of the few remaining customers sinking in. Were they watching? Did they even care? Better yet, did she? Her eyes returned to Jeremy on a slow glide; with a little laugh, and a spark of heat, she sassed, "Sir, yes sir," right back.
Then she was setting down her glass, pushing off her stool, and weaving through a field of empty high tops to her booth.
There was a measure of hesitance when she reached it on the far side of the room—it wasn't lost on her that she was about to be ass over table in front of an audience—but Bek lowered to her knees anyway and crawled across the vinyl seat, worn in places from years of loyal patronage.
Her fingers wedged into the thin slip of space at its stitched edge, urging it closer to inspect the wall behind, and there, right where she left it, was a tiny row of flowers. Nearly two decades saw the ink fade into obscurity but she could still feel the indentations of a pen tip pressed too hard.
And for some reason that made her sad. In a good way, because it was proof not all of her had been erased in her absence. In a way that ached because, much like the empty impressions, she still hadn't stayed.
Bek hated the way her throat couldn't figure out how to swallow in that moment. Hated that so much good had been tainted by her inability to do the one thing he'd asked. Not so much in words but, even still, she knew.
She knew Jeremy held out some measure of hope that she'd come home with him. Just like she knew, when the hammer of loss hit him over the lines of a phone, he'd never ask.
Jeremy was too good, in that sense. Too respectful of unspoken lines drawn in the sand to put the burden of choice on her shoulders.
Sixteen years later, she had to wonder what might've happened if he did. Maybe she still would've stayed behind. Maybe she would've packed her bags without question and chose him, what they shared, over her demons.
It was probably the former, but hindsight made a small piece of her think there was at least a chance it would've been the latter.
That meandering path through her thoughts only spanned a few seconds, but it was enough. Enough to leave dregs of wistfulness in its wake when she finally turned over, righting herself on the seat. Without pause her stare jumped straight to the shirt sheathed bicep in question.
"Of course I do." She might struggle to keep track of where she left her keys, or looming deadlines, but there wasn't a single thing she'd forgotten about those final days. Not one.
"And I think I may have missed my true calling." Her lips tilted at the corner again. "I'm a god damned weapon with a ballpoint pen and too much time, or prime, empty canvas, on my hands."
She wasn't really. Bek didn't possess a single creatively talented bone in her body. But, reality be damned, back then she let herself believe the questionably decent parting gift she doodled across his flesh wouldn't falter against the power of soap and shower steam.
"We really should've taken a picture and framed as evidence of my artistic genius." Then again, given their state of undress, maybe it was for the better that they hadn't.
She wasn't sure how she would've explained that one to her rather conservative parents. It went without saying that lazing around in sweat tangled sheets wasn't what they had in mind when they offered to foot her bill for college.
"Studying for finals had nothing on those nights." More breath than sound, eyes still glued to that arm, she laughed, "I don't think I slept for a second leading up to everything." Or in the days, weeks, months that came after. Even now most nights she still struggled to chase sleep, if she was being honest. And no, she wouldn't lay the blame for that on his cold side of the bed, but she couldn't rule it out either.
When he set his sights back on Coyote Valley everything changed.
"I missed you." Still did. "I know saying it doesn't make a difference but... I don't know. I don't want you to think standing there and watching you drive away came easy." That kind of worry plagued her once the dust settled behind the spin of tires. The irrational fear he'd think her choice to stay meant she hadn't loved him enough to leave settled heavy. "We were young, and dumb, and didn't have a fucking clue what we were doing, but... I did miss you."
At last she grew bold enough to stop whispering confessions to his shirt and meet Jeremy's gaze directly. "Probably a hell of a lot more than you missed the way I only knew how to burn water, hogged the shower until the tank went cold, and stole all of your sheets."
