Again, But Better(66)

I blink at him, struggling to maintain a calm front. “What?” I demand.

“You didn’t make it up,” he repeats, frustrated now.

“What?” Tears are pricking behind my eyes. “So—why didn’t something happen?”

Because of me. Because I let fear make decisions for me. Because I’ve chosen to let the world push me around instead of pushing my way through the world. Why am I even with Melvin if I don’t feel this weird magic with him? Because he asked me out? Because he was cute? Because he was convenient? Because he was there? The thoughts fissure through me. My shoulders roll forward with shame. I have to break up with Melvin.

“I was with Amy!” Pilot exclaims, breaking me from my reverie.

The force behind his voice unleashes a wave of anger in my gut. “Jesus, Pilot, you said in front of all of us that you asked her if she would put a pin in your relationship during the time you were abroad! You bought a one-way ticket to England!”

“It was hard! I was already with her, and you were there, and then she was coming, and it was complicated. Things were complicated!”

“Yeah, I get it.” A tear slips out. Shit. I swipe it away, nauseated by my own complacency. Shakily, I bring the tea to my lips and attempt to take a sip. Pilot hasn’t touched his cappuccino.

He opens his mouth again, eyes unfocused now. “There was something there. I was afraid of it because I was in a relationship. It was bad timing.” He tries to take a sip of his cappuccino, but instead ends up setting the mug back down onto the table. “I think about it sometimes.”

“About what?” Another demand.

“About what would have happened if, you know, things were different.”

I can’t stop blinking. This is not how I was expecting this to go. I knew he was still with his girlfriend. I knew I was walking into a dead end. I was expecting hard confirmation. I was expecting to be thoroughly humiliated—to kill the what-ifs once and for all, and move on. Melvin numbed them for a while, but before him, they were there, just as present as they are now.

He’s not sure about the dead end? What do I even say now?

“Shane, anyone would think about it.” His face is all squished up like I’m torturing him. “But I have a whole life with Amy.”

I suck in a hard breath. “No, they wouldn’t, Pilot,” I say with finality.

We stare at each other for an eternity.

“Maybe we should go,” I finally say.

“Okay,” he says solemnly.

I push out my chair and stand. I hardly made a dent in my tea.

“I’ll get the coffee.” Pilot puts some cash on the table.

“Thanks.” It comes out as a whisper. I’m devastated. Outraged. Annoyed. Ashamed. Frustrated. A small part of me is jumping up and down. You could make an Inside Out sequel out of these past forty-five minutes.

We head to the elevator, and I stab at the button. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. Now that I know, how do I stop thinking about it? I’m supposed to just let this go? I forcefully cross my arms as we wait for the elevator.

“Bye!” the woman behind the barista counter coos. “Thanks for coming! Have fun!”

I snap my gaze to her.

“Stop following me!” I belt, pointing at her angrily. Pilot shoots me a horrified look.

There’s a ding, and the doors in front of us slide open.

“I’m so sorry. Great place you’ve got here,” Pilot tells the woman as we step into the elevator.

We take our spots against the two opposite walls. The doors close.

“What the heck was that?” he demands.

I study the floor. “I’ve seen her around before and it’s getting…” I don’t know how to talk about this without sounding bat-shit. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m having a day. I’m sorry.”

I look up. Pilot appears to be in physical pain. I turn my attention to the button on the wall. It’s in front of Pilot again.

“You didn’t hit the button,” I grumble.

“Shit.” He jabs the lone button, and we descend in silence—until the elevator jolts violently and we shudder to a stop.

We’re stopped. Oh dear god.

My eyes drop to the lone button on the wall. “Are we stuck?” I spin around.

“I don’t know.” Pilot gazes about, contemplating as he turns in a slow circle. “There’s got to be a fire button or a phone or something.”

I’ve already spun around in maybe seven circles in search of a fire button or a phone. I see nothing. We’re stuck. We’re stuck! Pilot catches sight of my expression and digs his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s fine. We’ll call the fire department or whoever it is you call when you have these problems,” he reasons calmly.

“Okay, yeah, um.” I lean against the wall and reach to into my purse, fumbling for my phone. “Are you dialing nine-one-one or should I?” I bite my lip.

Pilot is frowning down at his iPhone.

“What?” I ask.

“Um, I don’t have service,” he shares with a look of bewilderment.

“How can you not have service? We’re in New York City, that’s ridiculous!” I vigorously dial 9-1-1. Push the call button, whip it up to my ear.