Halfway to You(90)

I didn’t want to call Bertie, though. Just like with Luca, or Dimitri, I couldn’t see a future with him—nor any man I met out on the town. Carmella didn’t get that. She had laughed and changed the subject. If I couldn’t be like Jane, I should’ve been more like Carmella—free spirited and lighthearted—but that wasn’t me. I wanted all or none, just like my mom. Did that make me a romantic or a masochist?

Around one, a soft knock startled me out of my thoughts. My gaze flicked from the ugly carpet to the door. I stood. There was no need to check the peephole; I knew who it was. I just didn’t know if I wanted to let him in.

Did I want to hear him out? Did I want him?

I hadn’t made up my mind when I reached for the doorknob, nor when I saw him standing on my threshold, but the moment didn’t feel like an ending. Todd had dried blood on his lip and a red-edged cotton ball taped to his temple. His hair was sticking out on all sides, and the collar of his shirt was flipped up. He hung his head, peering at me from under perfect eyelashes.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For opening the door.” And the way he looked at me—it was the same way he’d looked at me all that time ago, in Venice. It was a look that could move mountains and reverse rivers and pause lightning, if only that might compel me to forgive him. “Can I come in?”

Jane would’ve told him it was too late.

Jane would’ve told him to get lost.

But I wasn’t Jane. I was Ann—soft, romantic Ann. Was that so wrong?

I stepped aside. When he walked past, I could smell the city night on him. Pavement and car exhaust. I closed us in, and there we were, alone in my room, standing ten feet apart.

A soliloquy waited on my tongue like a legion lined up for battle. There was so much to express: fury, frustration, fear. I shot my first question like an arrow: “Why did you come tonight, Todd?”

“Tradition,” he said.

“What?”

“Well, you see, I ruined your book tour, so naturally I had to keep with tradition and ruin your movie premiere too.”

“That’s not funny.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. You’re right.”

“What’s the real reason?”

He took three steps forward, then one timid step back. “I wanted to make a big, romantic gesture.”

“Then you failed miserably.”

“Trust me, I know. I’m so sorry, Ann.”

I folded my arms. “You should be.”

He had the courtesy to appear sheepish.

“Don’t you get it?” I asked, stepping into his personal space, hoping he could feel the wrath emanating off my skin. A bit of Jane, after all. “You showing up here . . . that was performative, not romantic. I never needed a big gesture—I needed you to be reliable.”

“You were so happy when I showed up in Rome all those years ago.”

“You hadn’t just stood me up,” I countered. “And it wasn’t the miles, it was the fact that you were there for me.”

“That’s what I was trying to do tonight.”

I laughed. “Well, it couldn’t have gone worse.”

“Believe me, I know,” he said. “I came to apologize and support you, not make a scene.”

“Is that why you’re here now?”

“I’m here now because I can’t stay away. I can’t . . . do this”—he waved his hands, expressing some inexplicable idea—“do life without you. I felt it when I wrote to you while you were in Lima, I meant it when I invited you to Tahiti, I’ve always . . .” He reached into his pocket, retrieving an unsealed letter. He held it out to me. “I came here to give you this.”

Warily, I plucked the letter from his fingers.

“I wrote it while you were in Lima, before . . . well, just read it.”

Ann,

I have not forgotten the pattern of freckles across your nose, nor the sound of your laugh. I have not forgotten the way your hair gets mussed by your pillow, nor that soft sigh you make as you’re drifting off to sleep. I have not forgotten the lopsided frown you make when you’re uncertain. I’m gutted to realize that I may never see your mouth again. I would’ve never stopped trying to make you smile had I known that would be the case.

I’ve always said that you’re the bravest, most independent, enamoring, inspiring person I know. The sum of all these things is maddening.

Todd

I rested my fingertips on my lips as I reread the adjectives he’d chosen, hanging on his words as if I were suspended in the weightlessness of space. What kept me returning to Todd? I have ruminated on that question for years, Maggie, and finally landed on this: he always made me see the good in myself. And for a girl who’d never heard her parents say they were proud, that was a gift.

I looked up. “Why didn’t you send it?”

A shrug. “I didn’t think you’d want to read it.”

“That’s stupid,” I said, staring down at the letter again.

He had the levity to chuckle. “Well, obviously I changed my mind about giving it to you.” He stepped forward, and I met his eyes. “The main reason I came here tonight is because you’re Copper, and I’m Tod, and—”