Life In Reverse(82)

Vance’s gaze is unfocused as he scrubs a hand over his face, cheeks growing pale. “I won’t make excuses, you know. It was all… too much for me. I thought they were together. Seeing my dad with someone other than my mom, when she was sitting in that… that place, day after day, I thought being forgotten by him. It was… I can’t describe it.”

“I’m so sorry about your Mom, Vance.”

His eyes fly to mine. “You were there,” he says so softly I almost don’t hear him. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

“Because I wanted to be there for you. But… I wasn’t going to push myself on you, especially then.” I try to hold it together but my chin quivers. “And you didn’t want me anyway.”

“That’s not true.” The words rush out, his hand inching closer. “I always wanted you.” His fingertips brush mine and that barely there touch sends shockwaves up my arm. Even though every instinct tells me to pull away again, I don’t. I need the connection as much as he does right now. “It felt like everything was stacked against us… seeing our parents together, my potential illness. It felt like a losing battle.”

“But you’re okay, right?”

“For now,” he supplies, a wariness in his words. “The initial tests came back negative, but every so often I still have to go in for a CAT scan and an MRI. I had a tremble in my hands, off and on, and periodic headaches, but they’ve gone away and the doctors couldn’t find a reason for it.”

Relief sputters from my mouth and I give him a soft smile. “I’m so glad.” Then I speak the truth. Because in the end, that’s all we have. “I worried about you. A lot.”

He smiles then. That crooked, one-sided lift of his lips that was somehow always clear in my mind. “I thought about you all the time,” he admits, and I press my thumb along the underside of my wrist, hoping to slow down the heavy beat of my pulse.

The waitress finally comes over to take our drink orders, a much needed break to our weighted conversation. When she leaves, I ask one of the many questions circling my brain. “So what brought you to New York, anyway?”

His eyes swivel back to mine. “I….” He stops, then starts again. “My friend Chris, I told you about him briefly. We ended up working things out and moved here together. We got a place in the East Village.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“We moved here shortly after my mom passed away.” The waitress returns with our drinks and sets them on the table. Vance keeps talking and I shove a hand under my thigh, too fidgety now to sit still. I can’t believe we’ve been in the same city for two years. “Before that, I stayed with Chris because I was short on money. But with Chris’s dad’s help, we took the plunge and started a technology consulting business.”

“I guess all that tinkering paid off, huh?”

His mouth curves into a genuine smile and my chest inflates. “Yeah. It’s actually going really well. It was slow at first and we had our doubts, but we’ve built up repeat clients and are getting new ones via word of mouth. What about you?”

“Me?” I roll a finger over the condensation building on the glass. “I’m two classes short of getting my Master of Arts Degree at Parson’s, and I also work as the Office Manager for The Dubois Gallery in Midtown. Mostly doing administrative stuff, but I love it.”

“So you went for it, after all. That’s awesome.” Genuine excitement for me fills his eyes. A sign that maybe he still cares. My heart does a tiny skip but my brain shuts it down.

“I’m getting there.” A nonchalant smile covers my exhilaration as his gaze wanders over me.

“You wear dresses now.” The way he says it sounds off. I can’t figure out if I hear disapproval or something else.

I shrug and take a swig of water before placing it down. “Sometimes.”

He scratches the light coating of stubble on his chin, and I try not to recall the way it felt scraping against my bare skin. “I thought you didn’t like them.”

“I don’t, really,” I admit, shrugging again. “But I need to look nice for work. Plus, I just wanted to be different.”

“Why?” He delves, his focused gaze holding me hostage and making me squirm in the seat. “There was nothing wrong with the way you were before. You were beautiful then, and you’re even more beautiful now. The dress can’t change that,” he adds, and my head buzzes in time with my heart. “I actually preferred the t-shirts.”

My cheeks tingle with warmth and I clear my throat. “I need… to get going now.” I slide out of the booth to stand up, but his hand finds my wrist. That simple brush of fingers against skin is too much. This time I back away, pulling out of his grasp. Air—I need air. “I really have to go, Vance,” I emphasize with urgency and head toward any door that will lead me out of here.

“Ember, wait,” he shouts, drawing the attention of other customers in the diner. I stop with my back to him, breath bursting in and out of my chest. I don’t know if I can do this. My gaze drifts to the ceiling for strength before turning around. What I don’t expect is for Vance to be standing there, and I nearly bump into his chest. He looks down at me, his blue eyes agonizing and true.