“It’s only been a few hours.”
“Oh, right.” Felt longer. “Can you advise me what I should do about the forged signature and whether I should, I don’t know, press charges against them?”
“What does your gut say?”
“My gut says it’s tawdry to send an ex-friend through the criminal justice system. Someone I’d loved. Someone I don’t want to have bad feelings toward.”
“Are you saying you’d like to forgive and forget?”
“More than anything!”
A soft, ironic chuckle issued from Jeremy. He set down his drink and sat back in the chair. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I squinted at him. It was probably not very effective, due to my prone state. “Is it so impossible to think of me as someone who can forgive?”
With a slight shrug and tilt of his head, I had my answer.
Humph. I could forgive. I’d forgiven a lot of things. I frowned and wished I could turn away from him, but the bags of frozen peas held me captive.
Jeremy stood up, brushing off his jeans. “I’m going to go now.”
What? He was leaving?
“Don’t look so distraught. I thought you didn’t like me. Doesn’t it relieve you if you don’t have to endure my company?”
Wow. That was probably how I’d made it seem the last few times we’d met, though. Not an inaccurate assessment of my former opinions. “I’m sorry about how I treated you last week.”
“You threw me out on my ear.”
“Is it damaged? Can you lean over here so I can see it? Did you need stitches or anything? I hear ears bleed a lot. Almost as much as head wounds.”
“Very funny.” He offered me a smirk. “Look, I am glad to help you with this conundrum, but only if you want me to. I’m going to ask you one thing, though.”
Oh, no. I’d been suckered into traps in the past. “What is it?” My wariness marred the energy in the room.
Jeremy held up his palms. “If you don’t need help, that’s fine. But know that the thing I’m asking isn’t something horrifically hard.”
“Just tell me what it is. I’ll do it.” That he really wouldn’t hurt me, I knew in my heart. “Name it.”
“Sometime before we meet again, look back through your texts to me on your phone.”
“Huh?” I reached for it off the coffee table and clutched it to my chest. “We communicated?” During the Between Episode? What did I say to him? Wince-cringe-gag.
“I take it from your attitude, you haven’t read them already.”
Accurate. “Okay,” I managed, but it was hard to squeeze the word through my narrowing windpipe. “Thank you.”
Jeremy walked to the front door, where he paused. “I’d be willing to bring you dinner tonight. Just text and let me know what you’d like.” And before I could answer with Chinese food, or homemade soup, he’d slipped through the front door and shut it.
His truck’s engine fired up, and the gravel crunched as he drove away.
Dinner. He’d bring me dinner? I just had to tell him what I’d like?
If I texted him and put in a dinner order before I got hungry, that meant I’d have to look at those texts right away. Like, as in now.
Was I ready to examine what my non-self-self had said to Jeremy Hotston?
Nope. Not remotely.