Liz
Somehow, I get through the next day of rehearsals. Aidan’s absence is conspicuous, but we manage.
“Don’t forget,” Reed announces jovially. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, then after that, previews. Prepare to charm the public.”
There are a few tired cheers as people leave. “Any news from Aidan?” I ask Reed.
“Just that he needed a day off. Did you want to talk to him?”
“No, not really.” Seeing how we left things the last time we spoke, I haven’t tried to reach out to him. Maybe I should. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
After a few minutes in my dressing room, I head for home. At my apartment, silence greets me. The spacious duplex is professionally furnished but lacks any personal touches, a soulless monument to my wish that one day, I might return to live in this city.
That’s unlikely now.
Who and what would I return for?
Aidan.
He wants to be with you, a voice whispers in my head. What does it matter if it’s out of pity and compassion? It’s what you want. You want to be with him.
You need to accept
that there won’t be any happy ending to our story.
We will never work.
The sooner you accept that and go back to your life, the better it will be for both of us.
He’d meant every single word, and as soon as his tender feelings arising from my loss recede, he’ll remember just how much he hates me.
Then what?
Then I’ll be right back where I started.
Desperate to escape my muddled thoughts, I open a bottle of wine and pour a full glass, before walking over to the windows to look at the view.
My phone trills from the kitchen counter, startling me. I hurry over, and a glance at the screen tells me it’s Aidan calling.
I reach for the phone. “Hey.”
“Liz.” There’s a pause after he says my name, and an aching tenderness fills my chest. “Where are you?”
My eyes sweep the apartment. “At my place.”
There’s another pause. “I’m coming over.”
A memory of his anger from our last confrontation flashes in my mind. He doesn’t sound angry anymore, just resigned. I pull in a breath. “Okay.”
While I wait for him, I down the rest of the wine in my glass.
Is he still mad at me?
Is he going to try to convince me I’m wrong about him?