I Choose You

25. Time (Edited)

"He's not okay either." she said. "He misses you...even though he'd never admit it."

He misses me?

I felt tears sting at my eyes. He misses me even after everything.

I'm such a terrible person.

"I miss him too." I whispered, tracing the rim of my cup with my finger, not able to look Riley in the eyes. Because if I did, she would know exactly what I wanted to ask her.

I looked out the window again. An old woman was walking across the street at leisurely pace with her walker in hand. She dropped her purse in the crosswalk and I watched as a young man picked it up for her and helped her the rest of the way across the street.

"Emery, I know what you want to ask me, but I can't tell you anything."

I looked at her finally, into her speckled green eyes.

She shook her head. "I made a promise to Aiden."

"I know."

She reached for my hand and squeezed. "He'll tell you when he's ready. He just needs a few days to cool off. You know how he is."

I nodded, as she stood, again offering me a sympathetic smile, before heading out of the café. I knew that Aiden needed time to cool off. I know how he is when he gets angry. What Riley said is true. But the thing I was afraid of, wasn't what he was going to say to me. It was whether or not he would ever look at me the same way, and whether or not he would ever trust me again.

That's what I was most afraid of.

It was now Saturday. Exactly six days that I hadn't spoken to Aiden. And it felt like an eternity, but it's not like I could drive over to his house and say I was sorry, apologize for everything, and then everything be peachy between the two of us.

I wish it was that easy. But it's so much more complex than that. I'm not even sure Aiden will ever forgive me for this. The fight he and I have over my forgiving Evan is nothing compared to this, because this time it's not about someone else...it's about us.

Dad was off from work today, so he insisted on making breakfast when I had woken up—his usual French toast. I wasn't quite in the mood for social interaction, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings, especially since the two of us hadn't had breakfast together in quite some time. Since he got promoted to manager of his building, he's been around a lot more, something I've been grateful for. But I haven't been home much in the past few days, because I knew if I was, he would know something was up with me, and I didn't want him to worry, or see me break down in tears every five seconds when I thought about Aiden and what I've done.

I could smell the warm aroma of sweet syrup and cinnamon wafting in the air as I sat on the edge of my bed. I found comfort in the smell of home. It was something that, no matter what, never changed, even if the rest of the world did.

"It's ready kiddo!" Dad called from the kitchen as the sound of banging pots and pans echoed up the stairs.

Every fiber in my body wanted to lay in my bed, sulk, and cry some more, but I owed it to my dad to walk downstairs and eat breakfast with him. It was the least I could do after all that he'd sacrificed for me. Especially when mom left.

I padded down the stairs, my arms limp at my sides, before I headed for the kitchen, taking a seat on the wooden stool at the kitchen island. I was ninety-nine percent sure I had dark circles and bloodshot eyes, but it didn't matter how much I tried to cover it up, when my father's eyes landed on me, the recognition flashed in them. He knew something was wrong.

Dad cocked his head to the side, slowly placing a plate of freshly baked French toast and eggs in front of me. "You been gettin' enough sleep kiddo, you look pretty banged up?"

I reached for the fork and knife, nodding my head slowly. "I'm okay," but even as I said the words, I knew I wasn't. The utensils in my hand felt like I was carrying a deadweight, and the more I forced myself to use them, the slower my movements became. I had been sitting there cutting the same piece of French toast for five minutes.

I could see my dad frowning at me. "Where's Autumn?" he asked.

"She's with Blake."

That was a lie. Autumn was home today. She had been texting me non—stop for the past few days, but I just didn't have the energy to talk with her. To be honest, I'm not quite sure why she hasn't barged through the door already. Maybe she knew I just wanted to be left alone and was trying to give me some space.

I sent her a silent thank you for that.

I took the first bite of French toast, barely dipping it into the circular swamp of syrup that had formed in the corner of my plate. It was good, but my stomach just wasn't having it. I didn't have an appetite for anything, except I didn't want my dad to feel bad, so I forced myself to eat it, very slowly.

Dad took the stool next to mine, scarfing down his French toast while I worked on my tiny little third bite. "Where's your other friend—Aiden—is that what his name is?"

I stopped chewing, the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach starting to grow worse and worse, almost like knives twisting and scraping my insides. Like I had just been set on fire from the inside, and I was getting ready to burst.

I set my utensils down, stood up, kissed my dad on the cheek, mumbled, "Thanks for the breakfast," and turned, crossing my arms over my chest as I padded back towards the stairs. Any second now, I knew I was getting ready to break and shatter. That my emotions were going to be obliterated into nothing, and I was going to cry myself to sleep all night long, but it wasn't until what I heard my dad say to himself. It wasn't until I heard his muffled words from the kitchen, halfway up the stairs, that I knew I was done for.

"He's not just her friend, is he?" he mumbled.

No. He's not. He's so much more.