"Hi," he said.
"Hi," I said.
"I'm glad you came." The words were spoken awkwardly, as if he hadn't really decided yet, whether they were true.
"Of course I came," I replied with equal awkwardness, but double the sincerity. I missed him.
"How've you been?" The question blatantly ignored my earnestness and dove straight into cordiality, making my inner senses want to scream at him. It was the same old story: all in or fold, there was no in between.
"Fine," I answered. Two can play at the small talk game. I'd make him suffer.
"Cool."
"Yep."
The silence was almost unbearable. Every nerve in my body was riveted in determination, focusing all my strength on keeping my tongue behind my teeth. I would not be the first to speak.
"How have you really been?" He whispered then, sounding like himself for the first time.
Inwardly, I sighed a breath of relief.
"I've been okay," I murmured truthfully. "But not really. You know?"
"Yeah," he said. Sucking in a deep gust of air, he screwed up his nerve and our eyes met. "I wanted to say I was sorry," he rasped lowly, sounding breathless in spite of all that air. "I just didn't know how. I didn't know what you'd say if I called you, and I didn't think I'd make it if you said no. So I just said nothing at all. Now looking back, I don't think anything could have been worse than that, so I'm sorry for that too."
For a long moment I sat listening to him, feeling strangely like a heroine in a really lame, sappy, teenage romance novel and also like a new, unfamiliar version of myself. It felt like a burst of rain falling from the clouds and an eerie contentment all at once. I smiled without knowing why.
"I forgive you," I said.
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