She steps into the kitchen, “You want some coffee?”
“Sure,” I nod, pulling one of the barstools out. I take a second to look around, noting all the things that I haven’t seen before. The sound of the cup hitting the granite in front of me catches my attention.
“He’s not here, you know. You can stop being so jumpy.”
With a soft chuckle, I take a sip, “I was kind of hoping that he was.”
“Oh…” She says, surprised. “I didn’t think—”
I shake my head, “We’re past that at this point, don’t you think? Everything worked out exactly like you wanted it to. You’re happy, right?”
She looks down, “I am, but I never wanted to make you unhappy.”
Trying not to show any of my feelings, I provide a tight-lipped smile. “I know.”
“I mean that,” She reiterates, “It’s not that I didn’t love you too.”
I allowed my eyes to flick to hers, and that was a mistake. Now not only do I feel upset, I remember that we were really good friends. Friends that turned our relationship into more because, at the time, it felt like the right thing to do.
“I saw it coming, Hanna. When Jameson came back, everything changed.”
We sit in silence for a moment when I hear Ellie’s voice coming from the other room.
“Mom! I’m hungry!”
I follow the sound of her voice until I see her all piled up on the couch.
“Eric!” She sees me, trying her best to get up. Her little arm is in a sling, and she winces when she moves.
“Hey, hey,” I coo, “You don’t have to get up. How are you feeling?”
She points to her shoulder with her good arm, “Not good. This hurts.”
“I’d say it does,” I agree. “What do you want to eat?”
She looks over my shoulder at her mom, “Leftover Mac and cheese?”
Hanna laughs, walking toward the fridge. I would totally eat Mac and cheese for breakfast.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Ellie says. “I was starting to think we weren’t best friends anymore.”
“Oh, that could never happen!”
She looks down at the rug, her face a little sad, “I thought you were mad at us.”
How do you explain something like this to her? I don’t really want to say much because I’m not sure what Hanna has told her.
“I could never be mad at you.”
She picks up her camelback cup from between the cushions, flips the straw up, and takes a sip. “You were mad at my mom.”
“No, Ellie. I’m not.”
“What about my dad?” She asks. “You definitely must be mad at him.”
I definitely was at first. Now I just realize that maybe things were always supposed to be this way.
“Nope, not even mad at him.”