“Hi,” I greet him, not knowing what else to say.
Wearing black like the rest of them, plus a tie — unlikehim— Lucas stands at the door, leaning against it, his blue eyes pinned on me. He’s as grim-faced as he was at the burial and my heart goes out to him.
“I’m sorry for your dad,” I whisper, rubbing my hands on my thighs.
He shrugs finally, his shoulders appearing broader in the jacket. “We all knew it was coming.”
“But still, it can’t be easy.”
“Well, he’s gone now and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. I understand that.”
For a few seconds after that, he simply stares at me.
There’s a reason he brought me here, and while I’m slightly nervous about it — because I think I know that reason — I’m going to be patient and have him come out with it when he wants to.
“You didn’t show up at the party.”
I knew it.
I wanted to call the very next day and meet up with him. But then we heard the news and I didn’t think it was the right time to talk about this stuff. To compound his already complicated grief.
But I guess, if he wants to talk about it, then we should.
“I was going to but…”
“But what?” he asks impatiently.
I take a deep breath and say, “But I realized something.”
“What?”
“That I never apologized for the right thing.”
He frowns, shifting on his feet. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I take a moment to look at him then.
His blond hair and blue eyes. His fair skin.
His tall body.
He’s changed; I can see that.
And not in his looks, which have matured, but also in his demeanor. In the way that he carries himself. He looks closed off now, tight and rigid. Maybe jaded and cynical.
Angry.
That’s my doing.
For betraying him.
I wonder if I hadn’t kissed his best friend, would he still look like that? If we’d stayed together, would he still have looked… unhappy?
And I think that he would have.
Even if he was happy when we were together — which I don’t really think he was — he would’ve grown unhappy eventually. He would’ve grown discontented. He would’ve grown angry and jaded and cynical.