Lexi
The third bouquet of red roses arrived at the bookstore the third day after our fight. I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance as Kyle, the 16 year old delivery boy, walked in.
“Someone must have messed up really bad,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows .
“What?” I stepped around the table I had been cleaning, reaching for his pad to sign for the delivery.
“Third bouquet in just as many days, a guy doesn't put in that much effort unless he's apologizing for something big.” Kyle handed me the roses, double checking my signature.
“How do you know it's a guy?” I asked, matching his sly smile with one of my own.
“I read the note!” He shrugged, not at all remorseful for invading my privacy.
He made a dash for the door when he saw the bewildered expression on my face, laughing as he got out.
I reached for the card attached to the bouquet, skimming its contents before shoving it back in and throwing the whole thing on the counter. It was the same as the past two cards, apologies for the lost time, regret for the way he treated me, and hope for things to go back to what they were. That was the thing Carson could never understand, however. Things could never go back to the way they were, not after everything that happened between us. No roses or apologies could ever make up for the way he treated me all of these years. It was so easy for him to leave me behind, to discard me like I meant nothing to him, like our sixteen years of friendship were not worth fighting for.
Throwing my head back, I pushed back the tears that threatened to undo my resolve. It seemed that was all I was capable of these days; crying my eyes out and faltering between wanting him back and wanting nothing to do with him. After a few deep breaths, I pushed every thought of Carson aside and went back to work.
When the first week ended and his roses garnered no results, Carson decided to change tactics. The bouquets stopped coming, replaced instead by packages left at my front door. Expensive jewellery, first edition books from rare collections, designer dresses, and perfumes, anything he thought I might like was left at our doorstep. The notes still came as well, carrying the same apologies and hope, driving me to the brink of madness. By the time the fifth package arrived, I was seeing red. I shoved everything he got me in a box and threw it in my closet, waiting for a day when I wasn't so emotional to go and throw them all in his face. It seemed that seven years apart had wiped Carson's memories clean of everything that was related to me. How else would he have thought that bribing me with expensive gifts was the way to win my forgiveness? The O’connors had always been well off, the richest family in our town. Carson and Tori were the sole heirs of a great fortune, set up for life even if they never worked a day in their lives. My family wasn't as wealthy, but we were doing well before my mother's illness, and I never wanted for anything growing up. Did he think that I was suddenly desperate for his money now that he could flash it around and I'll forgive him for everything? Did he feel sorry for me? Did he still think I was pathetic, enough to fall at his feet at the sight of these designer items? Anger roared in my blood every time a package ended up in my room, throwing all of them together without bothering to open them anymore. If he thought this would work, he had another thing coming.
A few days passed, and no new ‘gifts’ appeared at our house. I went to work, thankful that Kyle didn't pop up with another bouquet. Maybe he had finally gotten the message. Maybe, after almost two weeks of radio silence, Carson had given up.
By the time I was heading home, the sun had already set, and the weather took a dive into the negative degrees. I wrapped my coat tighter around my body, picking up the pace. I started rattling off a list of ingredients I had back home, coming up with a few ideas for dinner. Despite her lack of appetite, I had to make sure my mom had three healthy, decent sized meals every day so her body could bounce back. Some days, she would be well enough to make her own food, and I wouldn't dare stop her from doing it. Those moments were important to her. They brought her a sense of normalcy she hadn't experienced in well over a year, so I let myself pretend alongside her.
Hurrying up The few steps to my front door, I tried my hardest not to look back at the house across from me. I didn't need to know what he was up to, or what he was thinking, or if he was waiting for me still. None of it mattered anymore. Soon, he would give up on me like he did back then and go back to his life, and this whole thing would be nothing but a distant memory.
“I'm home!” I yelled as I went in, throwing my purse on the entry table. I shrugged my coat and scarf off, hanging them by the door.
“Welcome back, honey.” Mom’s voice reached me from the kitchen, and I went in to see her standing by the stove.
“Something smells good!” I said, peaking over her shoulder.
“I'm making pasta Alfredo,” she replied with a smile.
“Great, I'll start on the salad then.”
Washing my hands, I grabbed what I needed from the fridge and worked in silence. A sense of tranquillity engulfed our kitchen, a moment of rare peace stretching around us. My mom hummed a familiar tune as she stirred the sauce, her head moving with the beat. Once I was done, I set the table, and she joined me with her food in hand.
I nodded in appreciation as I savoured the taste. No matter how much time I spent in the kitchen or how long I tried to perfect my skills, I could never catch up to my mom’s cooking.
“This is delicious, mom,” I said through a mouthful of pasta, grinning at my mom's fake glare.
“I'm glad you like it, sweetie.” She took a sip of her water, keeping her eyes on me. “How was work?”
“The usual.” I swallowed my food. “A lot of stacking, dusting, and keeping inventory.”
“And Carson?”
I coughed a few times, trying to dislodge the piece of cucumber that got stuck in my throat. “What about him?” My voice sounded strained to my own ears.
“Have you talked to him? Or do you solely communicate through flowers and unopened packages these days?”
I rolled my eyes at her mischievous smile. Of course she had noticed.
“There is nothing to talk about, mom.”
“He doesn't seem to agree.”
“Well, that's his problem.”
“Sweetie,” Mom said, her eyes softening. “You both have been through so much. Would it be so bad if you could be there for each other?”
I sat my fork down, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. The familiar pang of pain squeezed my heart, memories flooding my mind of all I had to go through alone.
“He was never there for me,” I said. I clenched my jaw, digging my nails into my palm to keep the tears at bay. “I don't see why anything has to change now.”
I could see that she wanted to say more, that she was hoping to change my mind, but eventually she decided not to. We went back to our food, finishing dinner in silence.
Once we were done, I sent her off to the living room, instructing her to take her meds while I cleaned up. The dishes didn't take long, and as soon as the kitchen was spotless, I headed back to the entryway to grab my purse. Fishing for my phone, an unopened envelope on the mail tray caught my attention. The familiar address of the hospital sent dread through my bones, and I swallowed harshly at the idea of another bill dragging me down.
Tearing the envelope open, confusion cursed through me as I stared at the jumble of numbers staring back at me.
“What the hell?”
YOU ARE READING
The Love We Left Behind
Romance"I could never get her out of my head, no matter how hard I tried. I could never move on with my life. I fought, and I fought, but it was pointless. She was ingrained in my mind and soul, and I despised her for it. Lexi Black was the bane of my exis...
