He held the phone in his hand, staring at the screen. Maybe if I look at it hard enough, it'll make the decision for me. Fingers poised over the contact name, he sighed deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. When did this become anything other than second nature? She and I are friends. We were friends, he corrected himself.
Outside the window of his apartment building, the Manhattan skyline loomed in front of him, the sunset basking the city below in a bejeweled glow. As much as he loved New York with all its bustle and life and he knew he'd move to the ends of the Earth if that was what was necessary to stay close to Lea, California still called to him. He missed the ocean and the cloudless skies and the sunshine, he missed not experiencing the bleak mid-winter sadness which seemed to permeate the atmosphere in January through the beginning of March, hell, he even missed the gridlock on the 101 during rush hour.
Most of all, he missed her.
They'd been dancing around something for months and though she'd deny it publicly when asked, he knew she felt it, too, how they were on the cusp of an actual, tangible, thing. It was something to cultivate privately; custody and consideration for his ex would make any kind of public relationship messy but it was still there and they hadn't needed to voice it to know it was real.
But something had changed. The text messages became fewer and far between and she didn't make plans to meet him when she was in New York or he was in LA. She'd built a barrier, a distance, between them and as much as he tried to question the reasoning, she shut him down, shut him out, time and time again.
The video from New Year's Eve had been a goddamn karate chop to the chest, made his lungs ache, and yet...he watched it repeatedly, unable to tear his eyes away. Dan, she had let him know, was sorely for publicity's sake but this seemed all too real. He forced himself to believe that this other man was the reason she'd pulled away from him. Maybe she was too afraid to be honest, of hurting him.
She was never yours in the first place.
The acknowledgment sat lodged in his throat. Somehow, somewhere down the line, he had fucked up. He hadn't laid everything on the table for her, he had never even said the words out loud. How could he blame her for being tired of waiting?
Fuck it.
No sooner than he'd begun to type out a text, the phone buzzed, startling him. His mouth drew into a line as he read the incoming message.
Hey. Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday...I know I'm late but--
The simplicity of the sentiment stirred only a deeper ache in his chest, and he rubbed his eyes wearily before replying.
Thank you. I was just going to send you a message, actually. I saw some clips of the Oprah interview the other day...making sure you're alright.
He knew from experience that rehashing trauma tended to wreak havoc on her physically and more than likely, she was in pain, either during or after the interview, to some extent. Though she was one of the strongest people he'd ever met, the sight of her curled into a ball, her face contorted in agony, was heartbreaking. It was a mental image he'd never be able to erase.
I'm doing okay. I'm taking good care of myself.
How truthful she was, he couldn't be sure, but he took a small, relieved breath, moving around the space of his living room.
Look, I know I've been off the grid lately and I'm sorry. I haven't been in touch and I want you to know it had nothing to do with you, B.
Her candor caught him off guard and he blinked once and then twice. What could he say? It's okay didn't seem quite right because it was far from it but righteous indignation over the fact she had disappeared for three damn months without a word, while maybe justified, wasn't what he wanted to convey either.
