“This could be your last chance. You should take it,” Mara said, throwing back her second shot of the night. She’d demanded an immediate girl’s night out and since I hadn’t left my apartment other than to go to work for weeks, I figured a change of scenery wouldn’t hurt. Plus I knew she was prone to cabin fever if she didn’t get to catch up.

I stared down at my drink – still untouched – shrugging my shoulders. “I really don’t think it matters anymore.” Luckily for me, O’Hara Lara bar is always bustling on Friday nights, and cheers coming from the tables in the back corner help to mask the lack of enthusiasm in my tone.

Normally, I appreciate Mara’s optimism and confidence. She raced over when she saw my post-breakup haircut after I’d broken up with Lucas weeks earlier. She hadn’t berated me when she saw the lopsided cut – my half drunken attempt at an asymmetrical bob – but simply helped to even out the sides. Or when I’d tried to book myself a flight to somewhere warm and tropical to mend yet another broken heart. Instead, I’d ended up stranded at the airport in the middle of winter, forcing her to come get me in the middle of a snowstorm. That was our dynamic – me, always making bad choices and messes, and her, always cleaning them up for me.

I so desperately wanted normal. I wanted a relationship that wasn’t going to crash and burn, leaving yet another scorched heart in my path of past loves. Mara knew that too, which was why she was so desperately trying to convince me to take this chance.

She motioned to the bartender for a refill, while reaching for the bowl of pretzels. “You and Tyler have never been on the same page – mostly because you were too busy in the arms of your next…conquest.” I give her a look and she shrugs.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

I can’t. Because she’s right.

The ice in my drink is starting to melt, the rim making a puddle on the bar’s wooden top. Running my finger through the water, my mind wanders back to the last text Tyler and I exchanged. He’d moved halfway across the country after determining that traveling was the cure to his restlessness. Our last messages had been months ago, with awkward small talk filling in the gaps of words we couldn’t say.

Meanwhile, Mara was apparently in the middle of a confidence speech, made specifically in my honor, even though I wasn’t listening to the first half. “…and so help me God if I have to sit and watch you two walk away from each other. Christ, CiCi, I love you but these last few years have been…” she searches for the right word, desperate not to hurt my feelings while also remaining honest. “rough.”

“You forget that our history isn’t clear cut,” I remind her, my attention suddenly turned to the familiar cheering from the back corner. A large gang of bikers are intently watching the latest football game, slapping each other on the backs and delivering fist bumps around the table.

Mara follows my gaze to the back table. “See that?” she says. “See them? How happy they are? That’s what I want for you.” She slaps her leg, the exposed hole in the denim in her jeans amplifying the sound. “I would give this up for you, to see you that happy.” The edge of her lip turns up, giving me a half-drunk smile. “That’s how I much I love you. You can have my leg.”

Her words are slurry and I simply squeeze her hand. “I love you too.”

After calling an Uber and ensuring Mara makes it home safely, I retreat back home, into my own sanctuary. Unlocking the front door, I kick off my shoes, throw my coat over the back of my couch and make my way towards my bedroom, eager to get the bar smell off of my skin.

Mara’s words linger in my head. Is she right? Could Tyler and I have the future I always had secretly hoped we’d have? Throwing on some clean pajamas, I squirt some toothpaste on my toothbrush, letting my mind wander further. Would he be receptive to…me? Or did I unknowingly obilerate any chance of a future, and that’s the real reason why he left in the first place?

I spit into the sink, put some chapstick on and slide in under the covers. Just as I’m about to reach for my journal, I feel my phone buzz from inside my comforter.

It’s a text.

From Tyler.

Tyler: Hey

CiCi: Hey

Tyler: Honestly wasn’t sure if you were still awake or not

CiCi: Yeah. Late night out with Mara.

I add the beer emojis, even though neither of us had beer tonight.

Tyler: Lol! Sounds like fun. Actually, I have a question for you.

A question. My heart pinches in my chest, because there’s only one question I can think of him asking.

CiCi: What?

Tyler: I flew in a couple of days ago, and was wondering if you wanted to hang out?

There it is. My thumbs are frozen above the keys, while I reread his text a dozen more times. I can’t exactly decipher any flirtation in between the lines, but he could have a girlfriend and just doesn’t feel the need to mention anything to me about it. Which is fair, it’s not like it’s my business who’s in his life anymore.

A ache of longing blooms in my chest. But what if there isn’t anyone else in his life? The thought is enough to –

Tyler: You still awake?

I type out a response, and press send.

CiCi: Sorry, had to pee. But for sure, we can get together. What were you thinking?

I’m hopeful that I’m coming across as friendly and eager in a hey, haven’t seen you in forever, let’s catch up and not in a I promise I’m not desperate, but it’s been almost a decade and I still don’t think I’m over you yet – type way.

He doesn’t respond for a few minutes, making me think that I took too long in responding and that he went to bed. I take a quick glance at my alarm clock. 1:13am. But it is a Friday too.

A photo message pops up on my screen. It’s of a restaurant I’ve never heard of. The photos showcase a bar and grill style, with rustic wooden beams and neon signs all over the walls.

Tyler: I checked and they have a pretty extensive gluten free menu too

Of course he checked. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, but he still remembers small details like this.

CiCi: Sounds great! What time?

Tyler: Noon good?

CiCi: Yeah

Tyler: Great see you then

And with that I set my phone on my nightstand, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to sleep now.

---

Even after my late night out, my body still refused to sleep in, waking me up hours ahead of time to sit and ruminate about today. Journaling seemed to ease the mental knot inside my head, into a long, fluid string of thoughts. I promised myself that I wouldn’t hold any expectations for today (which was increasingly difficult, the closer the afternoon came).

With my phone smashed up between my ear and shoulder, I waited for Mara to pick up.

She answered with a gruntled noise that meant her hangover was in full swing this morning. “CiCi, it’s like the middle of the night.”

“It’s not actually. It’s late morning.”

Another grunt. “Your point being?”

I hold different tops in the mirror, trying to make a choice. “Tyler texted me last night.” This immediately wears away some of Mara’s hangover.

“What did he say? What did you say?”

I decide on a floral open backed shirt. “He wants to have lunch today. Like, in the next hour.”

“Holy shit.” The line fell silent for a minute before Mara spoke again. “This is it, you know.”

“We don’t know that,” I say, setting my phone on speaker so I can get dressed. We can only hope, I think before chastising myself for breaking my no expectations rule.

While I filled Mara in on the details, she reiterated everything I’d journaled earlier this morning. Don’t overthink anything. Don’t have any expectations. Don’t flirt – unless he flirts first. And most importantly, to call her as soon as I got home, so we could dissect every aspect of the date.

—-

For starting off as gray and overcast (which I took as a bad omen), the clouds had since parted, allowing the sun to defrost the light layer of snow on the ground. As I pulled into the parking lot, I scanned through the cars, even though I had no idea what Tyler would be driving. I pulled down the visor, looking at myself in the rectangular mirror. I certainly wouldn’t come in first place in a Miss America contest, but I was cute. A small town – type way cute. My hair fell in soft waves down my chest and my makeup was subtle enough that I looked put together, but not like I was trying too hard either.

As I got out, a tall figure stood waiting under the overhang, his back facing the parking lot. His shoulders were broad, his t-shirt practically clinging to his arms. Even from his backside, this was someone who easily had arms that one could ogle at for inappropriately long amounts of time.

But it didn’t matter. Just because this figure had arms for days, my interest was solely on –

Inside my purse, my phone gave a quick buzz. I pulled it out and immediately stopped in my tracks.

Tyler: I’m here at the front door.

No. This was Tyler? Suddenly the saliva in my mouth disappeared, making it almost impossible to swallow. Clearly one of his hobbies amongst traveling was hitting the gym.

Shaking my thoughts away, I went over and grabbed his arm, half in greeting, half to secretly feel if those muscles were in fact real. (They were).

He spun around, and surprised me again. He’d grown out a beard, along with sporting new glasses. He was practically unrecognizable, except for his signature grin.

“Hey stranger,” he said giving me a quick hug. He smelled faintly of his car freshener, with a twitch of deodorant.

“Pretty sure I’m the one who should be calling you stranger,” I said, vaguely motioning to him. “Wow.”

His cheeks turned a faint pink, shrugging off my compliment, like he was used to the flattery. And maybe he was. He probably had quite the gaggle of women at his beck and call back home. The thought stabbed at my gut, but I pushed it aside. No expectations, I reminded myself.

Country music played overhead as we stepped inside. The restaurant was packed, with families off to the side, clearly waiting for the rest of their parties to arrive. Staff members ran back and forth, careful not to bump into each other. A red-haired teenager pointed at us - “be right there you guys!” - before heading into the kitchen.

We scanned the bench, looking for somewhere to sit, when an elderly couple was called up to the hostess stand. We slipped into their spots, laughing at the baby run we’d done to secure the space.

“I forgot how cutthroat people can be when it comes to open seating,” he said laughing. His shoulder was pressed against me. The feel of his skin was both new and familiar. However, what I hadn’t noticed earlier was the edge of a tattoo poking out from under his shirt.

I laughed, while secretly trying to get a better look at what was hiding under the fabric. Just as I was about to ask, the teenager from earlier waved us to follow her, menus tucked under her arm.

For as busy as it was, we got our drinks and orders placed relatively fast. I watched as Tyler looked around at the televisions, to other customers, to me, back to the televisions, to his phone, and back to me.

Was he really feeling shy all of a sudden? We’d known each other for years – even if we hadn’t seen each other in the last couple.

“So,” we said in unison.

“Please, ladies first,” he said, motioning for me to continue.

I shook my head. “Oh. I was…just…I was just going to ask…” What was happening? Why couldn’t I get my question out?

“Traveling’s been good,” he filled in. “That’s what you were going to ask, right?” I nodded. I appreciated his initiative, and his ignorance at my middle school girl-crushes-on-boy fumbling.

“It gave me what I needed.” He glances out the near window, clearly reminiscing on his memories.

I smiled alongside him, watching as his mouth ticked up, his brow furrowing with each memory that played through his mind. I wished I shared in his memories.

For awhile he shared with me stories of his adventures, and I shared stories of the life I’d slowly been building here back home. He was impressed when I told him of my promotion to head chef, grabbing my hand and telling me he always knew I’d make it.

The gesture was quick, but the electricity it sent down my legs made me grateful that we were already sitting down.

After all the small talk topics had been discussed, only one topic stood left, my desire for it to be talked about quickly dwindling. We’d quickly formed back into our old patterns and I didn’t want it to change. This is us, I thought. It’s our dynamic. We joke, we laugh. A nagging voice in the back of my head had other ideas.

Tyler must’ve been thinking on it too, taking an unnecessarily large drink of his water. Like he had a mental countdown in his head and was stalling out the last seconds.

“So,” he said, giving his lips a quick wipe with his sleeve.

“So,” I mirrored. Neither of us spoke, and I could feel the light-hearted energy disappearing with each second, replaced with something stoic.

“I think we should talk,” he said.

I nodded.

He stared at the polish on my nails. Was he waiting for me to kick off this awkward walk down memory lane?

“I’m really sorry,” I said. He was rubbing his knuckles, nodding. I wasn’t sure if he was nodding in a forgiveness-type way, or nodding in that he was sorry too. When his eyes met mine, I saw it was clearly the latter.

Unbeknownst to me, my emotions had been corked in a bottle, and now that the cork had been popped off, apologies and memories flooded out. “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted you, but…” the words stopped short in my throat. “Our history…it’s complicated.”

“I know.”

“I still loved you,” I said. “Even after every breakup. Even during my relationships. You were still in my heart, and I think the other guys sensed it.”

For the first time, his gaze went from friendly, to…disinterest? Anger?

His eyes met mine. “Just because you loved me, doesn’t mean I felt loved by you.” His words cut my heart in half. But there was truth in them. How could I have truly loved him, when I abused his heart by lining mine up with other people’s?

Regret washes over his face, realizing the depth his words just took on my heart.

He reached for my hand again, and this time it felt like a stranger’s touch. “CiCi, I want you to know…. I do forgive you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I put my other hand on top of his. “I forgave you years ago, right when I forgave myself for the way I treated you.”

For the way he treated me?

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Our waitress brings our meals to the table, clearly sensing the deep conversation we’re having and quickly disappears.

Tyler’s meal is still sizzling, and while mine is too, I’m too hungry to wait.

“You weren’t the only one who did the hurting. I hurt you too. I pushed you away every time you came close. I knew the love you deserved, and I knew that I couldn’t give it to you. Not then.” Tears begin to well in my eyes, and I’m quick to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry Cierra.” He places a tight grip on my forearm, as if a tighter grip insinuates a more heartfelt apology.

He keeps his hand firmly on my arm. “I forgive you.” I say.

He gives me a full, authentic smile, one I haven’t seen in years but have missed terribly.

We fall into a slightly more comfortable silence while we eat, but I still don’t feel quite confident to know if he still wants me. We apologized for the messiness of our past, but neither of us has made any mention about the future – and whether that future includes each other.

“Why did you come back?” I ask, picking at the last bites off my plate.

Tyler ponders my question with that inquisitive look that only he can do, before looking at me. The moment we share is brief. He looks out the window again. I don’t see what he’s staring at exactly, other than the full parking lot, but I do my best to follow his gaze.

“Because I’m ready to come home.” he eyes me for my response, and my face fails him by giving a neutral expression.

“I’m ready to come home,” he repeats. “To this place. To you. I’m ready now.” Tears well again in my eyes, but this time I let them slide down my cheeks.

He wipes the tears away, still searching my face for a response. “This could be our last chance. I think we need to take it.”

I break into a smile and fit of tears, nodding with him. “Let’s take it.”