second chances

“You look different.”

Matt’s words were raspy and low against my hair as his arms tightened around me. I closed my eyes against his chest as the sensation set in. For the first time in twenty-six months, I was home.

Our hug lingered a little too long. I guess it wasn’t just me that felt that nostalgic pang of comfort from each other’s embrace. But I made myself be the first to pull away, wanting to keep a little shred of dignity.

“I’m not sure how to take that,” I admitted as we fell into step with each other on the peaceful sidewalk. It was sunset, so the streets were quieting down. At this time, parents would be sitting down with their children for dinner in their picket-fenced, picturesque homes in the little town that could be walked corner to corner in just a few hours. The city that I would always call my hometown. The city where my story with Matt began, six years ago.

Neither of us lived here anymore. We were just visiting home for the winter holiday. I was staying with my parents, who lived thirty minutes north now, but I’d made the drive just to see him this evening. If only for a few short hours.

We settled into our old ritual of walking the quiet streets without even verbally agreeing to it. It was what we’d always done—walk until we run out of sidewalk, then choose a new direction. All the while talking until we'd get tired of hearing our own voices, and let the silence engulf us.

“You can take that as a compliment,” he lifted a sideways gaze to mine, giving me an amused smile. Then, in the next moment, his eyes were back in front of him, studying the streets as if checking to see if anything had changed since the last time we'd been here.

“Thanks, then,” I said, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. “I’d like to think that’s not all that’s changed about me.”

I cringed when the words slipped from my mouth unfiltered. I wished I could take it back, but maybe part of me needed him to know that I wasn’t the same girl I was back then. That the new me would never let a guy lead me on the way he did, then turn around and say he didn’t have feelings for me. The new me wouldn’t allow a guy to kiss me, fuck up our friendship, then not speak to me for a month.

The new me would’ve danced with him that night at the concert. Would’ve kept his jacket when he lent it to me. Would’ve been honest about my feelings for him from the beginning.

Those were just a few regrets I have looking back on our time together. But, of course, he would never know these things. Because we didn’t talk about the past. To us, the past was a different life. One that we liked to pretend we'd never lived.

Everything was different now. I had a boyfriend—Kyle—back home on the east coast. And Matt probably had a girl he was at least talking to. He’d always been a flirt, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had multiple girls in his phone right now.

But really, I didn’t know.

Honestly, there wasn’t much that I did know about him now. It had been over two years since we’d seen each other. Almost as long since we’d even spoken. We both likely led completely different lives than we did when we went to high school together. Would the people that we were now even get along?

He let out a short puff of air. “Yeah, I could say the same about myself.”

“Yeah?” I cocked my head at him. “What all would you say has changed about you?”

His eyes flashed at me for one beat, two beats, as if deliberating answering that question. Then, in the same second, he was pulling me to his half of the sidewalk as a skateboarder came rolling past in the opposite direction, where he would’ve run right into me.

My heart lurched in my chest feeling Matt’s strong grip on my arm. I imagined him sliding his fingers down and entwining them in mine. I wondered if it would still feel as electric as it did in our previous lifetime.

Before I could thank him for pulling me out of the way, we were walking side by side again like nothing had happened, and he was finally responding to me. “You really just want to dive right into all that heavy stuff?” He was serious, but a small smirk lifted at the corner of his mouth, as if remembering all the times we’d so easily done just that. How these very streets held stories that had only ever passed between the two of us. Secrets we’d shared about our families, our deepest fears, our biggest regrets.

I silently agreed to save the heavy for another time. “How’s work?” I asked.

He nodded once, as if this was an appropriate question. “Busy. They promoted me to manager.”

“That’s awesome!” I congratulated. “And you’re still enjoying it?” Matt worked at a brewery in Santa Barbara, I’d learned the last time I saw him within our old group of friends. He’d always been the type of person who needed to work—not for the money necessarily, but to keep his hands busy. To feel like he had a purpose.

“Yeah. It’s crazy, it’s not something that I ever imagined doing, but now that I’m doing it, I can’t imagine doing something different.”

It made me happy to hear, but at the same time, a pang of jealousy rang like a bell in my chest. How had the lost, confused boy I’d known in high school slid into his place in life so seamlessly while I still sometimes felt like I was wandering around with all the lights off?

“What about you?” His question brought my head back to our conversation.

“I’m a preschool teacher,” I answered. His eyes lit in what looked like a combination of surprise, excitement, and horror.

“And?” He asked when I didn’t go on.

“And…It’s great, most days. I love the kids, but it can be exhausting.” I sighed as if to make a point. “Surprisingly, getting micromanaged by supervisors is the worst part about being a teacher.”

His eyebrows crinkled in disbelief. “Really? Not the sticky fingers or diapers or other bodily fluids?” He visibly cringed.

I laughed. “You get used to all that after a while. It just sucks to feel like you’re working so hard and doing your best, only to be told there are a million other things you should be doing even better. And for horrible pay.”

“That sucks,” he agreed sympathetically. Then he nudged me with his elbow, and I felt the ice between us finally fully melt. “Hey, maybe you could open your own school one day.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, grateful for his optimism, but knowing realistically that it would never happen.

“I’m serious,” he argued. “It’ll be the best preschool in San Diego.”

At his words, my stomach was immediately churning. I mentally replayed every brief text conversation I’d had with him, but quickly realized we hadn't texted since before I moved a year and a half ago. I definitely hadn’t told him. But had nobody in our old friend group mentioned it to him? Had he not seen it on social media?

It was possible. We didn’t have many people connecting us anymore since we’d all slowly drifted apart. And he never was one for Instagram.

“You know I’m not in San Diego anymore, right?” I asked tentatively.

“I didn’t,” he said, confusion flickering his face. “Where do you live now?”

I gnawed on my bottom lip, already anticipating his reaction. “I moved to Boston a while ago.”

“Boston.” He repeated the word, an edge in his voice. “You moved to the fucking east coast and you didn’t tell me?” His words weren’t angry. Just surprised. Maybe a little hurt. “Laur,” he began, and I cringed at his old nickname for me. I hadn’t let anyone use it since him, forcing people to strictly call me Lauren and never even jokingly shorten it. It was only for him. It felt wrong coming out of anybody else’s mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me you moved across the country?”

We’d stopped walking, the sudden weight of the conversation too heavy to carry. He’d stepped accidentally under the orange glow of a streetlight. It was dark out now, the winter evening ending the daylight much too early. But the light from the lamp above him illuminated his face perfectly. And I was right. He was hurt.

I shrugged like it was obvious. “We weren’t talking, Matt.”

“We could’ve, though,” he argued. “The phone is always there. Just shoot me a text ‘hey, I’m practically moving countries, but no big deal! Probably never see you again.’” His words dripped with sarcasm. It was the kind we’d always used, but never in this way—to mask emotions that I could see were buried deep within him.

“Matt, that’s not fair and you know it. I had every right to move and not tell you about it. You’re the one that decided you didn’t want to be in my life. So you don’t get to know everything about my life. I don’t owe you anything.”

He’d be surprised by my assertiveness. In high school I was always a bit more reserved—a lot more unsure of myself. Being with Kyle, I’d learned to use my voice. Because he’d made me mad countless times. And I got tired of not fighting back.

Matt ran a hand through his hair that had grown to his shoulders. I hated the length of it. Maybe because he looked so different from the clean-cut boyish guy I’d fallen for in high school.

“So why Boston?” He asked, effortfully trying to stay calm. We’d taken a turn for the heavy extremely quickly despite our efforts not to. But now we were in it, digging up the grave of our friendship or relationship or whatever the hell we’d had and lost.

I sighed deeply, unsure what reason to give him. I clearly hadn’t gone for work and he knew I didn’t have family there. My real reason…would he think I was insane?

He took a step toward me when I didn’t answer. “Why. Boston.” He punctuated each word crisply, needing an answer. Did some part of him already know the answer?

I forced my eyes to open into his. “Because of the song,” I admitted defeatedly. “The song that was playing that night that you kissed me. ‘Boston’ by Augustana. God, you probably don’t even remember this.” I put a palm to my face and shook my head, feeling ridiculous.

“I remember,” he pulled on my wrist, uncovering my face. “Continue.”

I swallowed hard. “So much of that night is a blur to me, but I could never get that song out of my head. ‘I think I’ll go to Boston.’” I recited the words in the song that I'd mulled over for weeks leading up to my decision to move. “After we saw each other two years ago, I knew I had to leave. I had to get out of this place that just echoes your name, that haunts my memories of losing you.” His face softened in the dim light and I wondered if he still remembered everything too. “I needed to start over. To get over you. Because I couldn’t get over you here.” I shrugged. “And so I chose Boston.”

His eyes flickered from left to right, as if trying to read something on my face. “Two years ago,” he began quietly, then swallowed. “You still had feelings for me.”

It was a question, but it came out like a statement. I nodded anyway.

“That was three years after we…” he trailed off, not knowing how to end that sentence. Because we’d never really been together. We’d never technically broken up. He’d been my best friend that I accidentally fell in love with. My best friend who never even gave me a chance at a relationship with him. My best friend who left.

I nodded again and dared to look into his crystal blue eyes. They were wild, like a sparkling, loud waterfall.

“It turns out, getting over someone you never had is just as hard as any other breakup.” A wave of vulnerability crashed over me. Standing in front this boy that I’d loved for years, saying these things I never imagined being able to admit to him…it made me feel small. Because I knew it had been so much easier for him to walk away from me than for me to watch him walk away.

“And did you?” He asked quietly. “Get over me?”

I swear my heart stopped at his words. My breathing shallowed and my world stopped spinning. Because how the fuck was I supposed to answer that? If I said yes, he'd be able to tell I was lying. If I said no, I would look absolutely pathetic.

So I chose the cop-out. “I have a boyfriend.”

I turned away from him and continued walking, forcing him to follow me if he wanted to continue this conversation. The conversation that he'd ended years ago.

His footsteps on the concrete were quiet a few paces behind me. “Your boyfriend is in Boston?”

The question wasn’t what I expected, but my answer was automatic. “Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

I whipped my head around to scrutinize him. To read his face so I could tell if he actually wanted the answer to that.

He looked at me blankly, waiting for my response. I shook the haze out of my head, trying to gather the right thing to say.

“He’s a personal trainer,” I began tentatively. “Born and raised in Boston. He’s outgoing and personable. He gets bored easily so he always has to be entertained with something. Partying, going out…he hates being home.” A beat of silence passed. I shrugged, not sure what else to say. Because I had no idea what he was trying to gain from my answer.

When he spoke again, his words were wary, like maybe he shouldn’t say them. “He sounds…like the complete opposite of me.”

I exhaled deeply at his observation, the long list of differences between the two of them automatically popping into my head. Kyle was loud, verging on egotistical. Matt always would hang back in a group of people, happy to be the listener instead of the talker. Kyle loved to be right, which was the cause of many of our arguments. He would typically take said arguments way too far, leaving me feeling like shit from the way he spoke to me. Matt’s words were always gentle, knowing I didn’t do well with anything more than that. Because he’d seen how my parents’ relationship had affected me. How hard it had been on me watching them fight and never make up. He’d been right there with me during some of the worst years of their marriage. But Kyle never knew any of that because I'd never fully felt comfortable opening up to him.

“He is.” I agreed. “He’s not you.”

“And is that a good thing?”

I stopped walking, my boots scuffing on the sidewalk. He stopped abruptly and turned to face me, surprised.

“What do you want, Matt? What’s the point of asking these questions, of rehashing the past like this? Is it for some sick satisfaction you have to believe that I will always feel for you? Is that what you want?”

He hung his head low, ashamed that he’d upset me. But he didn’t say a word.

“Okay, then,” I continued. “You win, Matt. What I felt for you all those years ago—it never really went away. Not completely. Not when I was flirting with other guys or kissing other guys or even now, living with Kyle in fucking Boston. No matter what, you are always there, in the back of my mind, reminding me that I will never find in another person what I found in you.”

His face flashed with a mix of emotions, none of which I could completely separate from another. Maybe it was pity—a look I’d never seen on him. Because he’d always respected me enough to never pity me.

“None of that matters, though, because you never had feelings for me and you never will. I’ve accepted that and I can live with it.”

I turned to walk away from him for the second time that night, but he stopped me. Before I realized it, his hands cupped my face and his eyes bored into mine.

“I want you, Laur. I’ve wanted you since that night we first kissed. I wanted you even when I walked away from us. And now, knowing you live on the other side of the country, with another guy…” he swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to my lips then back to my eyes. “Could it be possible that I want you even more?”

My heart pounded so hard and a shaky feeling overtook my entire body. I felt dizzy and lightheaded and momentarily worried I was about to pass out. But honestly, with Matt standing right here, I knew I would be cared for even if I did. He would care for me as he always had.

“Why did you lie?” I choked out the words—the only words that would form on my tongue at his admission. He’d told me he never had feelings for me and I’d believed him. And why wouldn’t I have? He was the person I’d trusted most in the world.

And maybe he still was.

He exhaled and I could feel his breath on my face. It sparked my sense, a rush of heat flooding through my body. He would taste exactly the same if I were to let his lips brush mine right now.

“You’ve always been this beautiful, perfect part of my life that I could never bring myself to risk messing up. I’ve thought about it so many times, but every scenario that played in my head, either you got hurt because I hurt you, or we both got hurt because we lost each other.”

“We lost each other anyway,” I argued quietly. I blinked away tears that were forming in my eyes. Matt, always the over-thinker. The one who thought everything through. And in this case, it had ruined our chances of being together.

A half a fake smile crossed his lips. “I’ve realized that. And it's my biggest regret." His face flooded with remorse, almost as if it physically pained him to lose me. "Everyone I talked to told me to let you go, so I promised myself I'd let you live your own life. Without me in it at all.”

I shook my head. “Stupid.”

He laughed lightly as if agreeing with me. Then he closed the painful inches between us and pressed his lips against mine. So heartachingly sweet and gentle that I could cry. Nobody had kissed me like that in my twenty-four years.

Our first kiss all those years ago—it was different. It was urgent and young, reckless and inexperienced. It was a mix of curiosity and uncertainty and nerves.

This…this was soft and loving. Assured and solid. I need you. I want you.

I’m sorry.

I fought against gravity, which always pulled me toward him, and stepped backwards just out of his reach. A pang of fear surged through me at the sudden thought of telling Kyle what just happened between me and Matt. Would he hate me? Would I lose him?

Did it even matter?

The moral part of me knew it did matter. I’d just cheated on him and I couldn’t undo it. But this other whispering voice in the back of my head told me that I deserved so much more than what Kyle was giving me. That Kyle was just a distraction from who I really wanted. I’d known it for a while, but Matt was making it undeniable tonight.

“I don’t know what this means.” The breathless words escaped my lips before I realized they mirrored almost exactly the same thing I’d said to him that night of our first kiss.

Back then, Matt’s response had been “I don’t know either.” Indifferent and effortless. Just a boy who had impulsively kissed a girl.

But now, he reached for my hand and wrapped his arms around me like it might be the last time he ever held me. “It means I’m in love with you, Laur.” The whispered words against my hair were calm and certain. He wasn’t running scared anymore. He was here, in front of me. Trying.

Maybe it was too late. Maybe he would only end up hurting me again.

And maybe loving me would prove to not be enough. But maybe-just maybe-a second chance was all we needed to have something wonderful.