“...my last serious...?” Gabe was back in the green reflective vest. Eden was about ten minutes early this time, as they both knew she would be.
“Girlfriend. Who was your last serious girlfriend?”
She almost didn’t want to hear the answer. But surely it was a fair question, in their series of questions? Who was the last person who knew all the answers to the questions she wanted to ask him?
“Ahhh, let’s see. Lastseriousgirlfriend was actually my fiancée, Lisa Mazzoni. It’s been about seven years.”
She froze. The wordfiancéewas a sudden dart to the heart.
She froze, as shocked by the piercing pain of it, as by the news. Which shocked the dickens out of her. It took her a full precious two seconds to reassemble her thoughts. To get a grip.
“What happened? Twenty-five words or less.”
His hesitation registered on all of her senses as a warning.
“She died. Car accident.”
The words drove the air from her lungs.
A strange sweep of vertigo, as if she’d sustained an actual blow, made her fingers curl into a tight grip on her steering wheel. As if she could imagine that moment. And what it had done to Gabe’s life.
He didn’t say anything.
And she couldn’t yet speak.
And she couldn’t just leave him standing alone with those words ringing in the air. “God, Gabe. I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to be so...”
He gave a “what can you do” shoulder shift. “No worries, Eden. Our deal is we answer each other’s questions, and it was a perfectly reasonable question. You didn’t know, and I’m okay with talking about it. Some drunk asshole running a red hit her.”
“Horrible.” Her voice was arid.
“Yeah.”
A big mom van zoomed into the parking lot, then slowed. The face behind the wheel was clearly craning to see where she ought to park.
Gabe stepped backward away from Eden, gestured the mom into line with a wave.
An oddly personal hurt, very close to fury, simmered around her heart. Like he’d always been hers to protect, and she should have been there for him. How had lifedaredto be so cruel to him?
But within all of that was a tiny grain of pure, breath-stealing jealousy: he’d once offered forever to another woman.
The way she felt about that could rightly be called an epiphany.
Gabe returned. “Sorry. I don’t like to talk about it mainly because I’m aware that it’s hard for people to hear. Sorry to lay it on you like that.”
“You didn’t lay it on me,” she said instantly. “I asked because I wanted to know. It’s not a burden, and I’m not as delicate as all that. Thank you for telling me.”
He smiled faintly.
“I’m only just... incredibly sorry that happened to you. I just...”
Wish it hadn’t happened? Wish you hadn’t suffered?
She wished all of those things and more.
“I’ve dated since then, of course,” he said. “It’s been quite a while.”
“Still,” she said.