The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,50
was. Only last night he’d spent an hour staring at the ceiling, regretting the stupid impulse that had led him to kiss Mackenzie, and yet here he was, eyeing her cleavage even as she let him off the hook for his unwelcome advance.
Shaking his head at himself, he went to make breakfast. Maybe food would bring his brain back online.
He flicked the radio on when he entered the kitchen, listening to a morning talk show as he put eggs on to boil. He was slotting two pieces of bread into the toaster when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and went still. Last night, Edie had caught him off guard because he hadn’t recognized the number she was calling from. Not so this morning. He let his breath out in a rush before taking the call. Might as well get it over with, since she’d only try again later if he didn’t answer this time.
“Edie.”
“Hi. Sorry to call so early. I didn’t wake you, did I?” She sounded guilty and nervous. As she had last night.
“I’m awake. What’s the problem?”
“I’m at the house, but I can’t find that file you were talking about. I’ve looked through both drawers in the filing cabinet.”
“It’s in the top drawer. Right at the back. Marked Insurance.”
“I looked. It’s not there.”
He sighed. Edie was a self-styled incompetent when it came to business matters and he’d taken care of all the administrative aspects of their life together—the mortgage, the bills, any residual band business. He hadn’t minded doing it, but he wasn’t about to pander to her laziness now.
“Then I guess you’ll have to look again.”
It was her turn to sigh. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.
“For what it’s worth, I miss you. I miss us. I miss Strudel and going to the bake house on Saturdays for bagels and lattes. I miss listening to you play your guitar.”
The element in the toaster glowed red. Without thinking about it, he reached out and held his hand over the slots, absorbing the heat.
“Do you miss the lying?” It was a genuine question, but he was a little surprised to hear the lack of rancor in his own voice. He hoped it was a sign that her power to hurt and anger him was fading.
“You think I enjoyed that?” She sounded wounded.
“Part of you must have, Edie.”
She’d kept it up for nearly six years, after all.
“I hated lying to you. I hated myself for it. Every time I promised myself it would be the last.”
The toast popped up, golden-brown.
“Tell me something. Do you love him?” he asked.
There was the smallest of hesitations. He braced himself for more excuses and prevarications.
“Yes.”
Honesty. A refreshing change.
“Did you ever love me?”
“Of course, Ollie. Always. How can you doubt that?”
He made a rude noise. It was a stupid question and she was smart enough to know it.
“If I’d never met Nick, if he and I didn’t have this...thing between us, you would have been it for me, Ollie. If it’s any consolation to you, I know I’m going to regret losing you.” She made a sound that could have been a self-deprecating laugh. “Hell, I already do. This thing with Nick...I know it won’t last. It’s too damaged. And I know I’ll never meet anyone like you again.”
She sounded sad and broken, but he didn’t have room in his heart to feel any sympathy for her. She’d destroyed six years of his life. He was working on moving past it, but he knew he’d never forgive her. She’d abused his trust too comprehensively.
His toast was going to be cold.
“I need to go,” he said.
“Okay. If I need anything else, is it okay if I call?”
He didn’t need to think about his answer. “No.”
He wanted to put all this behind him. No way was he going to let her keep dragging him backward.
“Okay.”
He hung up. The toast was hard, utterly unappetizing, and he pulled it out of the toaster and walked to the back door. He flung it outside for the birds, then toasted two fresh slices that he slathered with butter and Vegemite then sat at the kitchen table.
He felt...calm. Not angry. Not resentful. Certainly not wounded.
What a freaking relief.
It was startling after carrying around that solid burden of righteous emotions. He’d become so accustomed to their weight, to the way they alternately motivated him and depressed the hell out of him. This...this felt more normal. More like the Oliver he recognized.