“I thought that was you.”
That threw me off more than it should have.
“What are you doing here?”
“Picking up coffee. And apparently, running into… fate. Listen, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see. But if I could just say something…”
I didn’t say no. I didn’t say yes, either. I waited.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was so cruel to you, Tara. And I’ve carried that for years. I don’t expect you to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I remember everything. And I’m so sorry.”
There were no jokes and no smirks. Instead, his voice shook like it wasn’t used to being this honest. I stared at him for a long second, trying to locate the version of him I used to know.
“You were awful,” I said finally.
“I know. And I regret every moment of it.”
“And I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t smile, but I didn’t walk away, either.
We ran into each other again a week later. Then again after that. And eventually, it didn’t feel like chance. It felt like a slow, careful invitation.
Coffee turned into conversation. Conversation turned into dinner. And somehow, Ryan turned into someone I didn’t flinch around.
Coffee turned into conversation.
“I’ve been sober four years,” he told me one night over pizza and sweet lime soda. “I messed up a lot back then. I’m not trying to hide that. But I don’t want to stay that version of myself forever.”
He told me about therapy and about volunteering with high schoolers who reminded him of who he used to be.
“I’m not telling you this to impress you. I just don’t want you to think I’m still that kid that hurt you in the school halls.”
I was cautious, not melting at his charm. But he was consistent and gentle. And funny in his new, self-deprecating way.
“But I don’t want to stay that version of myself forever.”
The first time he met Jess, she folded her arms and didn’t smile.
“You’re that Ryan?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“And Tara’s okay with this? I don’t think…”
“She doesn’t owe me anything,” he said. “But I’m trying to show her who I really am.”
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