Chapter 26

26

28 years old - Nick

M y alarm is supposed to go off at seven, so I have enough time to prepare myself before I meet Lily and Bryce for lunch. Actually, I don't know what the plan is for today. After swapping our contact details and finally unblocking Bryce, we moved on from our chat on LinkedIn. He texted me to inform me that he'll be picking me up at noon. He didn't offer me any other details, and I didn't pry. There was no need. My mind has been working overtime trying to process the mega load of information Bryce dumped on me, not having much capacity for anything else.

I toss and turn on the bed, hiding under the covers only to kick them off a second later, before I give up and turn on the TV. My thumb clicks through the different channels until I finally find an English program showing the news. The newscaster is reporting about some corrupt politician, blabbing on and on about his wrongdoings and all the money he embezzled. Accepting that I will not be able to keep my mind off Lily, I let my feet down onto the carpet floor and walk to the coffee bar in my hotel room.

The coffee machine makes my drink for me, dripping the finished product bit by bit into the mug. My hand leans on the counter and when I look straight, I see my own reflection in the mirror at the back of the coffee bar. What will she think when she sees me? I run a hand through my five o'clock shadow, which wasn't this present when I was in high school, and grab my dose of caffeine once the machine stops making buzzing sounds . It shouldn't matter how she sees you, Nick. It's been ten fucking years. Move the fuck on.

With the mug in my hand, I walk over to my open suitcase and look at what I've got to work with. I go through the pile of clothing in front of me and smell a few of the shirts and sweaters, finally finding a combination with the aroma of detergent still lingering on it. The detergent brand that my mom always used to buy. I wonder what my mom would say if she knew that I'd be meeting Lily again after all these years. I told you so , probably.

After what felt like hundreds of hours, my smartwatch finally says it's just five minutes before noon. I put on my corduroy jacket and make my way down the hall to take the elevator, my palms drenching in sweat. It takes the elevator approximately thirty seconds to reach the floor where the lobby is. I know because I counted slowly in an attempt to calm my goddamn nerves down. Whatever pep talk I gave myself in front of the mirror upstairs clearly didn't work, because my heart is about to beat out of my chest.

I walk toward the revolving door while pulling my phone out of my back pocket to warn Bryce that I'll be in the smoking area just right outside the hotel. Once I see the message delivered, I put my phone back, replacing it with a cigarette pack. The nicotine finally hits my system as I feel a false sense of calmness taking over.

Bad habits are really hard to break, I guess. Especially when you've been addicted to the vice for so long. Especially when you need it as a crutch. A bittersweet smile flashes on my face when my mind reminds me of the first time I ever tried a cigarette. Lily and I stole a pack from her dad's stash and we decided to smoke it as a last hurrah before I moved away to Japan. We felt so lightheaded after a few drags we thought we were going to die. I wonder if she became a full-blown smoker now like me, if she only smokes occasionally, or if she doesn't smoke at all because she has a kid. She has a kid.

My mind stops torturing me with hypotheticals the moment I hear footsteps coming from behind me, followed by a familiar voice I know a little too well. The sound travels straight in my direction, causing the hair on the nape of my neck to spike.

"Smoking is bad for you, you know."

I turn around, and although I keep telling myself to stop, my eyes continue to stare at her up and down. She looks exactly the same, like she was at eighteen, yet also different in a million ways. Thanks to Bryce showing me the picture, I already had a rough idea of what she's like now, but it didn't do her justice.

I try to put my finger on the things that make her different now, but it's a combination of a lot of factors. It's her style, for one. She's less polished now, in a good way. It's like she had shed her privileged Elsham Cove image and transformed herself into someone new. I can barely hold back my grin as I imagine how Astrid Simmons would react if she knew that her daughter became a hipster. She traded in her Kate Spade sling bags for something that was definitely made in the seventies and her heels for combat boots. The leather jacket she's wearing looks like it's three sizes too big. I like it. What is with Berlin and everybody here being hipsters, anyway?

"Hey, stranger," I say to her, giving her an awkward hug. It was either this or an awkward handshake.

Lily pulls away and gives me a small smile. "I hope you don't mind. I told Bryce I would come get you myself. I thought I would save him the trouble."

"All good," I answer her, barely getting my words out. "You look good, by the way. Berlin agrees with you."

She laughs softly. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." Lily tucks in a loose strand behind her ear and starts speaking again. "So, where do you want to go?"

"Up to you. It's not like I know my way around here." I cringe mentally at how sterile the conversation is. What happened to you? Where is your kid? Why did you not tell me a goddamn thing?

She motions for me to follow her and takes a step in the direction of the street. "Alright, then. I know this great restaurant just around the corner. You're gonna love it. It used to be a dog food factory."

Walking side-by-side, I fight every urge in my body not to confront her right here. She keeps on talking about the restaurant we are going to when I cut her off. "Hey, Lil."

"Yeah?"

"When did you become such a hipster?" I can't help myself. She rolls her eyes and smiles.

We continue with our banter and small talk until we reach the restaurant she is so eager about. For a moment, I forget that she left me, twice . For a moment, I forget that if she hadn't done that the last time, I was ready to spend my whole life with her. To do everything in my power to make that a reality. She was the love of my life and now we're acquaintances.

I open the door to the restaurant and a waiter immediately approaches us. Lily talks to him in German with the same fluency that Bryce had when he was talking to the waitstaff at the hotel yesterday. They must have moved here together. Anything else doesn't make sense. Why did she end up here?

The ease of our reunion seems to disappear when the waiter takes us to our table. Lily must feel it, too, because she's not saying anything anymore. Lily pretends to people-watch, but I'm certain by the way she keeps on stealing glances at my reflection by the window that she's trying to figure out my next move.

We both speak at the same time.

"I just want to say I'm sorry for ev?—"

"So, how's your daughter doing?"

She stutters before nodding. "So Bryce told you."

"He didn't tell me much."

"But he told you that I have a child."

"Only in so many words."

Lily stays quiet, and her expression starts to change. As if the cheerful and bubbly Lily who greeted me at the hotel and walked with me here was all an act, the real Lily starts to appear—the Lily Bryce warned me about. She slumps into her chair and looks down, trying to hide herself from me.

"You must hate me," she whispers, as if saying the word louder would cause the room to shake.

"I don't know how I feel about you," I answer truthfully. When I saw Bryce at my interview, I wanted nothing to do with them. I had been holding up so much anger toward Lily that my resentment shaped who I was. Who I still am. After meeting him again yesterday, I had an urgent need to meet Lily and demand an explanation. Then, the whole way here, I wanted to touch her and feel her again in my arms one more time. And now? Now I don't know. I hate her, feel sorry for her, and miss her at the same time.

I look at her, still staring down at her side of the table with her shoulders hunched together. She keeps on doing a repetitive motion with her fingers. Only when I pay close attention do I realize that she's not scratching her hand, but picking at the skin around her left thumbnail. Judging by the redness of the area, this is something she does often. I grimace when I see how wounded the skin is. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab her right hand and hold it, causing her body to jerk. Her cheeks redden when she realizes that I caught her doing that to herself.