- 7.
Jason lingered for days. Finally, she called
him into her room.
“What do you want?”
He ignored her, picking up a paring knife and
an apple. “I remember you liked these.”
“Stop it.” She swatted the apple away, her
breath catching. “What’s your game? Do you
want me to beg?”
His patience seemed to fray, but his voice remained even. “I want to make it up to you.”
She scoffed. “How touching. Wanting to
spend a minute with me was ‘dramatic.‘ Now
that I’m dying, you want to ‘make it up to
me‘? Afraid I’ll haunt you?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Fine. Here’s your chance. Get out. Out of my
room, out of my life. I don’t want to see you again. Not even after I’m dead.” She poked his chest. “Especially not then.”
“Sarah, don’t be so cruel.” His head dropped.
Something hot splashed on her finger.
Tears. She hadn’t seen him cry since their
first fight, years ago, when she’d threatened
<
to leave him. He’d looked just like this, his
voice pleading, “Sarah, please don’t leave
me.”
Jason, you left me first.
“Go cry somewhere else. It’s sickening.” She
shoved him away, turning her back, pulling
the covers over her head.
The vibrant, passionate Jason she loved was
a ghost, a memory left behind in Springfield.
The man in the expensive suit, the man who’d
broken her heart repeatedly, was a stranger.
She knew they’d never go back. Not just
because she was dying.
Apparently, her rejection stung. He picked up
the apple, his voice stiff. “Fine. I’ll go. What
<
do you want for dinner?”
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t speak.
Didn’t want to.
It was her birthday. Jason, thankfully, was
absent. The best gift she could ask for. After
her IV, she swallowed her painkillers, ready
for some much–needed sleep.
The door opened.
“Happy birthday, Sarah.” Jason, looking
haggard, rushed in, carrying a hideous cake
with “Sarah” scrawled across it in garish
frosting.
She sat up, her gaze flat. “I don’t celebrate
birthdays anymore.”
<
She flicked off the lights, plunging the room
into darkness. “After Anya, I spent every
birthday alone. No gifts, no calls, just you
jetting off with her.”
She laughed, a bitter sound. “Afraid I’d show
up, uninvited?”
She looked at the full moon outside. “You
know why birthdays mattered? Because after
we left Springfield, you were all I had left.”
But she’d forgotten. He had other people. A
whole other life.
Jason stood frozen, the cake slipping from
his grasp, splattering on the floor.
“You know why I always say you have a bad
memory? You forget your promises.
DER
く
Remember my eighteenth birthday wish?”
“No,” he choked out.
She smiled, not surprised. “Eighteen. You
took me to karaoke, gave me a ring. My wish?
A home. With you.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. “I regret so much, Jason. This year, my wish
is to go back. To the moment we met. I wish
I’d walked away.”
