Regretting You (18 page)

I do know enough to know that silence is your enemy on dates. You try to fill that silence by asking trivial questions that no one really wants to answer, and then, if you can get past the terrible answers, you might get to make out at the end of the night.

But whatever this is between me and Miller is
not
a date. Not even close. We haven’t said one word to each other since we got into his truck, even though that was over half an hour ago. He isn’t forcing me to answer questions I don’t want to be asked, and I’m not forcing every ounce of information out of him about his breakup with Shelby. It’s just two people, listening to music,
enjoying
the silence.

I love it. It might even beat my cozy corner in Starbucks.

“This was Gramps’s truck,” Miller says, breaking our comfortable silence. But I’m not annoyed by the break. I’ve actually been wondering why he drives such an old truck and if there’s a story behind it. “He bought it brand new when he was twenty-five. Drove it his whole life.”

“How many miles are on it?”

“There were just over two hundred thousand before it was gutted and everything was replaced. Now there are . . .” He lifts his hand to look at the dash behind his steering wheel. “Nineteen thousand, two hundred and twelve.”

“Does he still drive it?”

Miller shakes his head. “No. He’s not in any shape to drive.”

“He seemed like he was in pretty good shape to me.”

Miller scratches his jaw. “He has cancer. The doctors are giving him six months, tops.”

That feels like a brutal punch to my gut, and I’ve only met the man once.

“He likes to pretend it isn’t happening and that he’s fine. But I can tell he’s scared.”

It makes me wonder more about Miller’s family. Like what his mother is like, and why my father seemed to hate his father so much.

“Are the two of you very close?”

Miller just nods. I can tell by his refusal to verbally answer that question that he’s going to take it hard when it does happen. That makes me sad for him.

“You should write everything down.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “What do you mean?”

“Write it all down. Everything you want to remember about him. You’ll be surprised how soon you start to forget everything.”

Miller smiles at me appreciatively. “I will,” he says. “I promise. But I also have a camera in his face most of the time for that very reason.”

I smile back and then stare out the window. That’s all that’s said between us until he pulls back into the Starbucks parking lot fifteen minutes later.

I stretch my back and then my arms before unbuckling my seat belt. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Me too,” Miller says. He’s leaning against his driver’s-side door, his head resting on his hand as he watches me gather my bag and open my door.

“You have good taste in music.”

“I know,” he says, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“See you at school tomorrow?”

“See ya.”

The way he’s looking at me makes me think he doesn’t want me to go, but he’s not saying anything to indicate otherwise, so I exit his truck. I shut the door and turn to my car, but I can hear him scrambling out of his truck while I search for my keys.

He’s next to me now, leaning against my car. Miller’s stare is intense. I feel it everywhere. “We should hang out again. You busy tomorrow night?”

I halt the search for my keys and make eye contact with him. Tomorrow night sounds good, but tonight sounds even better. It’s still another hour before I have to be home. “Let’s just hang out right now.”

“Where do you want to go?”

I glance at the doors to Starbucks, already craving more caffeine. “Another coffee sounds really good.”

All the smaller tables were taken, which meant we were left choosing between a table with six chairs or the love seat.

Miller went for the love seat, and I wasn’t sad about that. We’re both relaxed into the couch, our heads pressed into the back of the cushions, facing each other. I’ve pulled my legs onto the love seat, and Miller has one leg propped up.

Our knees are touching.

Most of Starbucks has cleared out by now, and my drink is almost empty, but we haven’t stopped talking and laughing, not even for a few seconds. This version of us is so different than when we were in his truck earlier but just as comfortable.

It just feels natural with him. The silence, the conversation, the laughter. All of it feels so comfortable, and that’s something I didn’t even know I’d been missing. But I have missed it. Since the moment of the wreck, everything in my life has felt like it’s edged in sharp corners, and I’ve been tiptoeing around this world in the dark for the past month, trying not to injure myself.

We haven’t talked about his breakup, despite my curiosity about what happened. I was hoping we would avoid talking about the wreck
and all that has transpired since then, but he just asked me how my mother is doing.

“Okay, I guess.” I down the last sip of my coffee. “I walked in on her trying to tear down the kitchen door with a hammer for no reason at all. Now there’s a huge random hole in the center of our door that’s been there for two weeks.”

Miller smiles, but it’s an empathetic smile. “What about you?” he asks. “Any destruction on your part?”

I shrug. “Nah. I’m okay. I mean . . . it’s only been a little over a month. I still cry every night. But I don’t feel like I can’t get out of bed anymore.” I shake my empty coffee cup. “Acquiring a taste for coffee helped.”

“Want another one?”

I shake my head and set my cup on the table next to me. Then I reposition myself on the couch to get more comfortable. Miller does the same, so we’re even closer now.

“Will you do me a favor?” I ask him.

“Depends on what it is.”

“When you become a famous director someday, will you make sure the coffee cups actually have liquid in them when actors hold them in scenes?”

Miller laughs at this. Loudly. “That is my biggest pet peeve,” he says. “They’re always empty. And when they set them down, you can hear the hollowness of the cup when it hits the table.”

“I was watching this one movie where an actor was angry, holding a cup of coffee, and he was slinging it around, but not a single drop spilled. It pulled me out of the moment and ruined the entire movie for me.”

Miller smiles and squeezes my knee. “It’s a promise. Every coffee cup on my set will be full.” His hand remains on my knee. It’s too obvious to pretend I don’t notice, but I try. I keep glancing down, though. I like seeing his hand there. I like feeling his thumb brush back and forth.

I like how I feel when I’m with him. And I’m not positive, but I think he likes how I make him feel. Neither of us has stopped smiling. I know I’ve blushed at least three times during our conversation.

We both know we’re interested, so we aren’t even trying to play coy. It’s just a matter of me not knowing where his head is. What he’s thinking . . . if he’s thought about Shelby at all.

“So,” he says. “You decided on a college yet? Still planning on majoring in acting?”

This question elicits a big sigh from me. “I really want to, but my mother is so against it. So was my father.”

“Why?”

“The odds aren’t in my favor, so they want me to do something more practical.”

“I’ve seen you act. It’s what you were born to do.”

I sit up a little straighter. “Really? What have you seen me in?” I always do theater every year at school, but I’ve never really noticed Miller there before.

“I can’t remember what it was. I only remember you onstage.”

I can feel myself blushing again. I lean back against the couch and smile shyly. “What about you? Did you at least apply to UT yet? Or anywhere?”

He shakes his head. “No. We can’t afford a school like that, and honestly, I need to stay around here. For Gramps.”

I want to ask him more about that, but he seems sad when he talks about it. I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t anyone else to care for his grandfather if he were to move away or if it’s because he’d never leave him regardless. Probably a combination of both.

I don’t like that this conversation is sending his mind in that direction, so I try to redirect his thoughts. “I have a confession.”

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to spill it.

“I filled out the form for the film submission.”

Miller smiles. “Good. I was worried you wouldn’t do it.”

“I might have filled it out for you too.”

He stares at me, his eyes narrowed. “In case I broke up with Shelby?”

I nod.

He laughs a little and then says, “Thank you.” There’s a pause. “So does this mean we’re partners?”

I shrug. “If you want to be. But I mean, if you end up getting back together with Shelby, I’ll understand if you can’t do—”

Miller leans forward, dipping his head as he stares at me. “I’m not getting back together with her. Get that out of your head.”

Such a short sentence, but such a big statement. One that sends a surge of heat up my chest.

He has such a serious look in his eye that it makes me nervous when he begins to speak again. “Earlier, when you called yourself my backup plan, I wanted to laugh. Because if anything, Shelby was my backup plan to
you
.” A reserved smile spreads across his face. “I’ve had a thing for you for almost three years.”

His words stun me into a momentary silence. Then I shake my head, confused. “Three years? Why’d you never do anything about it?”

“Timing,” he says quickly. “I almost did once, but then you started dating that one guy . . .”

“Aaron.”

“Yeah.
Aaron.
Then I started dating Shelby. Then you and Aaron broke up two months later.”

“And then you began to go out of your way to avoid me.”

Miller looks apologetic when I say that. “You noticed?”

I nod. “You paid a guy twenty bucks to switch lockers with him on the first day of school this year. I took that very personally.” I say it with a laugh, but I’m being completely transparent.

“I was trying to keep my distance. Shelby and I were friends before we started dating, so she knew I used to have a thing for you.”

That explains so much. “That’s why you said she’s only jealous of me and not other girls?”

“Yeah.” Miller leans casually against the couch again, his head resting against the back of it. He’s watching me process everything he just said. He’s staring back at me with so much vulnerability—like it just took a hell of a lot of courage for him to admit what he did, and he’s nervous about how I might respond.

I don’t even know how to react. I kind of want to change the subject because I feel awkward now. I don’t have anything to say that’ll impress him or make him feel as good as his words just made me feel. For those reasons, the most random thing comes out of my mouth. “Does your truck have a name?”

Miller squints, as if he’s wondering what the hell I’m talking about. Then he just laughs, and it’s the greatest, deepest laugh. “Yeah. Nora.”

“Why Nora?”

He hesitates. I love the smile that’s playing on his lips. “It’s a Beatles song.”

I recall the Beatles poster hanging in his bedroom. “So you’re a Beatles fan?”

He nods. “I have a lot of favorite bands. I love music. It feeds my soul.”

“What are your favorite lyrics?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “They’re not from the Beatles.”

“Who are they from?”

“A band called Sounds of Cedar.”

“Never heard of them, but I like the name.”

“If I tell you my favorite lyrics by them, you’ll want to listen to every song they’ve ever written.”

I smile hopefully. “Good. Give me a couple of lines.”

He leans in just a little and smiles as he repeats the lyrics. “I’ve believed in you since the moment I met you. I believe in myself now that I’ve finally left you.”

I let the lyrics simmer as we stare at each other. It makes me wonder if those are his favorite lyrics because of his recent breakup with Shelby
or if they were his favorite lyrics even before that. I’m not about to ask him, though. Instead, I release a sigh.

“Wow,” I whisper. “Those words are somehow both tragic
and
inspiring.”

He smiles gently. “I know.”

I can’t hide how he makes me feel in this moment. I’m appreciative that being with him gives me a respite from my grief. I’m appreciative that he’s not pretending to be someone he’s not. I’m appreciative that he broke up with his girlfriend before making a move on me. And even though I don’t know him really well, I know him enough to be able to tell that there’s a lot of good in him.

I’m severely drawn to that part of him—the part of him that showed up to my father’s funeral, simply because he wanted to check on me. I’m drawn to that part even more than his looks or his humor or his terrible singing voice.

There are so many feelings swirling around in my chest right now, and I’m afraid the room will start spinning if I don’t find my center of gravity. I lean forward and press my lips against his, if only just to balance myself.

It’s a quick kiss. Unexpected for both of us, I think. When I pull away, I’m biting my lip nervously, wondering if I should have done that. I rest my head against the couch and wait for his reaction. He doesn’t take his eyes off me.