Kiss and Don’t Tell
: Chapter 22

I’m so behind. I should’ve been cooking already, but here I am, at the grocery store, wandering around as if I’ve never shopped before.

After Pacey left for his appointment, I cleaned up around the apartment, aka, picked up my discarded clothing, and then I spent way too much time looking up recipes. When I looked at the clock, it was an hour later and I still hadn’t shopped for anything.

Giving up on making anything fancy, I decided to make tacos . . . well, because . . . I love tacos. But I decided on shrimp tacos with a lime sauce, homemade guacamole, and some microwave rice because I don’t have much time. I hope he doesn’t judge me.

“Where are the godforsaken tortillas?” I mutter to myself, rounding a corner and crashing right into another cart. I bounce back, bumping into a display of chips. I knock down a few bags, but thankfully don’t take out the entire thing.

As I bend to pick up the chips, I hear, “Shit, sorry about that.”

My back stiffens and my head whips to the side at the sound of that familiar voice.

I slowly stand, my eyes boring into, trained on, the man in front of me.

I swallow hard. “Josh?” I ask.

He also rises, and his eyes focus on me. “Winnie,” he says breathlessly. “Wow, you’re the last person I expected to run into.”

Oh God, what are the chances of running into Josh, in Vancouver, at Pacey’s neighborhood market?

Pretty slim.

But here I am, playing the statistics of the universe.

“Josh, wow, I, uh . . . I didn’t know you live around here.”

“Yeah, moved up here a few months ago for a job. Did you move up here too?” His voice has hope in it. Too much hope.

“No,” I say. “I’m, uh, staying with my boy—I mean, my friend.”

Josh’s brows draw together. “Your boyfriend?”

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck and, I don’t know why I’m so nervous or why I’m hiding anything. Josh is the one who broke up with me. He’s the one who left me when I needed him the most. He’s the one who treated me like crap toward the end of our relationship. If anything, he should be the one squirming, not me.

Chest puffed out, I set one of the bags of chips back on the display and say, “Yes, my boyfriend.”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure you were—”

“Why would you? It’s not as if we’ve kept in touch since you broke up with me,” I say, bitterness rolling off my tongue.

“I deserve that.” His shoulders slump as he says, “I’m guessing you never responded to my texts because of your boyfriend.” I don’t appreciate the tone of his voice when he says boyfriend. It’s . . . snide. What’s up with that?

“No, that’s not it. I just didn’t think it was appropriate. Nothing you could say would change my mind about how you treated me.”

He nods. “I can understand that.” His eyes lift to mine and the expression on his face nearly startles the breath right out of me. I’ve seen that expression before, but not on Josh . . . on someone else. “At least can I apologize?”

I’m so stunned, so taken aback by the look in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose. He almost—God, I must be losing it, because he almost looks like Pacey.

When I don’t say anything, he takes that as an invitation to continue, right here in the middle of the grocery store. “I should’ve treated you better, Winnie. I was going through some things, and instead of talking to you about them, I pushed you away because I was scared it would be too much for you to handle. The only way I knew how to push you away was to be an asshole. So that’s what I did.”

I snap out of it for a brief second and ask, “What do you mean, I couldn’t handle it? Handle what? As far as I knew, you were stressed because of your new job.”

He shakes his head and quietly says, “I was stressed because they found a nodule on my prostate.”

“What?” I nearly shout.

He pulls on the back of his neck. “I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I found out just as your mom had to step away from the store. I thought it would be too much for you to handle and I didn’t know what my status was when it came to survival. I thought it would be easier on you if I just . . . stepped aside.”

“Easier?” I ask, my mind swirling. Josh had cancer. CANCER. And he didn’t think he could tell me? “Josh, you made me feel like I was less of a woman than I am with the things you said. You emotionally battered me, telling me I gained weight, that you didn’t think I was pretty anymore. You truly, from the depths of your soul, think that was better than telling me you had cancer?”

“Yes,” he says right away. “At the time, I thought it would be better to sever all ties. I would rather you lose me by hating me, than lose me still loving me. At least hating me you could move on, which you have. What if something happened to me, and you lost both your mom and me? I’m not sure you would’ve—”

“But I lost you anyway,” I nearly shout, my emotions getting the best of me. “I lost you anyway,” I repeat. “And who the hell are you to tell me what I can or cannot handle?”

“You were barely surviving as it was,” Josh shoots back. “I don’t want to rub salt in the wound, but you were losing yourself, you were setting your life to the side, putting it on pause so you could help everyone else. And where are you now?” he asks, his voice growing stern. “What are you doing with your life, Winnie?”

“I—” I go to answer but my words fail me, because even though I hate him, I hate him so much—especially in this moment—he’s right. He’s right that I put everything on hold, that I would have dropped my entire life to not only help my mom—which I did—but to help him, as well. Because that’s the person I am. I’m a helper, a lover, a caring individual. And I shouldn’t ever feel shamed because of that.

Josh steps closer, and for some reason, I don’t step away. “I know what I said to you and how I said it is inexcusable. At that moment, though, it was the only way I knew how to handle things. I see now that it was a huge mistake, because I could’ve used you going through treatments. I could’ve shared you with your mom, and I could’ve been there for you on my good days.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “I was scared, and I reacted instead of sitting down and thinking about the best way to approach things. Losing you is my biggest regret.”

“You—you broke me, Josh.”

“I know.” He takes a step even closer. Shoppers move around us, calls are made to the deli over the loudspeaker, and faint music plays in the background, but all of that fades into the background as I stare into Josh’s eyes. “And I’ll have to live with that forever, knowing the way I treated the love of my life.” He lifts my chin up. “I’m sorry, Winnie. So fucking sorry, and if I could go back and change things, I would. Instead of telling you I didn’t think you were pretty, I’d tell you that you’re actually the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Instead of saying I wasn’t attracted to you and that was the reason I couldn’t . . . perform, I’d tell you I had prostate cancer and that was one of the side effects I was dealing with. And instead of telling you I didn’t love you, I’d say you’re the love of my life, and I can’t imagine another minute knowing you’re with someone else.”

He can’t be serious.

He can’t possibly mean that.

Because if he does, if he speaks truthfully, then . . . then . . . everything I’ve ever known about the demise of my relationship with Josh are all falsehoods that hide the real truth. That he was sick, that he was hurting, that he didn’t need distance. He’d actually needed someone holding his hand, just like I was holding my mom’s hand. And yet, he chose to hurt the person he “loved” over and over again. For what? I truly cannot reconcile that he thought shattering me could be a good thing. And then he realized his error, but again, it was all about him. I could’ve used you going through treatments, he’d said.

“Josh, I . . . I don’t know what to say.” My mouth goes dry as I stare into his eyes.

“Then don’t say anything,” he answers. “I’m not looking for instant forgiveness. I know that’s something I have to earn.” He brings my hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “I’m just grateful I was able to talk to you. To see you. And maybe in time, I’ll gain your trust again. And after that, maybe I’ll earn your forgiveness. Until then, I just hope to be able to text you on occasion, see how you’re doing. Would that be okay?”

I’m so lost, so confused, so knocked down emotionally, that I nod.

“Thank you.” He pulls me into a hug and presses a kiss to the top of my head. Before I can comment on his actions, he steps away and sticks his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I took up your shopping time.” He glances at my cart and smiles. “Making tacos?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard, still in a daze.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

I smile, but don’t say anything.

“Are you happy, here in Vancouver?”

I try to shake myself out of this haze. “Uh, I’m not here permanently, just . . . visiting.”

“I take it you have to get back to work?” he asks.

“Not really. I don’t have much to get back to. You were right—I did put my life on hold, and now I’m trying to figure out how to get it back on track.”

He looks at me gently. “You’re resilient, Winnie. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll figure out your next chapter in life, but if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here for you. I might not have been in the past, but I am now.”

“Thank you,” I say, my emotions starting to get the best of me. “Well, I should probably get back to replaceing the tortillas.”

“You’re close. If it wasn’t for bumping into me, you’d have found them. Right around the corner.”

“Great.” I smile at him. “Okay, well . . .”

“Yeah.” He steps to the side. “Thanks for the chat, Winnie. It was good seeing you.”

“You too,” I say as I move past him. His hand reaches out and his finger drags over my arm as I turn the corner. When I look over my shoulder, I catch that same look in his eyes, a familiar look, a look so eerily similar to one I’ve seen on Pacey that I feel bile rise in the back of my throat. Why the heck would I think that?

When I replace the tortillas, I stare at them for a few moments, trying to collect my thoughts, but it feels impossible, because all I can think about is Josh’s confession and how it makes me feel . . .

Like I wasn’t adequate enough for him . . . all over again.