Page 26 of Thanks for Coming Along
"Can we talk about Beck, please?" Eden asked. She placed her coffee mug on the side table and turned toward Ingrid. She studied Ingrid's side profile—the sharp jawline, the caramel eyes. She was stoic, with no emotion on her face.
"What about him?" Ingrid responded casually, sipping her coffee and fixing her gaze straight ahead. Eden knew she was maintaining her stoicism because it seemed more straightforward than grappling with her emotions. It was a familiar refuge for Ingrid, to retreat into herself where she felt at ease.
"Don't pretend with me, it'sme," Eden said softly. Ingrid's eyes softened as she turned them towards Eden.
"How was it seeing him?" Eden asked gently. Ingrid's facade cracked slightly, her face falling and her full lips turning at the corners. The subtle shift in her expression revealed more than words ever could.
"What do you want to hear? That he's irritating and intolerable? But I can't help feeling this intensely strong pull to him," Ingrid confessed in a rush, her words pouring out like a dam had been broken, like gushing water surging out.
"That he is single-handedly the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on? That I want to punch him and kiss him at the same time?" Ingrid continued, panting slightly by the end of the sentence. Eden stared at her momentarily, her lips somewhat slack, absorbing the unexpected torrent of emotions.
"Well, yeah," Eden mumbled. That was precisely what she wanted to hear. Honesty.
Eden had been waiting for Ingrid to be candid about her feelings. In the years following the breakup, whenever Eden broached the topic, Ingrid would clam up. Eden had gleaned more information from Beck, and it stung in a way—like Ingrid didn't trust her.
"Despite all that, things are too far gone," Ingrid said quietly.
"Why?" Eden pressed a little further; this was the most information she had received since the night they had broken up.
"I don't think things could be mended. It's like a puzzle that no longer fits together. You can try and try, but those pieces don't fit. They might have fit beautifully at one point, but things are too broken, and those shapes have changed irreparably. I've changed irreparably," Ingrid explained, her words weighing heavily on Eden's heart.
Eden knew Beck's perspective, and she didn't believe that things were irreparable from his side. However, she recognized Ingrid's need to find her way to that conclusion. As a third party, Eden could see the bigger picture, but she couldn't force someone else to see it. Maybe that wasn't what Ingrid wanted—maybe she never wanted to be with Beck again. All Eden could do was support her friend in whatever decision she made.
"I get that, believe me. You guys fall back into the same habits, the needling, the jabs. But you need to have an actual conversation with him.”
"Why? Why are you pushing so hard?" Ingrid asked, her gaze softening as she looked at Eden.
"You are living half of a life. Your other half is stuck on that night four years ago. You both need to either move on or make it work. It isn't fair to either of you," Eden explained softly. Ingrid considered her words, then sighed deeply and shifted her gaze to the expanse of the ocean, contemplating the weight of Eden's advice.
"I see your point. But it will be impossible to open up those old wounds. It would expose all that fester. That pain," Ingrid said. Eden understood; she had been in a similar place not too long ago. Eden had been ready to break free from Liam, but Ingrid wasn't there yet. Everyone moved on at different paces, within their own time.
"Those wounds can be healed. It might be slow, but they can be mended," Eden replied.
"Closure means the end. I don't know if I will ever be ready to let him go," Ingrid murmured so quietly that Eden thought she might have imagined it. Eden's heart broke a little more at her words. Reacting instinctively, Eden pulled Ingrid into a hug over her chair. Ingrid sighed, and Eden gently rubbed her back.
"Maybe it doesn't have to be the end. Not if you don't want it to," Eden said, trying to convey that the door between her and Beck could still be opened if she wanted it to. "I love you always. We will get through it together, like we have for the last decade," Eden reassured.
"I know," Ingrid's words vibrated into Eden's hair.
Ingrid squeezed her harder, and it brought Eden back to that hug when Ingrid found out her parents were getting divorced at fourteen. The hug when Eden had found out her mother had died at fifteen, then when she was emancipated from her father at sixteen. Their arms wrapped around each other at some of the lowest points of their lives. They got through it because that is what they did. They got through worse and ended up on the other side, stronger and better. Ingrid pulled back from Eden's arms and looked at her with a small smile as if she was thinking the same thing.
A gentle knock echoed on the door. Eden's stomach flipped, and she let out a slight squeal. Ingrid rolled her eyes but couldn't hide a small smile.
"Go get your man," Ingrid said teasingly as she stretched her legs over the lounger and tipped her head back with a smirk. Eden jumped up from her chair and crossed the room. She reached the front door and eagerly pulled it open.
Her pitiful heart jolted at the sight of Ronan standing at the front door. He wore tapered black trousers and a soft black sweater; she suspected it was cashmere. The fabric looked so soft that she imagined rubbing against it like a cat.
A slightly crooked smile graced his lips, hinting at the mischief that danced in his green eyes, which sparkled brightly in the morning sun. Eden made a concerted effort not to drool on the floor, determined to prove Ingrid wrong about her tendency to salivate over Ronan.
"Welcome back," she said as she opened the door, allowing Ronan enough room to enter her bungalow. As he entered, his arm brushed gently against the front of her shirt. The light, electrifying touch sent a tingling buzz coursing through her body.
"Good morning, Eden," he greeted in a deep, rumbling voice, which caused her skin to flush as if it had been set ablaze. He was going to be the end of her. Just the way he said her name threatened to make her heart give out. If this was her fate, it was nice knowing you, cruel world. Death by Ronan Murphy.
"Favorite food?" he inquired with a lopsided grin, continuing their ritual of unknown facts.
"Any kind of pasta," she replied, her voice a soft, almost breathless murmur.
"Good to know," he responded, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue as if he were mentally filing away this little detail about her.
