planned planned

n put on the table, stood up and stepped away. But then I heard my name in a soft call and felt Leo's hand fall over my hand, wrapped neatly. I have lost his hands how big. How warm they are, even in the midst of winter cost. I struggle to pull my hand out of his hand, but can not. Anyway, he has only his right hand, I think. My left hand is clenched under the table, still safe. I rub my thumb on the wedding ring and hold my breath. "I still miss you," Leo said. I looked at him stunned, speechless. Remember me? It can not be true - but rightly so, Leo does not lie. He would rather choose the cold, cruel truth. I'm sorry, Ellen, "he continued," what are you sorry for? "I asked, thinking that there were two kinds of apologies. There are apologies tinged with regret. Again apologies for the right meaning. That kind of simply begs for forgiveness, nothing else. "Everything," Leo says. There is nothing to say anymore, I think. I open my left fingers and look down at my ring. There was a loud bang on my throat, and my voice whispered. "The water is running down the bridge," I said. Which I think so. All the water is running down the bridge. "He knew," Leo said. "But I'm still sorry." I blinked away, but still could not force myself to pull away. "No problem," I say. "Everything is fine." Leo's thick brows raised up, his eyes so neatly tied to the fact that I used to joke that he had plucked them like that. "Okay?" I knew what he was implying, so I responded immediately, "More than okay. Everything is great. Exactly what it should be. "His expression turned into mischievous, as he often looked when I loved him deeply and believed that everything between us would be backward. My heart sank. "So, Ellen Graham, in the light of everything that turns out to be fine, what do you think if we give friendship a chance? Think you can do that? "I whispered all the reasons why not, everything it could hurt. But I found myself calmly shrugging my shoulders and hearing myself say, "Why not?" Then I pulled my hand out of his hand at the late moment. Prev Chapter Next Sstruyen.com.vn is a website for reading stories online, or with a full range of stories, stories, stories, stories, stories, teen stories .... The story is updated one. The fastest way and support for reading on any device like cellphone or tablet. Email: hello@sstruyen.com.vsay, suakhoaoto.com.vn, novels, teenagers, gifts, event companies, delicious, cheap car keys, lock safes , make car keys piaggiodefenses defenses

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Home »Chapters» Love On The Side Of The Ta-Chapter 4
LOVE PEOPLE
Love You By The Side - Chapter 4

View: 1812 | European Novel, Love Story Novel
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Love On My Side

Author: Emily Giffin

Chapter 4
I left the restaurant in the middle of the night, feeling the mess of melancholy, resentment and sobbing. It was a strange mix, shaken by a lot of emotionally stirred up in the rain, now dissolve into a lot of scurvy. I was about to walk home, hoping to sink in cold and sorrow, but then I thought back. There is no reason to indulge in it, there is no reason to worry or even bother.
So, instead, I headed for the subway station, striding for the slippery slope. Beautiful, bad, and even the most ordinary memories of Leo still swirled in my head but I definitely did not stop at any of them. It's too old, I mumble as I step down the stairs to the subway station at Union Square. On the way to the platform, I strode through small puddles and tried to get rid of all thoughts. I bought a pack of Butterscotch Life Savers in the newsstand, flipped through the headlines, listened to a lively political conversation, and watched the rush of people running back and forth on the platforms. Anything to avoid reminding or replaying my conversation with Leo. If the door is opened, I will not stop analyzing all of what we have just said, as well as the mannerisms that appear too often as part of our time together. What does he mean? Why did he say that? Does he still have feelings for me? Is he married now If so, why did not he tell me?
I tell myself that now all that does not make sense. It has not meant anything long ago.
My train finally got into the station. At peak hours, all cars are closed, leaving room to stand. I squeeze into a land standh a mother and her elementary age child. At least I thought it was her daughter - they had the same type of nose and chin. She wears a sailor coat with two gold anchor buttons. They are discussing what to eat in the evening. "Cheese and cheese buttercream?" The girl suggested with great hope. I waited for a familiar objection from the subordinates. You're like, "We've eaten that last night," but the mother just smiled and said, "Okay, sounds like a good day for a rainy day." Her voice was warm and soft. Like the cereal they will eat together for dinner. I think of my mother, as she does so many times each day, obviously she is less encouraging than the mother and daughter standing next to me. present. My thoughts drifted to a frequently occurring question in my mind - how important is my mother's adult relationship? Do I doubt what she advises when I have emotional difficulties, or deliberately resist what she wants me to do? Or would we be as close as Margot and her mother, talking to each other every day? I want to think that we can become confidante friends. Maybe not to share clothes, slippers or hugging each other (my mother is too serious to do so), but there is enough closeness to let me talk to her about Leo and the cafeteria. His hand touched my hand. My feelings at this moment. I think of everything you can say to me, comforting words like: How delightful it was for me to have Andy. He is the son that Mom can not get. I never care about you. All the words are easy to guess, I think, and continue to delve deeper into those thoughts. I closed my eyes to remember her image before she fell ill, which I did not think recently. I could see her almond-shaped hazel eyes, like my eyes, but at the edges of my eyes turned to brighter colors - bedroom eyes, my dad always called. I visualize her smooth forehead. Shaggy hair is always cut to the shoulders in a simple, trendy or fashionable way, just long enough to force it off after she's done housework. The small gap between her front teeth and her unconscious handshake when laughing. Then I recall a serious but straightforward view, suitable for teaching a math teacher at a public school. Severely - and hear the words in her very heavy Pittsburgh phonetics: Listen, Ellie. Do not give this facial expression any impertinance what you did to him at the first meeting. It does not mean anything. Not bad. Sometimes, in my life, there is something completely meaningless. At this moment I want to listen to my mother. I would like to believe that you are guiding me from some remote place, but I still feel helpless, leaving my memory back for the first time at the New York State Supreme Court in the Center. Street when Leo and I were called to be jurors on the same Tuesday, October. Prisoners were put into a horrible noisy room, without windows, with metal folding chairs, and at least one farmer who forgot to use deodorant. It was all very coincidental, and for a long time I was foolishly believing it was romantic because it was totally random. I was twenty-three years old but I felt much older by fear. The vague and disillusioned feeling of having to leave life safe in college and suddenly falling into social reality, especially when there is no goal or plan, no money or a mother . Margot and I moved to New York last summer, shortly after graduation, and Margot took over the position of excellent marketing staff at the J. Crew corporate office. I received a job offer at Mellon Bank in Pittsburgh, so I

planned to return home to live with my father and new wife, Sharon, a nice but slightly flabby woman with huge breasts and hair. change color. But Margot convinced me to go to New York with her, give me an eloquent speech about the Big Apple and that once I was successful there, I would succeed anywhere else. I reluctantly agreed to be unable to withstand the thought of leaving Margot as well as being unable to withstand the thought of seeing another woman take up my house - my mother's house. So Margot's father hired the packer to pack up furniture in the dorm room, buy us a one-way ticket to New York, help us stabilize living in a lovely two bedroom apartment in the middle of Columbus and 79th Street, Margot with office closet new crystal and crocodile leather suitcase; I have a worthless philosophy diploma and a T-shirt and jeans shorts. I only had $ 433 in my account and formed the habit of only taking 5 dollars off the ATM every time, an amazing amount of money that was not enough to buy me a marinated sandwich in the city. However, the commissioned account