Who We Were Before by Leah Mercer Page A

want that to continue? Forever?’ He pushes a curl behind my ear. ‘I want to promise you I’ll always be there, through thick and thin. I want to do that, Zoe.’ He moves the ring towards me again. ‘Don’t you?’
    His gaze holds mine, and silence stretches between us for what feels like ages. I want to be with him, of course I do. But how can you promise forever? You can’t; I learned that the hard way, and I can’t bear to think of the two of us being strangled, eventually, by impossible vows. Better to stay as we are, in this perfect place, without expectations or ties that bind. We’re together because we choose to be, and nothing else. My mouth opens and shuts as I struggle to find a way to convince him, but he turns away.
    ‘I love you, Zoe.’ He gazes at the ground, his voice breaking, and my heart nearly breaks along with it. ‘But I want that commitment: commitment to the future, to us. I want to call you my wife, and to be your husband. I thought you wanted that too.’
    I reach out and touch his cheek, moving his head towards me again. ‘I’ll commit to us and to where we are now with all of my heart. But as for marriage . . . I’m sorry, but . . . I can’t.’ My voice drops to a whisper as sadness presses down. Why? Why did he have to do this?
    ‘Do you think . . .’ Edward clears his throat. ‘Do you think you’ll ever want to get married?’
    For the first time, I wish I could read the future. I wish I could tell him that yes, eventually, I’ll come around. That one day, I will believe in happy endings, soulmates, and all of that. Maybe someday I will – although it doesn’t seem too likely. All I know is that right now, I just can’t do it. I can’t blithely promise forever when I’m blind about the years ahead. I won’t do that to Edward. Or myself.
    ‘I don’t know.’ I wrench the words from my throat.
    ‘Right.’ Edward’s face is pale and pinched, and he leans forward to put his head in his hands. I hold my breath, my heart galloping. Is he going to walk away from me? Am I going to let him? Can I change my mind? Can he?
    ‘I . . . I need to go,’ he says finally, meeting my eyes. ‘I love you, but I need to go.’ He levers himself off the bench and walks slowly away, as if working against an invisible force. Every bit of me longs to call out, to say come back . . . but for what? We’ve reached an impasse, a barrier neither one of us can lift for the other to crawl through.
    I gaze down at the brightly wrapped box, still containing his watch. Then I get to my feet and walk in the other direction as tears stream from my eyes.

22
    ZOE, SATURDAY, 6.45 P.M.
    T he sun is low in the sky when I leave the darkness of the church and make my way down the stone steps. Despite attempting to turn off my brain, the memory reel inside me spins even faster. If I needed a drink an hour ago, now I’m absolutely gagging for one. I can see by the way the cafés are slowly filling up that it must be dinner time, and I know I should somehow find my way to the hotel – or, at least, to reach Edward.
    But I don’t want to – not to the Edward I know now. Thinking back to that first night and the early days of our marriage has made the gap between where we were and where we are even wider, and a wave of sadness roils through me. I miss the way we used to be: how we laughed without caring how loud we were; how Edward held my hand, his fingers rubbing my wedding band. Is that couple gone for good, or can we somehow find ourselves again? After all, despite our coldness, we are both here in Paris, albeit not together. Not yet.
    I sink down in a wicker chair at a café, deliberately looking away in case a waiter tries to catch my eye. I’ll just rest my legs for a bit before moving on . . . God, that sun feels nice. I close my eyes and drink in its warmth, laughter from the two women chatting at the next table sliding across my consciousness. Their friendly Liverpool accent