It was late September, and London’s streets were every shade of gray. The city smelled of coal smoke, brackish water, and stale fog. I walked at a hurried pace until I noticed the billboard and stopped dead in my tracks. It was the only colorful thing in sight, with her face magnified to a breathtaking volume. Rouged lips, rosy cheeks, and those sparkling green eyes. She was the kind of beautiful that steals a bit of your soul whenever you see her.
It was the first time I’d been back to London in so many years. I tried to distract myself by looking at the antique dishes in local market’s colorful stalls. Rustic saucers sat alongside vintage china and eclectic jewelry. It fascinated me how such different treasures could coexist together, side by side. I would normally spend hours getting lost in a place like that. Still, my mind was preoccupied with that giant billboard. I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman on it. I guess I’d never really fallen out of love with her.
MY shaky hands could barely clasp the cappuccino sitting in front of me. I pulled out the sealed white envelope and strongly considered opening it, but I was too scared of the hypothetical message inside. Why did my parents keep it all these years? Why didn’t they ever give it to me?
I saw Scarlett through the café window and immediately wondered why life turned out the way it did. I couldn’t help but stare, tracing her red lips down to her long neck and svelte frame. She wore a white blouse tucked into a black ballerina skirt. Her long blond hair rustled in the wind as she noticed me, and my heart skipped a couple beats. She smiled and I smiled back, blushing at the sight of her after all those years.
As she walked in, the first thing I noticed was her unmistakable gaze. Her eyes were even greener than I remembered. Her skin was taut and devoid of wrinkles, especially around her eyes and mouth. I wondered how much she had actually smiled since Oxford.
Scarlett nodded at diners as she slowly walked by their tables. When she finally arrived at mine, she rested a familiar hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine.
“Amelia Cole,” she whispered.
“Hello Scarlett,” I managed to say.
She took the seat across from me and smoothed her skirt gracefully.
“Fame looks good on you,” I muttered in an attempt to break the ice.
She just looked back at me with a curious expression. I wanted to know what she was thinking.
I cleared my throat. “So, how are you?” My nervous energy was exacerbated by the caffeine in my system.
“I’m really good,” she said, smiling.
I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not.
Her delicate fingers were accented with clusters of rose gold rings. But one in particular stood out. A princess-cut diamond on her left hand.
“Scarlett.” My stomach clenched. “You’re married.” I was asking and telling at the same time.
“Engaged,” she whispered. “James. He’s a good man.”
“Do you love him?”
“In my own way, yes.”
“Well, I’m happy for you both,” I said without really meaning it.
“It’s a little late in life, but better late than never, right?” A forced smile spread across her lips. “And you?”
“Oh no, I’m not married,” I said quietly. “Never found anyone quite as interesting after I left England.”
There was a glimmer in her eyes as the sentiment registered.
“Oh rubbish,” Scarlett countered. “You’re telling me that you’ve never been with anyone else in ten long years?”
Her playful tone reminded me of the girls we once were. But a shiny engagement ring told me otherwise.
“I just meant that I never married,” I said quietly into my porcelain cup. The frothy milk had sunken into an inch of lukewarm coffee.
Scarlett raised a prying eyebrow, tempting me to tell her all about Beck. I wondered if I should catch her up on the tumultuous years since Oxford.
“I—” but something stopped me cold. Probably the realization that she would tell me all about her experiences during the past ten years as well . . . including James and other topics I didn’t want to hear about. So I changed the subject.
“There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you though, Scarlett . . .”
“Ask away.” She waved a slender hand through the thick café air.
“That conversation we had in London . . .”
Her shoulders stiffened, and I got the sense that she knew exactly what I was going to ask.
“The acting. Did you ever—?”
“Amelia. I never . . .” Her voice fell off, and she leaned closer. “We were never an act. I meant everything I said.” She gripped the edge of the table. “The thing is . . .Will and I . . .”
“What about you and Will?”
She shook her head.
“The three of us had so much fun at Oxford,” I ventured.
She nodded her head and gave a half smile.
“I heard that Wonderland burned down.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “There was . . . a fire.”
“I wonder—”
“To fully answer your question,” she said, “my love for you was nothing but real. You were the only person I could ever let my guard down with.”
And then we were both lost for words. Everyone around us was chatting, laughing, and sipping hot coffee, but Scarlett and I were frozen in silence.
Eventually, I had no choice but to break it. “Can’t we at least be friends?”
My question hung in the espresso-scented air, waiting to be answered.
“I—I don’t know how to be your friend, Amelia. I’m not sure I ever did.”
“We were friends for a while at Oxford.”
“No.” She sighed. “It was always something more.”
“We were friends,” I insisted. “Before we . . . fell in love.”
“But the two weren’t ever really separate, were they?”
Now her question hung in front of me, and we both knew the answer. I didn’t know what to say next, so I pulled out her letter and set it on the table between us.
“What is that?”
“An unopened letter from 1920, if you can believe it. I found it as I was rummaging through my parents’ study this summer. They had it all this time.”
“You never opened it?” Recognition flooded her face, and the rosy color drained from it.
“No,” I answered.
“I was wondering why you called after all this time,” she said. “I didn’t even believe my agent when he told me.”
“Well, I found this and I guess it conjured up a lot of memories . . . and feelings.”
“You shouldn’t read it,” she said quietly. It doesn’t really matter now . . .”
“Scarlett.” I swallowed hard. “I never really stopped loving you.”
“Nor I you,” she said resolutely.
“I just wish—”
“You and I both realized that the world wouldn’t accept what we wanted.” She smiled faintly. “So we swore off stars.”
“I didn’t,” I countered.
“You did, though,” she said. “When you left.”
I shook my head slowly. She was wrong.
“You gave up on us.” She didn’t say it sensitively or bitterly. She just said it.
“I never did,” I insisted.
“I don’t blame you though,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard me. “I didn’t give you much hope, did I?”
I hated the thought that either of us swore off stars, that we renounced the possibility of us. I couldn’t fathom it.
“I used to believe in stars,” I breathed. “I believed in you and me.”
“So did I, Lia,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Our conversation came to an inconclusive end, and I walked out of the coffee house feeling more conflicted than I had before. Teary-eyed, I stuck the letter into my coat pocket and tried my best to forget. I didn’t want to waste another minute thinking about the woman I couldn’t be with.
