Page 78 of Weekends with You

“Then why don’t you tell me what it’s like, Hen? Hm?”

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if his answer would appear in the galaxy behind his eyelids.

“I’ve been trying to keep my cool this weekend,” he said eventually. “I know I messed up, and we both know now I’ve been regretting that, but I’ve been trying to give you some space. But then seeing you with him, he’s just so—”

“So what?”

“So not you. I mean, is that really what you want? Someone so posh? So put-together?”

“Maybe it is! Why is it so hard to believe I’d want someone who’s mature?”

“At this stage of your life?” Henry asked. “The stage that’s supposed to be a mess? Just because someone is mature doesn’t mean they’re right for you, Lucy.”

“And you don’t think Oliver’s right for me,” I said, more a statement than a question.

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think you do, either.”

We stared at each other, chests heaving with deep breaths, the room silent save for the constant creaking of the warehouse.

“I’m not doing this,” I said eventually, willing my heart rate to return to normal. “You lost your right to have an opinion. Especially on a night like tonight, when we’ve been drinking and tensions are high, and I am just exhausted from going around and around with you.” I surprised myself with how rational I sounded, given how badly I wanted to cry.

He raised his hands in surrender, hanging his head just enough to mask his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again, sounding more like a boy than a man this time. “I let the night get the best of me, Luce. And I really shouldn’t have.” He lifted his head to meet my eyes, and he looked exactly how I felt. Tired, sad, frustrated. Lost.

“I know,” I said, slipping out of his room and heading back to mine before either of us could say anything else. Washing my face would have to wait until the morning.

When I pushed open my door, Oliver was pulling on his coat.

“Going somewhere?” I asked, feeling my heart rate rising again. I tried to sound casual, but it came out more panicked than I’d hoped. He stopped moving, squaring his body to face me.

“I’m not an idiot, Lucy.”

“What?” I felt the color drain from my face, fearing the worst.

“I wish you would have just told me the truth, you know?” He rubbed his chin with his hand, looking everywhere but my eyes. “Especially because I gave you so many chances to do exactly that.”

“You heard,” I said, mortified. He offered little more than a tight-lipped nod, and I exhaled hard enough to blow out a candle. “God, Oliver, I’m so—”

“When he pulled that jack earlier, was his never-have-I-evermeant for you? Was he suggesting you were using someone to get over someone else?” Before I could even respond, he shook his head and continued. “He was suggesting you were using me to get over someone, wasn’t he? To get over him?” Silence. “Was he right, Lucy?”

“Of course not,” I said eventually. “I’m not using you, Oliver. I would never.” I was scrambling, I knew, but the upper hand was so far out of my reach, scrambling was the best I could do.

“But you aren’t over him at all, are you?” The question hung over our heads like a storm cloud, saturated and heavy and ominous.

“I am. I don’t know how much you heard, but whatever was between us was just complicated, that’s all. But it really is over. I meant that when I said it before, and I mean it now. That’s what I was telling him.”

“I want to believe you,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet. “I’m just not sure it’s true.”

“Why does everyone think they can tell me how I feel tonight?” Frustrated tears pooled in the corners of my eyes.

“I didn’t mean to be telling you how you feel, Lucy, and I’m sorry that I was. I just think that that passion between you two, which you might think is anger, is a spark. And life is simply too short to ignore the sparks.”

“Don’t you and I have a spark?” I asked, though deep down, I knew the answer. “What about that?”

“More of an ember by comparison, maybe,” he said, smiling a gentle, sad smile. How was he smiling right now? “I like you, you know. And these past few weeks have been grand. But I don’t quite think we’re looking for the same things. So perhaps it’s best we just call it before anyone gets hurt.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I said, blinking back tears.

“No, it doesn’t. But it should be. And that’s okay.” Hedropped his phone and his wallet into his coat pockets, then brushed my tangled curls from my eyes. He was still so tender, even after all I’d put him through, and it made me like him even more. Made me hate myself even more for mucking it up. And made me want to strangle Henry, most of all.

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