Page 126 of Something Tattered
"No. You don't."
I gave him a pleading look. "Look, we can go round and round about this forever. But we both know that's not true."
When he said nothing, I started rattling off just a few of the things that he'd done for me. "You gave me a ride. You mowed my lawn. You even stopped me from getting robbed." I made a scoffing sound. "Twice."
His expression remained stony. "That was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing." With an effort, I softened my tone. "And besides, I just realized, I shouldn’t be accepting so much."
"Yeah? Why not?"
Suddenly, I felt like crying. "Look, why does this have to be such a big deal?"
"Because this morning, you were good with it. Now, you're not. What changed?"
"I don't know." I blinked long and hard. "If anything's changed, it's you."
"Right." He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, I saw the first sign of any real emotion. Regret? Uncertainty? I was still trying to decide when he said, "Just tell me. What'd I say?"
I blew out a long, shaky breath and reminded myself of all those wonderful things he'd done for me. And now, he was asking for something in return – the truth about what was bothering me.
All things considered, it wasn't too much to ask.
In a quieter voice, I said, "I just realized something. That's all."
His voice grew quieter, too. "Yeah? What?"
"I realized…"Damn it.How to put this? "Well, that we're probably not as close as I thought we were." I ran a nervous hand through my hair. "I mean, here, I've been boring you with all of my troubles, and I guess we're not really to that point yet."
"What point?"
Oh, God.He was seriously going to make me explain it? "You know, where we're sharing all these stupid, intimate details." I tried to smile. "So I guess I just figure it's time to dial it back a bit, you know?"
Watching me from the driver's seat, he grew utterly still, but said nothing.
Hoping to take the edge off, I gave a weak laugh. "I mean, I can't have you fixing my plumbing and stuff when we're just hanging out. It's not fair. To you, I mean. So now I feel all funny about it."
"Hanging out," he said. "That'swhat you think we're doing?"
I wanted to scream. Of all the things for him to zero in on, why that? In a moment of frustration, I blurted out, "Well, whatarewe doing?"
As an answer, he turned to face the road ahead. And then, to my infinite frustration, he fired up the engine and shifted the car into gear. A moment later, we were, once again, cruising down the lonely country road.
I sank down in the passenger's seat and tried to decide who I was more angry with – me, for not just letting it go, or him, for not understanding why I felt so funny about it.
The remainder of the short drive passed in stone-cold silence that grew more oppressive with every mile. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what.
From the look on Joel's face, there was nothing he wanted to hear – not from me, anyway.
When we pulled up to my house, he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger's side door. He pulled it open and waited for me to get out.
If that wasn't a hint, I didn't know what was.
Silently, I got out of the car and then watched with growing despair as he climbed back into the driver's seat and shut the car door behind him.
My heart was begging him not to go, but my mouth refused to form the words, even as he fired up the engine and drove away.
Staring after him, I had to give him credit for one thing – he hadn't peeled out of the driveway like an angry teenager. But that was a cold comfort later that night, as I climbed into bed and tried to figure out exactly what I'd done wrong.
