Page 128 of The Hookup
Her eyes narrowed and she leaned towards him slightly. “Why don't you announce it even louder? I haven't told anyone here, yet. I have to find a job first.”
What an idiot. He placed his palm against his cheek, feeling mortified. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You often don't.”
He let that one sink in, and nodded in agreement. “I’ve been a lot of things, Kay. And there are a lot of things I’m ashamed off,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I've used you as I pleased, without any regard for your feelings. But we had an arrangement, and back then, when I didn’t know any better, I just went along with it. I wasn’t expecting much from it, and I thought it would fizzle out, like things often do for me.”
“That's all in the past now. Can we not ever talk about that arrangement again?”
“Yes,” he said. This could be construed as progress. She had suggested the very thing he had wanted to see her about; forgetting what they had before, and starting over. “Let's leave that in the past where it belongs. Maybe we can focus on the future.”
“Future?” she scoffed. “We don't have a future.” She looked towards the entrance then glanced at her watch again.
“Don’t say that,” he said, touching her arm and trying to bring her focus back to him, to them, to this. “We can make this work. I know we can.”
“You're being hopeful. I'm being realistic.” She gave a cruel laugh. “Oh, how the tides have turned. I used to be in your shoes once, wanting what you do now. It’s such a weak, pathetic place to be in.” He couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t tell if she was relieved or sad. But her words had cut through him like a knife, and he stared at her knowing he was losing. That he had maybe already lost weeks ago.
“I was going to split with you before,” she told him. “Actually, it was the day before your surgery, before I even knew you had cancer.”
He tried to think back through the fog of the recent weeks, back to the day when the doctor had told him. “But you came to see me in the hospital,” he said slowly.
“That’s right. I was going to split with you then...I mean,extractmyself from this arrangement. You onlysplitif you've been in a relationship.” She slapped her forehead in mock disbelief. “How stupid of me to think that.”
He clenched his jaw, fighting back a retort. This wasn't a fight where he got to prove that he was right, or had the upper hand.
“I cared about you,” she said. “You made it hard for me care, but I did it anyway. I did it because I wanted you to get better, and especially after you told me about the things in your past, the things that have scarred you so deeply—”
“I’m not scarred,” he shot back.
“Aren’t you?”
He exhaled loudly, not wanting to talk about that. “What stopped you, from splitting with me then?”
“Marie. She told me you were ill, and that you were in the hospital awaiting surgery, and so I couldn’t. I couldn't split with you when you were already down.”
She would never have, he knew that. She was selfless, and loving, and caring. A Florence Nightingale with the body of Marilyn Monroe. He'd fucked up bigtime. “I bet you wish you had.”
“I do. I’ve thought about it many times,” she replied, nodding. “Being with you was the worst thing I ever did to myself, but I’m not that type of person who can do that to someone—even if that someone has already done that to me—treated me badly. It’s a weakness I have, which is probably why I let men walk all over me.”
“You don’t let men walk all over you. You’re leaving work, you’re looking for a new—”
“You’ve been speaking to Marie,” it wasn’t a question, more of a dismissive, passing statement. “I’m going to leave this place,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, “because I will no longer tolerate not being valued at work, and for that same reason, I can’t ever be with you again, because to do so would demean me.”
He lowered his head in shame. “I’m going to change. I have issues, you told me that. I accept it now, and I’m going to get counseling.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I can’t do this anymore.” She splayed out her hand. “Whatever this is.” She looked around, and he could sense that she was uneasy having this conversation here of all places.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can talk privately,” he urged.
“There’s no need. I think we’re done.”
“Please, Kay,” he begged, almost reaching for her hand. But he composed himself and shoved his hand into his pocket. “I can’t get past this, knowing what I said to you. I need to make it up to you. Iwillmake it up to you.”
“You don’t have to make it up to me. I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for, maybe not when I first met you on the island, but back home, in your bar, when you spelled things out for me. I knew the score. I knew whatthiswas. And the truth is, I’m done with that kind of messed up relationship.”
“Is this why you agreed to meet with me? To make it official?”
