Page 132 of Goodbye Again
“Fine, I don’t want to.”
She leans in, eyebrows raised. “You don’t want to what?”
“Marry him.” I breathe out the words. Relief floods my chest and guilt calcifies in my gut.
“Atta girl. It’s about time you learned to be honest with yourself.” She stands with a grunt and starts to make her way inside. “I’m making tacos for dinner. Are you hungry?”
thirty-seven
DONAVAN STARES AT THEfloor—shock written in his pupils.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You’re sorry?” He stands abruptly and a throw pillow tumbles to the ground. He paces around the room, mumbling, pressing his hands against his head. “This is—this is...” He looks around the room in search of the right word. “Unreal.”
I nod, resting my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped in front of me to keep from shaking. “You deserve someone that is a thousand percent sure they want to spend the rest of their life with you. I thought it could be me. I thought I could get there. Everything about us seemed perfect but it’s just...”
“Not right,” he finishes for me.
I nod again. I’m not crying and an odd thought itches the back of my brain as I realize neither is he. I stare at his expression—his face. The one I’ve come to know for three years. I know his creases and his curves. His freckles and his smile. But the longer I stare at him, the longer I try to read his mind, the more I realize I don’t know this man at all and he doesn’t really know me. And I think we both just realized it.
He sighs and sits in his arm chair—it’s a ridiculously expensive tufted leather recliner situated by the window so he can have good light while he watches football on Sundays while reviewing contracts. He loves that chair. I hate it. It’s actually rather ugly. “It’s going to be a pain to cancel everything.”
I squint as I register his words—the lack of emotion, the practicality of it. “You don’t want to get married either, do you?”
He twists his lips, staring out the window. He’s either contemplating his honesty or deciding if he wants to be a victim.
“No.”
He chooses honesty. I nod once, my face remaining stoic.
“It’s not that I don’t love you, I do. It’s just that—”
I hold up a hand, he doesn’t need to explain it. It doesn’t matter how we both arrived at this conclusion, but it’s clear we’re both here, standing on the edge of a cliff, deciding that jumping off is a terrible idea.
“I hope you know I love you too.”
He nods but he still doesn’t cry. He looks around the apartment. The space is a fifty-fifty blend of us, and yet, it is so easy to distinguish what belongs to him and what belongs to me.
“So, do you want me to go stay at the lake house for a bit, or—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “No, you stay here. Your son will be here next week, he’ll want it to feel normal. I’m headed to Seattle in the morning.”
His eyes widen.
“I’m staying with my sister for a bit. And I should tell my mom in person.”
He nods, confirmation in his expression, but there’s a sadness in his posture, like even though he wants to end things as much as me, he still wants to protect me from the big, bad wolf. But for once, I don’t feel afraid of my mother. I’ve been walking on eggshells around her, even though I live two thousand miles away. I won’t do it anymore.
He scrubs a distressed hand down his face. “How will we tell everyone?”
“We just will. Everyone will be sad, but I think more people than we realize will understand.”
thirty-eight
WHAT A CROCK OF SHITthat optimism was.
Mom does not even remotely understand.
