Page 56 of Not Your Valentine
“No.”
“Maybe he felt the same way, but he thought you weren’t interested.”
There’s a burst of hope in my chest, but I quickly shove it down. “Seems unlikely.”
“You said he protested when you told him you didn’t need to go on more dates.”
“Because he felt guilty that he wasn’t quite fulfilling his promise. And we were talking about fake dates, not real ones.”
“He probably thought you only wanted something pretend,” Esther said, “since that’s what you asked for. Maybe he’s been pining for fifteen years, or however long you’ve known him. Like he said at Whitney’s party.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoff. “Why would he want me?”
“Uh, why wouldn’t he?” Jasmeet asks.
“Wait,” Whitney says. “Is that partly why you decided on this fake relationship plan? Because you didn’t want us telling you not to give up on love?”
“Well, I’m not very lovable,” I say.
“Hold on. What’s with the self-pity party?”
I’m seated between Jasmeet and Esther, but I lean forward and turn to my left so I can give Whitney a good glare.
“Yeah, Whitney’s right,” Jasmeet says. “You’re not usually this down on yourself.”
Esther nods. “The video got to you more than you let on.”
“It’s not just the video,” I protest. “It’s me. My entire fucking personality. It just doesn’t scream lovable and cuddly. My parents, my sister and Bec…they met each other young. But I…”
“If you have zero interest in a romantic relationship, that’s one thing. There are some people like that, but I don’t think it’s the case for you.”
“But I’m—”
“Stop it. What do you want?”
“I want him,” I say miserably, “but he doesn’t want me.”
“Except you didn’t say anything,” Whitney points out.
“Neither did he!” I sound like a petulant child.
“Maybe he’s just like you. Convinced, due to past experiences, that you could never feel that way about him. And how would he know otherwise when you didn’t tell him?”
Hmm. Admitting you have feelings for someone is hard. Taylor’s probably more of a feelings person than I am, but still. With us, there’s also the fear of losing a friendship.
I consider his past. His mother.
My heart twists.
“You really think that might be possible?” I say, my voice quieter than usual.
“He took you on a romantic trip to a cabin,” Esther says.
“So we could have lots of sex.”
“He sent you a chocolate bar in the mail.”
“He was just being nice, and he was really committed to our act.” But I’m speaking with less certainty than before. I remember those brief moments, once at the cabin and once on Valentine’s Day, when I thought he might say something important—like wanting to make our relationship real.
