Page 32 of Dirty Little Secrets
“I’m late to my class, Tom.” I know I should feel badfor avoiding him. A good girlfriend would want to talk to her boyfriend. But I’m not a good girlfriend. I’m barely a good person. “Can we talk tomorrow? My place? I’ll make lunch.”
Tom puts his glasses back on, frowning at the Mercedes. “What’s this?”
“A car,” I sigh. “You know, a four-wheeled road vehicle that is powered by an engine.”
“You got a new car?” he asks, sniffling as beads of rain pitter down. “When did you?—”
“Get in.” I round the Mercedes, sliding into the driver’s seat as Tom sits beside me. The last thing I need is to catch a fucking cold and die when my immune system fails to fight it.Awe, look at you, suddenly wanting to live. I hand Tom a tissue. “Here. Your nose is running.”
“Thanks, I ran from the bus spot to meet you,” he says, quietly blowing his nose. He swallows. “Umm, so, a new car?”
“It’s a company vehicle.” I press the engine on and the car roars to life. I grin down at the luxury dashboard, hoping one day to take it to full speed. This baby can go up from zero to sixty in 3.1 seconds.See? Plenty of things to live for. “I’ll drop you off at your place.”
Tom blinks. “They gave you a Mercedes?”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it,” I say, pulling an aggressive U-turn. Tom grabs the handle. “Seriously? The road’s empty, Tom.”
“It’s still dangerous,” he mutters, slumping his shoulders. He chews on his bottom lip, fiddling withhis fingers. “Emery?” I glance over at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m driving you home,” I reply, frowning. “Didn’t I say that?”
“No, I meant…” He sighs, shifting his weight toward me. “What are you doing? Why are you taking this job? I thought… I thought we were moving in together.”
Guilt rushes through my body. “I never said I’d move in with you, Tom. You came to that conclusion on your own.”
“I don’t get it, Em.” Tom's pained gaze flickers around my face. “We had a plan… And now? What are you doing?”
“I accepted a job offer, Thomas,” I say, tightly gripping the steering wheel. “People change jobs every day.”
“InManhattan,” he grunts. “You took a job inManhattan. I… I just don’t understand. You didn’t… You didn’t even ask me.”
I snap my head at him. “Ask you if it was okay? I need yourpermissionto do things now?”
“No, you don’t need mypermission, Emery, but I think it should’ve been adiscussion, don’t you? Manhattan is a big city, Em. You don’t know anyone there. Your family ishere.I’mhere.” He reaches over, placing a concerned hand on my thigh. “Did you tell your parents that you’re moving? How do you think they’ll feel knowing that their only daughter is moving to a city where she doesn’t know anyone? What if something were to happen to you, Em? You’d have no friends there, no one to call, no one to come help you.”
No one telling me what to do.Yet. I gaze out intothe wet road. “Manhattan is only a couple hours away, Tom. It's not like I’m moving to the west coast. And I’m sure 911 works just the same in New York as it does in Connecticut.”
Tom’s jaw ticks. “And what about me, huh? What am I supposed to do? Only see you on weekends now? I wanted tomove in together, Emery, and now I’m going to be seeing you less? Do you not see the problem here? This is regression not progression. Jesus, Emery!”
“You could always find a job in New York,” I offer. Did you really just fucking suggest that? “I’m sure there are tons of IT positions available.”
“So, I need to uprootmyentire life becauseyouwoke up one day and decided you wanted to move? My friends livehere. My parents livehere. My house ishere.” Tom raises his voice. Tom never raises his voice. “Jesus, you’re selfish.”
Me. Me. Me. I. I. I. Who’s really the selfish one? What a fucking prick. He’s not. He’s just upset. I bite my tongue. “It’s a CFO position, Tom. Was I supposed to turn it down?”
“Cavanaugh Industries only headhunts,” Tom says, bitterness permeating the car. “How did you evengetthis job?”
“I was headhunted,” I half lie.Or just hunted.“I mentioned what I do to Damon that day we bumped into him at the bookstore. He must’ve looked me up after.”
Tom snorts. “Right. Because Damon Cavanaugh doesn’t have better things to do than scour the internet for nobodies from Chesterfield.”
If only you knew.
“Now you’re just being rude,” I mutter, turning onto Tom’s street. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Tom.” I park outside his house, putting on the break. “What do you want me to say?”
“I’m sorry would be a start.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wishing that the hurt expression on his face made me feel anything. It doesn’t. All I feel is a twinge of anger, which I refuse to let out. I’m the bad guy here. I know that. “Do you feel better now?”
