Page 94 of Snowed In
He reaches for the keys, only to still when I grab his hand. He immediately zeroes in on my fingers, not moving until I sit back.
“For a hundred million reasons,” I say softly. “That’s why I ran. But I guess the tipping point was when he sabotaged my career.”
“What?”
“He pretended to be me and turned down a job I wanted. I found out the night before the wedding.”
I’d made it through four rounds of interviews for a big internship in Dublin. Everyone was surprised I’d gotten that far, but none more than me. I’d never stood out to anyone before, but I’d clicked with the hiring panel and my would-be manager, and I wanted it badly. Badly enough that when the deadline to hear back came and went, I was still refreshing my emails the night before the big day, hoping there was just a delay. Isaac had supported me at first, though I realize now it was because he never expected me to actually get the job. When it became clear that I might, he changed his tune, and we fought about it daily. Still, I didn’t suspect anything. It was only then, when I was scouring through my spam and trash folders, that I saw the deleted email. The stiff, formal note from someone claiming to be me removing myself from consideration. I knew instantly what had happened. I would have been stupid if I hadn’t. He was the only other person with access to my email.
“I guess I technically hadn’t gotten it yet,” I clarify. “But I was confident. They’d told me it was just formalities from then on, and I was devastated when I didn’t hear anything more. I thought I’d misread them completely, but it turns out, it wasn’t just in my head. Isaac had contacted them days before pretending to be me and pulled me out of the running. That was my last straw. And that’s why I ran.”
I can see Christian’s trying to hold back. Trying and failing. His hands are clenched so hard they have to hurt, and he still hasn’t moved a muscle.
“Why would he do that?” he asks eventually, and he says it so calmly, so damn politely that I laugh.
“Sorry,” I say when he stares at me. “I’m sorry. I just…” I shake my head, still smiling. But I know it’s not a warm one. “Because he was a controlling dick,” I say. “Because he had been for years. We did whathewanted to do. All the time. Always. School, college. What restaurants we went to. What we did on the weekends. He had our whole lives planned out. I was just along for the ride.”
That was how he viewed it, anyway. Even on the rare times I argued back, he’d always win.
Sometimes he’d pretend to go along with me and then privately do what he wanted to, anyway. By the time I found out, it would always be too late.
“It was small things at first,” I explain quietly. “We’d been together for so long I was used to them. I thought they were normal. But it got worse when we got older. When we started making decisions that would affect our future. That role was the first thing I ever wanted that was just for me, and he couldn’t handle it. I tried to compromise. I suggested we move somewhere in between our jobs, but he refused. I said I’d commute, but he said it would tire me out too much. They offered a few days remote, but then he said it was just a trick and that they’d change their policies as soon as I signed the contract. It was the first and only time in our relationship that I stood up for what I wanted, and he acted like I was trying to break us apart. And maybe I was. Deep down, anyway. But the email sealed it for me. That’s why I left him. I maybe could have chosen a better time, but I was running out of it by that stage.”
“And you didn’t think anyone would believe you. That’s why you didn’t tell anyone.”
“You know how he is,” I say, aware of how bitter I sound. “He’s charming. He’s handsome and polite and easygoing and everyone thought we were so in love. No way would they have believed me. At least not at first. They would have said it was nerves and talked me back into it. And I was easily talked into stuff back then.”
“It doesn’t explain why you haven’t told anyone since.”
“Because it’s embarrassing?” I admit. “I know it’s not supposed to be. I know I’m not supposed to blame myself or whatever, but I think about how much I used to let him get away with it and I just—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But knowing it doesn’t magically get rid of every insecurity. And who’s to say they’d even believe me now? You saw how Sophie reacted. Even Hannah had a grudge about it, and she didn’t even know me. I don’t need to reopen old wounds.”
“But he’s walking around like he’s—” Christian cuts himself off, his expression shuttering as he realizes something. “Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because you didn’t think I’d believe you?”
“No,” I say quickly. “That’s back to the embarrassment. I don’t like who I was back then. I didn’t want you to know me as her. I wanted you to think of me as I am now, and I…I wanted you to like me.”
And there it is. In the simplest, rawest terms. I take a deep breath, but that’s a mistake because my head fills with the woody, spicy smell of him, and I swear I can feel it, whatever the new thing is between us. Feel it like it’s a tangible thing.
“I like you,” he says, his voice rough. “I like you a lot.”
“Oh thanks,” I say, trying to make a joke of it and failing miserably.
But Christian isn’t done. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not, Megan.”
But it has to be. “It feels like a long time ago.”
We’re just staring at each other now, neither of us moving.
“I don’t want to think about it anymore tonight,” I tell him. “It was perfect otherwise. I don’t want him to ruin it.”
“You want to go home?”
