Page 28 of Wrong Place, Wright Time
“It’s OK,” I say with a chuckle. “I love you, nose-picker, come-farter, puzzle-loving light of my life. And I know that at the beginning of this you said you didn’t want any pressure about being something more in the future. But, Isla, it’s been six months, and I can emphatically say that I don’t see myself going anywhere. I want you. I need you. And damn it, I want to marry you too. I want to build a life and make a family with you. It doesn’t have to be right away. I know I’m springing this on you right now, but I need you to know how I feel—what I want.”
“Oh,” she breathes, picking up her glass and taking a sobering sip as a battle of emotions wages a war across her face. My stomach turns sour immediately. This is exactly what I was afraid of.
“Fuck,” I say, stepping away and running a hand over the top of my head. “You’re still not interested, are you?”
“I didn’t say that,” she says, placing her glass back on the counter again. “I’m just…I’m processing.”
“Sure,” I say, realizing I’m sounding a little snooty because I just put myself out there and she’s not immediately jumping in my arms and declaring her never-ending love for me. Logically, I knew this was the likely scenario, but damn if I didn’t hope it’d turn out different anyway. “Process away.”
“It’s not that I don’t love you, Banks. Because I do. I genuinely love everything about you…”
“But?” I say, my guts getting sicker and more twisted the longer this drags out.
“But I don’t think I want to get married again. And not just to you, but to anyone.”
Clasping my hands behind my head, I stretch my head back and look to the ceiling before I release my hands and blow out a breath. “OK. So a couple of assholes before me ruined my chance with you, and that means no marriage, no kids, and that’s that?”
“I don’t know what to say to that. I’m sorry, Banks,” she says, emotion shaking in her voice. “I’m just trying to be honest about how I feel.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. I’m just trying to do the same here.”
“I know. And I appreciate it too. But I can’t change how I feel.”
“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Me either.”
“Banks,” she says, as I walk back to the bedroom with my hands on my hips. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” I say, pulling on my jeans and grabbing my T-shirt too.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” I pull the tee over my head and pick up my shoes. “And I know this looks like I’m throwing a tantrum because I’m not getting my way—and maybe I am—but yeah, I’m leaving.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t. We’re so great together. We…just work, don’t we? Am I wrong there?”
“Yeah, we work, Isla. We’re fucking fantastic together. You tick every fucking box along with a bunch I didn’t even know I had, but then there’s these optional extra boxes that I really fucking want, but you’ve already ticked those boxes in your past, and you didn’t like the way it was served so you just don’t fucking want it anymore. But I do. I want to try. I don’t want to stay just as we are, then be sitting there doing puzzles together when we’re eighty, looking back and regretting that we never took the plunge together. Because I want to do that with you. I fucking want all of that relationship stuff. And I’m not gonna keep doing this, hoping you’ll change your mind, or worse, guilting you into doing something you don’t want just to keep my happy. So, for your sake, and for mine.” I finish tying my laces and stand from the edge of the bed. “I think it’s best if I go back to my place, and you find some other guy to have a no relationship relationship with. Turns out, I’m not as capable at it as I thought I would be.”
“Banks!” she cries, her hand wrapping around my arm as I pass her to walk out the door. “Please don’t leave like this.”
“I have to, Isla,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against hers. “I can’t change the way I feel, and neither can you. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” she gasps, hiccupping when I press a soft kiss against her lips and then her forehead, before I finally let her go and head out of her apartment, her soft sobbing echoing behind as my heart turns heavy in my chest. I just blew it big time.Fuck.
Isla
“What the actual fuck?” Karen says, her mouth dropping open the moment she enters my office on Monday morning. For once I beat her in. After a weekend spent crying and wallowing in my own self pity, I just had to get out of my apartment and do something productive. “What happened to your face?”
“Banks and I broke up,” I inform her, the tone in my voice gone because I think I might have forgotten how to feel now. The whole point of Banks’s and my arrangement was toavoidsituations like this. But it just goes to show I’m incapable of having any sort of adult relationship without it turning into a shambles.
“Oh no,” she coos, immediately closing and locking the door before sliding into the chair in front of my desk and placing a hand on my arm. “What happened.”
I shake my head, my stupid tears burning against the back of my eyes when I was sure I’d run out of the darn things. “He wants more. I told him I can’t give it to him. So he left.”
“Oh shit, sweetie. I know how much you liked him too. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t just like him, Karen. I loved him. He was everything I ever wanted—my friend, my lover, my confidant, my rock. We were so good together, and I honestly thought we were on the same page. But then…”
“He changed the rules,” she finishes for me, passing over the box of tissues so I can dab at my already swollen eyes. I couldn’t even wear my contacts today because they were so sore, so I push my glasses to the top of my head and dab at my eyes to stem the flow.
