Chapter Twenty-One
Standing on the sidewalk, our bags at our feet, we stared at each other. It was dark now, the light from the street lamps a dim orange. Night air crisper and cooler than it had been down in the valley.
It felt like another ending, one I didn’t have a name for.
“Well,” he said, finally. “I had fun.”
I thought back, to almost the same three words the distance of a flight and a whole bundle of regrets away. There was only one thing I could think to say in reply.
“Me too,” I told him. “Me too.”
#
I’d taken the day off, figuring there was no real point dragging my ass into the office right after a late flight, only to face the weekend straight after.
Even after wasting half the morning in bed, though, I was starting to regret the lack of distractions as I wandered aimlessly from the kitchen, through the living room, and out onto the deck.
There was already a load of clothes in to wash.
I had nothing to put in the dishwasher, and a guy came every few weeks to do whatever small maintenance the garden required, so it wasn’t like there was anything to do there, either.
I’d thought about rolling back the pool cover and swimming, but just wasn’t in the mood.
Would he want to come use the pool before he left for school again?
This was, I’d realized, Kai’s last weekend staying with his parents.
I didn’t know about his classes, but he was definitely moving back onto the campus on Monday.
Part of me wanted to message him, but at the same time it felt like it would be a step backwards.
Neediness, unforgivable after all the resolve I’d managed to muster.
I picked up a book. Put the book down. Scrolled, again, through apps on my phone and then dropped it on the table, exasperated by the world. Pulled open the refrigerator door and stared, torn, at the bottle of wine in there. Then closed the door and forced myself to walk away.
By the time night crept in, I was a rubber ball of tension and frustration. Bouncing off the walls, the nerves and anxiety oozing out of my pores like sweat. So tightly wound, indeed, that I jumped when I heard my phone chime.
#
“We need to talk.”
It wasn’t the message I’d been expecting, or indeed one I’d wanted to see. Things between my ex and I had been cordial since the break-up, primarily because we hadn’t really spoken at all. I hadn’t planned an alternative strategy.
I’d suggested a call, but Alistair wanted to do it in-person.
Arrived looking far too healthy and happy for my preference - guilt at such pettiness sweeping through me moments later - and carrying a box of things of mine he had apparently discovered while doing a clear-out.
I did my very best to keep a mild smile on my face as he told me about his new boyfriend and how he was moving in, politely deflecting efforts to get me to share details of my own love life.
Maybe some of the anguish I had unexpectedly felt had made it through to my expression all the same. As we parted ways, he pulled me in for a hug. Awkward, on my part anyway, and honestly unwanted.
“You should find someone, Tate,” he told me, his hands on my shoulders as he stared at me earnestly.
I pulled back, bending to heft the cardboard box and wishing there was some way I could click my heels together and disappear or, failing that, have a timely falling house land on him.
“It’s not good for you to be alone,” he added.
I screwed up my face into what I hoped was bland good-naturedness, told him I would be fine, and clenched my jaw enough to give me a headache.