Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Ash
I took another sip of champagne as I walked onto the boulder where Logan . . . Max, whoever was standing next to the picnic blankets that had been spread out over the rock. The blankets were scattered with large pillows. I lowered myself to the blanket, but didn’t dare lean back on the pillows. I wasn’t feeling that comfortable. Slouching on a picnic blanket with my ex-boyfriend felt too intimate and strange. I stuck my hand into the ice bucket and pulled out an ice cube. I put one against my neck, running it up and down and then moved it down my chest before it melted completely.
“It is beautiful here, though,” I admitted, and looked up. The sky was so clear you could see the stars clumped together to form the giant arm of the Milky Way, which stretched from one side of the sky to the other like a rainbow.
“Very beautiful,” he said, and something in his voice made something deep in my stomach stir. I didn’t like it. I reached for another ice cube and ran it over my collarbone. He on the other hand, despite the unbearable heat and awkward situation, seemed to be as cool as a fucking cucumber, and it pissed me off.
“Do you not sweat or something?” I blurted, and he laughed.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at you.” I gestured towards him. “You’re sitting there looking all cool and chilled, as if none of this bothers you. The heat. And me. Us. This. How is it that you look so relaxed?”
“I guess I’m just enjoying seeing you again.”
“You are?” My neck snapped, a cartoonish double take of sorts.
“I take it you’re not?” He smiled at me. It seemed faint and forced.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t call this the highlight of my life—that’s for sure.” I sipped my champagne again and watched him over the rim of my glass.
“Sorry. I wish it wasn’t so tense,” he said, and I couldn’t quite believe my ears.
“I’m not sure how you thought us seeing each other for the first time after everything that happened would be anything other than tense.”
“Didn’t you ever imagine this? Us meeting again,” he asked.
“Nope,” I lied.
“Not once?”
“Never,” I lied again.
“Well, just because you didn’t doesn’t mean we can’t talk, right?”
“About what?” I asked.
“Well, what have you been up to the past thirteen years?” he asked casually. His strange cool casualness, his entire relaxed vibe from the first moment I’d seen him, was almost stranger than us sitting here. Since seeing him, he had shown not an ounce of shock, or reticence. He’d never looked awkward or unsettled. In fact, all I’d seen was a man who clearly exuded the kind of confidence that most people could only dream of having. I didn’t know what to make of his attitude, so I stopped trying to figure it out.
“I became a cinematographer,” I stated, taking another sip of the champagne. I could taste it was the good stuff, the stuff that actually came from that region of Norman cows and vineyards in the Champagne valleys. This was the epitome of romance, and I was supposed to be on a romance detox.
“I know that. But what else?”
I took another sip and scrutinized him. “Is this what we’re doing? Chatting as if nothing ever happened? Old friends who’ve bumped into each other and now we’re have a chinwag over cheese?”
“Why not?”
“Why not? I could give you fifty reasons why not . . .” I sighed. “I don’t really have the energy for fifty reasons, to be honest. I’m way too hot and way too tired for this.”
“Don’t give me fifty reasons, then. We used to talk for hours. Do you remember that?”
“Not really.” Another lie, because of course I remembered. It had been the thing I’d missed most when we’d broken up, or when he’d run away, because technically we hadn’t officially broken up. We used to sit for hours, my head in his lap, him playing with my hair while I talked about absolutely nothing and everything all at once. Late-night calls tucked under our blankets, talking to each other until we began to fall asleep and then listening to each other breathe as we did. Being able to have entire silent conversations with each other in the classroom, just with our eyes and facial expressions. Telling each other our every desire, fear, and worry. Talking was the thing I’d missed most. Sure, I had Sarah and my friends, but Logan and I had talked in a different kind of way. A way that was totally unique to us and a way I had never experienced since then.
“Of course you do, Ash,” he said.
“No, not really, Logan.”
“I don’t go by Logan anymore. It’s Max,” he said, through a very tensed jaw. Ha! Not so nonchalant now.
“Okay, sorry. I can try and do that, Max.” The second I said it, his jaw unclenched and his shoulders relaxed.
“Thanks,” he said weakly, and I could sense the genuine hurt inside. It was clear all his previous cool-calmness went away when we touched on this issue. His name, his father. I’d always been able to sense what he was feeling when we were together. I didn’t like that I found myself still being able to sense it now. I shuffled around uncomfortably. There was nothing about any of this that I liked. I did not want to be sitting here and that must have shown on my face.
“You look like you’re planning your escape,” he said, forcing a faint smile.
“I am,” I admitted.
“I’m not,” he said in a voice that grabbed my attention in a way I wished it hadn’t. “I’m happy to see you, Ash.”
“Happy?” I scoffed. “Well, that makes one of us.”
“I know. You’re making that very clear.”
“Well, how else do you want me to make it, Lo—Max— God, this is so confusing —Max! If you’re happy after everything that happened, then clearly you’ve suffered zero consequences following our ‘break-up,’ unlike me. So no, I’m not happy.”
“Well, I’m not taking it back. I am happy to see you and I am happy that you’re also doing so well.”
“Really?”
“And I’m seriously impressed too. One of South Africa’s most sought-after cinematographers, multi-award-winning no less. I’m proud of you.”
“I don’t need you to be proud of me,” I said quickly, irritated by his admission.
He smiled. “I know, but I am. I’m glad your life is going so well and—”
“You know nothing about my life,” I snapped, cutting him off quickly. “You don’t know me anymore and I certainly don’t know you. God, I have no idea how to feel about all of this. It’s so, so . . .” I searched for a better word, but all that came was . . . “Weird! It’s weird that you’re here, it’s weird that you have another name, it’s weird that you look like that”— God, why do you have to look like that —“and it’s weird that none of this seems to be fazing you at all. In fact, it’s almost like you’re enjoying it.” I felt compelled to stand up. “I can’t do this, Lo . . . Max! Max. For heaven’s sake.” I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. “I can’t sit here anymore. I’m going to my room!” I announced, and started walking off. But then, as if by some kind of magic, so quickly it was almost impossible, he was next to me. He reached out and his fingertips brushed my arm. I came to a complete stop and looked down at them. A feeling rose in me. A feeling I did not want rising. I shrugged my arm away and he stepped back.
“Sorry,” he said, backing away. “I get it. I had two days to prepare myself to see you. You need some time.”
“I think I need more than time.” I started walking away again.
“What about the cheese?” he called after me. I stopped. I was embarrassed to admit that this did give me pause. In fact, it gave me more than pause.
I turned and ran back onto the boulder. Not daring to look at him, I grabbed the cheese and then made a dash for my room, almost tripping over my feet as I went.