Chapter 9 #2
He hesitates, his gaze flicking to the chair then to me and finally the couch. On days like this, when my shift starts late at night, we’d have dinner then I’d leave. Not today.
“I want to show you something.” I pluck my phone out of my pants and unlock the screen.
It’s black, but it won’t be when I press play. I set it on the kitchen island, or well, my table with three barstools.
“I don’t know if you know this exists and you think I’m an idiot, or if you don’t know this exists and you’re the idiot.” I wave my hand for him to come closer, but step to the side to keep him from brushing against me.
His Adam’s apple bobs, a slow, visible swallow. “Robyn—”
“Don’t. Watch this. The whole thing.”
I press play. All color leaves his face before it’s even gotten to the good part.
“Look, Nate.” The song blasts high through the space though there isn’t electric love between us now.
“There’s over a second where you look into her eyes before her lips touch yours.
Were you thinking about how long it’s taken the two of you to get there?
” I’m breathing heavily. It’s electric ire between us.
He clenches his fists and looks away. “Rob—”
“No! You need to see the whole thing, Nate,” I hiss. “It gets so much fucking better.”
The video is set on repeat, so when he drags his eyes back to my screen, looking as sick as he should have been on Monday, it’s playing where he left off.
“There’s your tongue joining the party!” I say, putting my hand on the table to hold myself upright. I’d worry I’m having an episode if I hadn’t been rehearsing to sound this happy. “We can count how many seconds you two make out.” I swallow.
His nostrils flare, the corner of his mouth twitches downward, and his gaze goes glassy. It’s too late for regret, isn’t it?
“Spoiler alert. Nine. Nine seconds.”
His gaze drops.
“Keep your eyes on it, Nate.”
His throat bobs, and his jaw trembles. He nods and sets his eyes on the video in time to see himself pull away, Tessa touching her forehead to his. And finally, with her smile on the screen, I pause it so I can face Nate.
He looks like his own shame caught him off guard. “Robyn—”
“Don’t start with my name like it’s going to soften anything.” I cross my arms.
“It didn’t mean anything, Robyn. It was a joke. Tessa gets it was wrong. I don’t know why she’d post it.”
“Oh, you don’t know why she’d post it?” I say, almost happy he’s given me an entry point to bring this up.
“Oh, joy, well, let’s look at the caption: ‘Finally taking a chance! Can you believe he kissed me back?’” I glance at Nate, he’s red now, angry.
I don’t care. “Does that help you understand why she’d post it? ”
“The video doesn’t show you how I felt about it. I didn’t want or like her lips on me, and I told her so.”
“You didn’t like her lips on you?” I push my phone toward him, pausing it on a still a couple of frames before the video fades to black, the image frozen on his hand. “Look at you—eyes on her, cheeks flushed. That’s definitely not the look of someone who didn’t like a kiss.”
“I didn’t! I was confused for a second. Nine seconds, apparently; too long, I admit. I own that. But I didn’t like it.”
His voice rises and then falters. A flush creeps up his neck.
He rakes his fingers through his hair, then drops them.
I should feel satisfaction, but something in his eyes—a flash of panic, not denial—stalls me.
My chest tightens, stupid hope flaring for half a breath.
Maybe we can salvage this. My knuckles whiten against the table, grounding myself.
“Well, then, tell me this, Nate, since you disliked it so much.”
He straightens, ready for whichever challenge I throw at him. My voice is calm, surgical; his breath comes faster, his nostrils widen.
“Nothing’s changed between you and her since that kiss, right? No … let’s say, frequent secret lunches? Maybe breakfast?”
His head jerks up. The smallest hitch in his breath gives him away before the words even reach him. His shoulders stiffen, and he’s not even pale anymore, he’s translucent.
“Or maybe, I don’t know—anything whatsoever that’s been off between you and your actual girlfriend.”
His eyes dart to the floor then back to me.
I push then, because this is what’s going to keep me up at night if I don’t ask. “Because … when was this?” I cross my arms. “Which night that I was working did you kiss someone else?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, but mumbles, “The night I went to the bar with everyone.”
That was two weeks ago. I have to keep the bile creeping up my throat from showing on my expression. “And you’ve kissed me since? Had sex with me since?”
He sucks his bottom lip inward, raw. All I see are betrayals piling up—his fingers flexing, the tiny flare of his nostrils, the way he blinks too fast when he lies.
“It wasn’t—” He stops. His eyelids twitch, and guilt flashes across his face before he can school it. “It was nothing, Robyn. It just happened—”
“That’s the problem,” I say, my voice low. “You didn’t even think. And then you didn’t tell me and you kept being around her like nothing had happened.”
“Because nothing did! It was a joke, Robyn!”
“Maybe. But the joke changed something. And you didn’t confront what that was or why. And in that choice, you didn’t protect what we’ve built.”
He flinches. Not much—just a slight recoil in his shoulders. His eyes glisten, but I can’t tell if it’s remorse or panic. He takes a step closer, hand half raised like he wants to touch me, but I step back.
For a second, I talked myself into thinking there’d be another way. He looked so wrecked seeing himself with her that I thought maybe … but he still doesn’t even get what’s so wrong about this.
“I thought you knew me better than that,” he says, and the smallest quiver breaks his words.
“Yeah, I thought I did too.”
Neither of us move. The rain pitter-patters against the window, but it’s hard to hear over my pulse pounding in my ears. His mouth opens again, trembling at one corner.
Before he does anything else, I add, “Look, I can’t do this.
We know each other. For it to get to this …
there’s something you’re not willing to tell me.
And even if you did now, it’s too late. I—” I will not cry, I tell myself as my words struggle to come out.
“Truth is, I need to be able to focus, and I can’t if this is what you’re doing or thinking when I’m not with you.
” I force the words out. I really don’t want to, but anything other than this is lying the way he did.
So, on a shaky breath, I add, “I have loved you the best way I know how, Nate. I don’t have any more to give you. This is where it ends for us.”
With silent tears running down his cheeks, he shakes his head, faint at first, then more vigorously.
“You should go,” I say.
His throat works again, and the line between his brows deepens as he takes in the room like he’s memorizing it. Then he exhales, defeated. “Please.”
I shake my head. “I have a shift in an hour.”
“So that’s it for you? Two and a half years finished with a twenty-two-minute conversation?
” His voice cracks on “years.” He exhales hard through his nose, biting on the words.
When he looks at me again, the anger’s there—thin, trembling under the weight of the truth.
“You don’t even want to hear me out,” he says, quieter, but his eyes are raw and red-rimmed.
“Don’t forget about the kiss. And your dates. Those ended us too.” My words land like a slap, so I take one deep breath before I add, “Time to go. You have another woman to get to.”
His lashes flutter—tiny, helpless movements that give him away.
He walks to my door, then turns toward me but doesn’t look into my eyes.
“We’re not over, Robyn. I fucked up, but I’ll show you, I’m not throwing us away.
” He exhales. “I’m leaving now because your job is important, and I understand that.
Don’t let your brain confirm that my leaving now means we’re not endgame. ”
The sound of the door closing feels heavier than it should. If this is the right choice, why do I feel like rather than breaking free, the walls are closing in?
I stand there for ten minutes, watching the time go by, staring at the space he left behind until the tremor in my hands fades. Then I breathe and reach for my bag. I have work to do and no time to dwell on failures. Especially not those which don’t belong to me.