72. Megan
Chapter 72
Megan
In the morning, Ollie throws the rear doors open wide, and we’re greeted with a sea view and bright, blue skies. He tugs the covers back, planting a kiss on my freckles as he climbs over me to pull on shorts and make coffee. Suddenly the view inside the van is a lot more captivating, and I rub at the spot where he kissed me, so close to my heart.
He warms the extra cinnamon buns Luke gave us in a frying pan. There’s no space for an oven in the van, though he’ll be able to barbecue things with his outdoor stove if he wants to. I briefly wonder how he’ll cope without the pizza we often share on Friday nights, but maybe he’ll meet someone with an oven and have pizza with her instead.
He brings everything over to bed and sits with his back against the wall opposite me. We tangle our legs together beneath the covers and eat in silence. Once I’m finished, I crawl into the space between his legs and rest my back against his chest. His warm arms wrap around me and we sit like that for a while, just breathing together and enjoying the view.
Miles of uninterrupted horizon spread out before us, and I’m not sure I’ve ever known a peace like it.
“I wish we didn’t have to go back home today,” I say, surprising myself.
“Me neither. I wish…” he whispers against my hair, but a long time passes before he finishes his sentence. I don’t press him. The knot in my stomach already knows what he’s going to say. “Come with me?”
My heart swells, but the rest of me stiffens in his arms.
It’s a nice idea, and that’s all it could ever be. A fantasy. A dream that might have been possible if only I’d met him ten years earlier.
He sighs deeply and scoots out from behind me, shifting to perch on the end of the bed with his back to me. He is heaven against the backdrop of sea and sky, the best view of all.
The expanse of his back, muscles toned from countless hours of hard work. The mop of curls mussed up from sleep and my hands. The tattoo that captivates me more than any artwork ever has. I reach out and touch him, but he shakes his head and shifts out of reach.
“Forget I said anything.”
Obviously I can’t forget a question like that, I just don’t know what to say in response.
As lovely as this weekend adventure is, the idea of living on the road, in a van , is still completely alien to me. I’m a girl who likes her home comforts, her skincare routine, and meal-prep lunches. I can’t do nomad life not knowing when my next hot shower will be. I’m never going to be able to poop in a wooden cupboard knowing he’s on the other side of it.
“I’m gonna take a walk,” he says, hopping down and disappearing from view.
Tears spill easily, and there’s nothing I can do but let them. Why did he have to ask me to do that? Did he honestly think I’d say yes? With my new job, how would this ever possibly work?
If this were the other way around, and I was asking him to stay, well… I wouldn’t even ask. We’re different people, on different paths, and though it hurts to know there’s no future for us, I would never want him to give up on his dreams.
I channel my frustrations into making the bed and washing up our breakfast dishes, drying them carefully and tucking them back into their designated spots in the overhead cabinet.
Ollie returns a little while later, looking just as fed up as when he left. Attempting to give him space is impossible, but this silence is different to the one we shared an hour ago. This one hurts.
“Are you pulling away from me?” I ask. His answer comes in the form of shrugged shoulders. “Please don’t do that. If you don’t talk to me, I’m going to invent something, and it won’t be good.”
“There’s no point inventing something when I’m being perfectly clear with you. I said what I said, and I meant it. I'm asking you to come with me because you’re the best adventure I’ve ever had. I like this thing we have, and I don’t want it to stop.”
“I can't, Ollie. You know I can’t. I have responsibilities.”
“So just come for the summer.”
“I can't .”
“You can't or you won't?”
It's both. Isn't it?
“Don't make me choose.”
“You already did,” he sighs, dropping to sit on the bench seat I made a topper for.
He rests his elbows on his knees and holds his head in his hands.
“This is your dream, Ollie.” I wave my arms around at his months of hard work. The cabinets he built with his bare hands. The flooring he laid. The window he travelled miles to collect. “You built all of this for yourself, so you can live life on your own terms. Have your big adventures, explore the world, meet new people. I was never a part of that plan, and you don’t want some old woman tagging along with you.”
“Fucking stop that,” he snaps. “Your age has never once been an issue for me. It's the least interesting thing about you, and it pisses me off when you act like your life is over just because you’re in your thirties.”
“I’m nearly forty!” I yell back.
“You’re thirty-two,” he scoffs. “Give me a break. And you think I’m the childish one.”
Swallowing hard, I take a step back and a few deep breaths. I’m not good at confrontation, and I don’t want to argue about this at all.
“Please, don’t be like that. I want to have a family someday. We both know I'm too old for you.”
“OK fine, you’re old,” he shrugs, and my head snaps back. “What? I'm not going to sit here and try to convince you of something when you've already made your mind up.”
“You’d rather go with the flow. I’m rigid and stuck in my ways.”
When previous relationships have ended, I’ve pleaded my case, counting all the ways I’m the right person for them. It’s not lost on me that I’m doing the opposite here and pushing him away.
“Do you think I’m going with the flow when I spend all day at work looking forward to getting home and seeing you? Singing songs that remind me of you? Dreaming up a life we could have together?”
Seeing him pour his heart out like this is agony, and the reason we should have talked about what we’re doing as soon as this started. If I’d known it would come to this, to our feelings growing to the point of devastation, I’d have kept my distance.
I reach out to cup his face, desperate to stay close even while I’m tearing us apart. More tears come when I see how glossy his eyes are, too.
“Ollie, I’m sorry. This was never going to be forever, and I’m looking for a forever kind of love.”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, tugging my hands away and stepping as far back as he can. “All you want is someone who loves you. You just don’t want it to be me.”
“I do want you,” I sob. “But you’ll have a much better time doing this on your own.”
“Don’t act like you’re doing me some sort of favour by making me go alone, because that’s the last thing I want. If you don’t want to come with me, that’s fine, but at least have the decency to be honest about why. You’re scared to try something different.”
The only thing I’m scared of is how much I want to take all of this back. The urge to say yes is overwhelming, but ‘fuck it’ moments are for characters in romance novels. I can’t throw my life away for this man who has so much more of his ahead of him. I already put too much of my life on hold for Max, and promised I’d make sure my needs and goals were equally important in any future relationship.
“Can we just forget I said anything about it?” he asks, his voice thin and strained. “I’ve really loved this weekend with you and I don’t want my lasting memory of it to be us arguing.”
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, wishing I knew where the tissues were. “Sure. Can I still hug you?”
His face crumples and he spreads his arms wide for me to step into them. “Of course you can.”
We stand like that for a while, two bodies swaying in the middle of his van. I press my ear to that spot on his chest to remind myself this is real, he is real. His hand weaves through my hair and tips my head back to look at him.
Most of the time when Ollie kisses me, it fuels a hunger in us both that leads to hands roaming and grabbing and pulling at clothes. This one is different. He holds back.
It feels like there are miles between our lips, and the realisation that this could be our last kiss, wounds me even deeper than anything we’ve left unsaid.