Chapter 17
I want to be here
To keep my hands and mind busy while Rhys is out getting my things from Connor’s, I decide to give the house a once-over.
My music is blasting, despite the fact my head is still pounding from last night, as I change the bed, load the washing machine, vacuum the whole house and clean the bathroom.
I’m just starting on the kitchen when I hear a knock at the door.
I finish loading a plate into the dishwasher, then go to answer it, my bright yellow marigolds still on.
I open the door with a forced, polite smile that vanishes once I realise who’s on the other side.
“Can we talk?” Connor asks. His hands are casually pushed into his pockets, and his hair is hanging over his eyes, as usual. I fight the urge to push it back into place.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I force out. “Rhys won’t be long.”
“Rhys only got to my house ten minutes ago.” Strange. He left two and a half hours ago. “I let him in and left him to it.”
“That’s very trusting, leaving him with all of your stuff.” My joke is feeble, I know, but I’m desperate to lighten the intensity in Connor’s exhausted stare. Unfortunately, my quip only seems to offend him.
“I don’t care about my stuff, Tilly. I care about you!” He practically shouts it at me, and I instinctively take a step back, which only makes him look more upset.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” he says, running a hand through his hair. Now that strand has been pushed away from his face, I miss it. “Can we please turn off the music and talk about this like adults?”
Letting him in sounds like a terrible idea, bound to end in disaster one way or another. But it also sounds perfect to spend a little more time with Connor before we go our separate ways forever. Selfishly, I step back and let him in.
We walk into the living room without a word, and I turn off the deafening music, making the silence between us even more awkward.
We sit on either end of the couch, me sitting up straight and facing forward, Connor turned towards me with his elbows resting on his knees.
I see, in my peripheral vision, that his head has fallen into his hands, but I don’t know what to say for the best. I wait for him to go first.
“I don’t understand where all of this has come from.” His calm voice has a bite to it that makes me wince. “What happened in the few hours between us seeing each other in the restaurant and you phoning me this morning?”
“I told you, I talked to Rhys and we’re trying again.” I keep my eyes trained on the window on the opposite wall, studying the smudges and fingerprints as a distraction.
“That’s it? After weeks of moving on and recovering from his bullshit, you saw him for an hour and everything was magically okay?”
“Don’t patronise me,” I snap. I understand his point: it was all very rushed. But there was a catalyst that sparked our reunion, and I don’t want to talk to Connor about that, so my only option is to deflect. Luckily, I’ve learned how to do that very well.
“I didn’t mean to patro—”
“I know what you meant. But me and Rhys are married. He’s still my husband for fuck’s sake!”
Connor just looks at me, his face thoughtful.
Come on, make this easier. Fight with me.
“Are you happy?” he asks quietly, catching me off guard. “Is this what you want, or what you think you should do?”
Well, that’s a loaded question. And not one that’s easy to answer.
My happiness is not something I like to think about often, as it generally leads to a spiral.
And I learned long ago that what I want doesn’t matter anyway.
What’s important is making sure everything is as it should be – my house, my job, my husband.
I’m at the bottom of my list of priorities, to put myself anywhere else would be selfish. I don’t matter.
Sensing my hesitation, Connor inches closer.
“If this is honestly what you want, if this makes you truly happy, then I’ll leave you alone.
But if there’s any doubt in your mind, any at all, say the word and I’ll take you back home.
You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be, Til.
” He takes a deep breath. “Please, let me take you back home?”
I so desperately want to say yes. But this isn’t about me. It’s about doing the right thing for everyone involved. Connor doesn’t need me interfering with his life, and judging by the state of Rhys and this house, he does need me around. The choice is clear, if heartbreaking.
“I am home.” I make myself turn to look at him while I say it. “I want to be here. I’m happy.”
“Bullshit.” Connor jumps to his feet and drops to sit on the coffee table directly in front of me. He leans in close. “You forget that I know you, Tilly. I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I protest.
“Did I do something to upset you? Is this my fault?”
The guilt tears me apart that he’s blaming himself, that he sees me not being around as some sort of punishment. He doesn’t understand that this is what needs to happen.
“Oh my God, no! You haven’t done anything wrong.
” I try to convey how genuine I am with my tone and my eyes, but I’m distracted by the sorrow in Connor’s.
“You’ve been such a good friend to me, Connor.
I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you.
But it’s time for me to grow up and get on with my life with Rhys, and I think it would be best for us both if we didn’t speak anymore.
But truly, I’m going to miss you so much. ”
I stand up and hold out my arms to him, and he’s immediately in front of me, hugging me close.
“I don’t like this, Tilly,” he says into my hair.
“I know something’s going on, but if you say this is what you want, then there’s not much I can do about it.
But I’ll always be here if you need me. Shout through the walls, phone me, send a damn carrier pigeon.
” He repeats his words from a few weeks ago, and I manage a small smile.
“I don’t care, just let me be there for you if you need me. Promise me?”
“I promise.”
With a final squeeze, we release each other, and Connor turns to leave.
“Connor?” He turns to look at me from the doorway. “Thank you for being my friend.”
“Always.”
Hours later, the house is finally looking fresh and clean, and Rhys arrives home with my boxes of belongings. Not wanting to end up tripping over them for weeks, I start to unpack everything straight away. I’m surprised when Rhys offers to help.
“You’ve been busy today,” Rhys says, looking around the pristine living room as I put my books away on the bookshelf. “Didn’t have time to do the windows, though?”
Shit, I’d forgotten about the windows, even after noticing the smudges earlier.
“Oh, sorry. I meant to do them…”
Rhys rubs my arm comfortingly. “Don’t be silly,” he says. “You’ve done loads today, and with a hangover too! You can just do them tomorrow, it’s not a problem.”
You can’t even clean properly. Some wife you are.
We unpack together, Rhys never leaving my side as we move from room to room. Eventually, we get to the last box, and Rhys pulls out the kitchen scales.
“I had to rummage around in the kitchen cupboards to find these, they were right at the back,” he says, holding them up disapprovingly.
“Yeah, I didn’t use them much.” I leave out the part where Connor hid them so I couldn’t obsess over weighing everything.
“I’ll put them on the kitchen counter so they’re easy to get to. Do you want to put the calorie tracking app back onto your phone, or shall I do it?”
“Oh, I’ll do it, I guess.”
I hadn’t actually intended on starting back on my old diet, but Rhys mentioning it makes it obvious he thinks I need it.
Living with Connor and his excellent cooking, I’ve probably piled on a few pounds.
I can’t say for sure, though – I haven’t been brave enough to weigh myself yet.
An all too familiar feeling of dread fills my stomach at the thought.
“Okay, make sure to add me to it so I can support you, okay?” Rhys says, then leaves for the kitchen.
Immediately, I drop to the bed, pull out my phone and download the app once more.