Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Later that night, the echo of Liv’s words keeps my mind spinning, blurring the pages of my book before my eyes. No matter how hard I focus, nothing sinks in.
Giving up, I turn off my bedroom light and climb into bed. It takes a while to get settled. Comfort becomes a battle; pillows are squashed and fluffed, blankets are tossed away in a huff, then reclaimed in the next breath before I’m curled into a ball, holding my phone. I stare at the screen for a long minute before pressing the call button.
Ian surprisingly answers on the first ring. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” I murmur, trying to wrap myself in the comfort of a memory of us untouched by doubt or criticism.
He goes quiet for a moment. “Did you go out tonight?”
“No. The others did. I stayed home, poured a glass of wine, and sat on the deck with my e-reader.”
“A romance book?”
“Yes. It’s for my book club.”
He snorts. “I don’t know why you read that trash. It’s so beneath you. All it does is give false expectations of what love and life are really about.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t start with that again, babe. That’s not why I called.”
He sighs. “Why did you call?”
I’m about to answer when I’m interrupted by footsteps drawing nearer. Their echoes bounce down the hall and mingle with the hushed whispers outside my room. The loud bang of a door slamming shut reverberates from the hallway. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I just got off from work.”
“Oh.” More footsteps tap against the floor, retreating this time.
“I have some bad news.”
My spine stiffens, a reflex to brace for impact. “What is it?”
“I canceled my flight.”
“What? Why?” I sit up.
“I think it’s best.”
He thinks it’s best? What kind of answer is that? “When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now. It was a last-minute decision.”
“Is it work? Did you get called in?” I know these things happen with doctors, and it’s something I’ll have to get used to.
“No, it’s not work.” The finality in his tone feels like a door closing, and suddenly I’m standing on the outside, looking in.
“Then what is it? Is it us? You don’t want to be here with me?”
He sighs. “Skylar, baby. I would want nothing more. But you know all we’ll probably do is fight. And I’m not trying to have an audience for that. I’ll end up looking like the bad guy, and then your friends will talk crap about me and fill your head with a bunch of terrible advice.”
As much as we fight, Ian is all about appearances. He’d never fight around other people. His public image is everything to him. His parents taught him that. Never air your dirty laundry. And never, ever give anyone ammunition to say something incriminating about you.
Besides, he’s not entirely wrong on how this weekend could go. Maybe he’s right. He shouldn’t come. The whole reason why I planned a girls’ trip in the first place was because I felt we needed some space from each other. But now it’s a couples’ trip, and I’m the fifth wheel.
“You’re probably right. Space might do us some good. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”
“And all that.” A hint of a smile colors his voice. “We both have a lot to think about,” he adds on a somber note. “Because how things stand, it’s not working.”
“You’re right.” A weight lifts off my shoulders at his words. Things haven’t been right for a long time—no matter how hard we seem to work at it. “We do have a lot to think about. Our relationship, the wedding…”
“What about the wedding?”
“Maybe we should put it on pause,” I hesitantly suggest.
“It’s ten months away. How much more of a pause do you think we need?”
“You said it yourself. It’s not working.” My doubts are spilling out now.
“Sure, we fight sometimes. But every couple does.”
“ Sometimes ? We fight all the time. Aren’t you tired? Because I am.”
He’s had less patience lately. We both have. And now that I’m trying to speak up for myself more, we’ve been fighting more than not.
“Of course I’m tired. But I wasn’t talking about breaking up?—”
“Neither am I,” I cut in.
“So what are you saying? You want to take a break?”
The conversation is unraveling faster than I expected. I was talking about postponing the wedding, but his mention of a break strikes a chord. We’ve tried everything, short of counseling. Spicing things up, date nights, better communication—still, we end up back where we started.
Deep breath, Skylar. It might be easier over the phone. “Maybe it’s not the worst idea.”
“Who the fuck are we? Ross and Rachel?” His tone is incredulous.
I’m puzzled for a moment. “Who?”
“Never mind. Nineties reference,” he mutters. “I was okay with skipping the weekend, not our entire relationship. It’s like we’re giving up. And I’m not fucking cool with that. We can’t give this up. I can’t give you up. Not without a fight.”
“Can you really say that you’re happy with me? Because it often seems like you’re not. Your mood swings are crazy, and you’re always criticizing me. It’s like I’m not enough for you. And if that’s the case, then maybe?—”
“No.” His voice rises in a desperate plea, the sound cutting through the air like a sharp knife. “Fuck that. You love me, and I love you. We’re just going through a rough patch. But we’ll fix it. We will.” His tone hardens, his resolve unwavering. Despite his efforts to sound confident, there is a tremor in his voice. “We’ve been together for over a year. It hasn’t all been bad. We’ve had some great fucking times.”
“We have,” I acknowledge, the memories a mix of sweet and sour. The way he courted me, the way he loved me—I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. But now…I just don’t know anymore, and it kills me. “But I don’t know if it’s enough anymore.”
“Do you still love me?”
My heart clenches at the question that has plagued me for months. Do I still love him ? I gnaw on my lower lip, deciding on which way to go. The answer is complicated. He’s right; we have had some good times. But we’ve had our share of bad times too. A lot of them. And they weren’t all huge blowups that left me crying myself to sleep. Some of our bad times were like tiny cuts that never healed, slowly becoming infected with doubts, insecurities, and pretenses.
Painful truth or comforting lie.
“Skylar.” He snaps me out of my thoughts.
“I love you, Ian. I do. But…” A rush of tears cloud my vision. “I’m not in love with you, and I’m sorry. I?—”
“Fuck!” The sound of glass shattering echoes through the phone.
“Ian,” I choke out, my heart breaking for us both. For minutes on end, I’m a mess of tears, listening to him fall apart on the other end of the line. “Ian,” I say again, softer this time, my voice pleading. Is this all me? He says he loves me, but does he really? Esme’s words keep echoing in my mind. Am I just a trophy to him? Does he want me because he thinks I’m moldable, easy to shape into what he wants?
“What?” He sniffles.
“I think we just need to rediscover?—”
“By taking a fucking break?” His voice breaks with emotion. “No! We’ll find our spark again. I’ll make you fall in love with me all over again. Just don’t leave me. Not like she did.”
I freeze, unsure if he's referring to his mom or his ex-fiancée. Either way, his words slice through me, carving twin grooves of pity and guilt deep in my chest. I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “I’m not leaving you. Not forever. But this is the best thing. For both of us. We need to know that we’re strong enough on our own before we can truly join together as husband and wife.”
Silence hangs heavy between us as I listen to his deep breaths and stifled sobs. This is the best decision for both of us, no matter how much it hurts in the moment.
“What if at the end of this break, we don’t find our way back to one another?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to soothe the ache in my chest. “Then it was never meant to be.”
“Don’t give up on me, Skylar. You owe it to me—to us—to try. Please, please come back to me. If you want this break”—he sighs—“we’ll take the break. But we’re not canceling the wedding.”
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. “We’ll keep the wedding date—for now. But we have to be honest with ourselves and each other.”
Maybe, just maybe, this time apart will bring us back together stronger than ever before, and if that’s the case, I’ll marry Ian without hesitation or doubt. But if not…then maybe it’s time to let go and find our own paths separately. Only time will tell. Ten months from now, we’ll have a clearer picture of what our future holds for us.