Six
B Y SUNDAY EVENING I’VE come to a decision. I finally feel sure.
I’m going to break up with Cash.
The timing is a little awkward since how rude would it be for me to let him pick me up from the airport and then immediately break up with him? But all the signs are in my favor because, a few hours before my flight, he texts saying that his parents had a plumbing issue and he has to help them with it. Is it okay if I take a cab or an Uber back home?
Relieved by the reprieve, I don’t mind the slight inconvenience. I tell him that’s no problem at all and I hope he can fix the plumbing problem without any trouble.
I expect him to suggest dinner tomorrow, but he doesn’t.
Maybe he’s ready to be done with this relationship as much as I am.
A plan forms in my mind as the car my dad hired for me drops me in front of the airport. I’ll buy Cash’s favorite steak sandwich after work tomorrow and bring it to him. We can have the breakup conversation, and then the whole thing will be over.
I’ll feel a lot better once it’s done.
It’s not just Isaac and how guilty my responses to him make me feel. It’s that this relationship has reached its expiration date, and now it’s weighing on me. I hate loose ends and unsettled questions. I hate feeling like I’m reaching for threads that are flying all over, just out of my reach.
Once I get this one thing accomplished, I can let myself relax into life again and figure out what’s best to do about any other loose ends.
When boarding begins, I do my normal checks and rechecks to make sure I have all my stuff and the essentials are easy to access. Then I decide I better run to the bathroom before I get on the plane so I don’t have to get up as soon as the pilot turns off the Fasten Seat Belts light.
There are a lot of women in the restroom, and I’m forced to wait longer than I’m comfortable with before I get a stall. I’m not late, but I feel that way as I hurriedly wash my hands and shake them dry instead of waiting for the blower.
Most of the passengers are on board when I return to the gate, but the attendant is still standing in front of the open door. She sees me and waves. It’s been the same woman at that station for three weeks now.
I wave back but turn to look when I sense activity down the hall.
Isaac. Moving at a fast jog with his suitcase rolling in tow to reach the gate in time.
I wait for him, wanting to smile even as I wonder if he’s still annoyed with me. He’s smiling when he reaches me, so he must not be.
“Got stuck in traffic,” he says. “I was worried I’d miss the flight.”
“You’re just in time.”
“Why aren’t you already in your seat?” His eyes run up and down my body, from my loose, curly hair (falling over everything as usual) to my thick sweater, flannel skirt, and cozy boots.
“I had to run to the restroom, and it was crowded in there.”
We’ve been walking as we talk, and the airline attendant says it’s good to see us again and she hopes we had a great weekend as she scans us in.
I wait until we’re seated and have all our stuff in place before I ask the most pressing question. “So did you do it?”
“I did,” he says. “I broke up with her Friday night.”
A force of relief lifts a weight inside me, almost entirely empathy for him. I imagine it’s exactly how I’ll feel when I finally pull the trigger with Cash. “How did it go?”
“It wasn’t fun. She wasn’t expecting it and didn’t understand.”
“How did you explain it?” I’ve placed my sketchbook and a couple of pencils on my lap, but I haven’t opened it yet. No sense in starting until after takeoff.
“I told her that we wanted different things from the relationship and out of life. She didn’t believe me, and I honestly can’t blame her.” He slouches back and tilts his head in my direction with a rueful expression. “Because I used to think we did want the same things, and I’ve been acting that way the whole time.”
“I’m sorry. That sounds like it must have been hard. For both of you.”
“It was. She’s a good person, and she was hurt. She didn’t deserve that.”
“No. But she also doesn’t deserve to be tied for life to someone who’s pretending to be someone he’s not.”
“That’s true. I still feel kind of bad when I think about it, but mostly I’m relieved. You must be too.”
I stiffen slightly, suddenly scared that he’s seen so far into me that he can spot the little, possessive part of me that’s relieved he’s no longer attached to another woman. “Why would I be relieved?”
He frowns, pulling his eyebrows together. “Because you’ve ended a relationship that wasn’t right for you. Aren’t you relieved?”
“I haven’t broken up with Cash!”
He’s gotten stiff and unhappy again—the way he was on Friday after we got off the plane. “Why not?”
“For one, you have absolutely no reason to assume I was going to do such a thing. And two, I’ve been several states away from Cash this weekend. Surely you can’t imagine I would have broken up with him by text?”
“Ah. Well, no. I guess not. I thought you might have called.”
“I didn’t. And yet again, I’m asking why you assume I’m planning to do it.”
“Because we had an understanding.”
“ You had an understanding, but you came to that understanding in your own head without waiting for my participation.” I don’t know why I feel tart and defensive, but I do. He does this to me all the time. Riles me up in a way I almost never am. “Do we really have to have this argument again?”
“I didn’t think so. I assumed you would have realized what the right decision was over the weekend so we can put this whole issue behind us.”
“It’s only an issue for you. Not for me.”
He shoots me a sideways glare. A very effective one. I wish I could manage a similar expression, but it’s entirely beyond me.
While the plane takes off, we don’t talk. Just give each other speaking looks that prove we’re displeased with each other.
I want to continue the conversation when we reach cruising altitude, but he’s gotten out his laptop and started to work, studiously avoiding acknowledging I exist.
Which is fine.
I can do the same.
After all, having repetitive, tedious arguments isn’t how I’d prefer to spend my flight.
I’m in a prickly mood now—very unusual for me—as I try to sketch. When I can’t focus, I give up and put my pad away and pull out my knitting instead.
He’s still not looking at me. Pretending to be completely untouched by the conflict but privately stewing. I can sense it even though there’s no direct evidence I can pinpoint in his face or body.
He’s so infuriating. If he has something to say, he should just say it instead of holding it all inside and pretending it isn’t there.
I’m so annoyed by him and by myself and by the whole situation that I unintentionally flop my arms. It sends the scarf I’m working on—almost finished now, so it’s long—falling onto Isaac’s arm and his keyboard.
As carefully and coolly as the very first flight we shared, he picks up the soft fabric and drops it over the armrest onto my side.
Just to annoy him as much as he’s annoying me, I flop it back over.
He gives a long-suffering sigh as he removes it again.
I shuffle, sending my yarn off my tray table and jostling his knee with mine.
“Ow,” he says expressionlessly.
“That didn’t hurt you.” I’m leaning over for my yarn, but it’s started to roll, unfortunately not merely onto Isaac’s side but into the aisle.
“It was the vibes I’m getting from your side more than the physical blow that hurt.”
“There was no physical blow! I accidentally bumped your knee.”
“Accidentally. Yes. That’s what it was.”
He leans over to snag my ball of yarn, but the plane shifts slightly and it starts rolling down the aisle.
I tug on my end of the yarn to stop the roll.
“That’s not going to help. Now it’s unwinding even more.”
I stretch over to try to see, leaning on top of him in the process. The fact that I really like the brush of his firm, warm body aggravates me even more.
He collects my loose hair into a handful to keep it from spreading all over him. “Straighten up. I’ll get it.”
I do as he says so he can get out of his seat. It’s a process because of his laptop and tray table. The yarn has stopped midway down the aisle. Most of the plane is watching its progress with interest.
Isaac walks toward it. He’s leaned over and almost snagged it when sudden turbulence rattles the plane. He stumbles, catching himself on someone’s seatback.
The yarn rolls the rest of the way down the aisle until it bumps into the service cart.
I’m shaking with amusement as I watch Isaac chase it down, pausing to steady himself every time the plane rocks and jerks.
He’s got narrowed eyes and tight lips as he finally gets his hand on it. His expression makes me giggle even more as he makes his way back to our seats, neatly rolling up the yarn as he goes.
I expect his mouth to be twitching beneath his stern look when he hands it to me and sits down, but it’s not.
“Are you really pissed?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
“No, I’m not pissed.” He clenches his armrest through a particularly bumpy span of turbulence. “I just prefer to be seated when it’s like this.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I feel terrible since he’s lost some color. “Do you get motion sickness?”
“No, I don’t,” he grits out.
Since the conversation seems to be bothering him, I stay silent until the air smooths out a few minutes later.
“I really am sorry,” I say when I feel him relax. “I was being petty on purpose, and I shouldn’t have done that.”
He searches my face like he’s checking to see if I’m serious. He must see that I am because his expression softens slightly. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I didn’t realize you had any problems with flying.”
“I don’t have any problems.” He’s got his eyes narrowed again, but it’s in that half-teasing way that makes it clear he doesn’t fully mean it.
“I just mean I didn’t realize you don’t like turbulence.”
“It’s fine. I’d merely rather be sitting down.”
“You’ve never acted like it bothers you.”
“I said—”
“I know what you said, and I don’t care if you need to protect your manly ego or whatever. I didn’t realize it was even an issue for you. I would have acted better if I’d known.”
He’s himself again. His mouth twitches. “You’ve acted fine. Aside from your annoying dithering.”
“Dithering!” I forget my sympathy in my indignation. “I don’t dither!”
“If you say so.”
“Talk about pulling a word right out of a Victorian novel.”
He snorts—clearly a laugh he can’t quite hide.
“For the last time, I am sorry. Thank you for retrieving my yarn.”
“You’re welcome.”
I take a shaky breath. “And I am going to break up with Cash.”
He turns to look at me with an almost imperceptible jerk. “You are?”
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“His parents have a plumbing crisis and he can’t pick me up.”
“Convenient.”
“What does that mean?” My eyes are wide as I try to figure out what the timbre of his tone implies.
“Nothing. Just that the plumbing issue seems rather conveniently timed.”
“For him or for me?”
“I meant for him.” He’s both smugly amused and engaged in the conversation. I can’t help but like him this way. “But maybe it’s convenient for you too.”
“I’d rather just get it over with, but I was worried about dumping him after he did me the favor of picking me up from the airport. Why would it be convenient for him?”
“He seems like the kind of man who wants to avoid unpleasant conversations.”
“How would he even know?”
“River, are you serious?” He’s turned fully in his seat so he’s facing me directly. “You have the worst poker face I’ve ever seen in my life. Everything you feel is reflected directly on your face. Even if he’s on the clueless end of the spectrum, do you really think he has no idea what’s about to happen?”
“Oh.” I blink, thinking this through. “So you think he suspects I’m going to break up?”
“Yes. And he doesn’t want it to happen. He likes you.”
Suddenly shy, I drop my head, using my hair to hide my expression. “You think he likes me?”
“Of course he likes you. Who wouldn’t like you?”
My heart leaps at his gruff question, but then it settles when he hurriedly continues.
“I mean, he’s dated you for months now. Naturally he likes you.”
“Oh. I guess so. I was hoping maybe the relationship was easy for him and he’s just been going along with it.”
“Possibly. Guys will do that sometimes.”
“I know they do.”
“But I doubt it with you. You aren’t easy.”
“What?” My eyes are wide and round now as I fumble internally to figure out what he means.
“It’s not an insult,” he says, raising a hand like he’s surrendering. “It’s not a criticism. I’m saying that you aren’t the kind of woman who makes it easy on a man.”
“Why not? I think I’m nice and easy to get along with.”
“Of course you are. But you’re... secure. Sure of who you are. You’ve made a life for yourself and seem content with it. You don’t make a man feel like he can easily sweep in and be a manly hero.”
“Men don’t want that.”
“All men? No, probably not. But some men. You can be damn sure that a lot of men want to feel like they’re the hero and a woman needs them. You don’t really seem to need a man. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.”
“I... I...” I frown, deeply unsettled. I’ve never considered this idea before, and I don’t know how to feel about it. “I’m not really that standoffish, am I?”
“You’re not standoffish at all. You’re...” He glances away like he’s searching for the word. “You’re complete. You’re not waiting for a man to complete you. Because of that, a relationship with you isn’t going to be easy. A guy can’t slide into an empty slot preshaped for him. He has to work to make a place for himself. I don’t know anything about Cash, and I think he’s not been as giving as he could have been with you. But he’s not a complete loser. He saw something in you and went after it whether or not it was easy for him. I give him props for that.”
I’m flushed. Weirdly swoony when he stops talking. It’s not an entirely pure pleasure, however, since it’s mixed up with questions and confusion. I stare down at my unfinished scarf. “Oh. Well. I always try to be nice.”
“I know you do.”
“So I’ll break it to him as gently as I can.”
“I’m sure you will.” He gives a soft, wry chuckle. “Poor guy. Going along all this time thinking he’s done just enough to get and keep River Kennedy. Can’t blame him for doing what he can to avoid the crash that’s waiting for him.”