‘Was it all bullshit? Was this your plan? Pretend to be divorced, throw in the whole “I’m not interested in a relationship” spiel so you can piss off afterwards, guilt-free. Well, you missed a trick not sleeping with me, I would have jumped into bed with you in a heartbeat.’
‘There wasn’t any plan. I didn’t plan any of this.’
‘I might be looking to meet someone but that someone is not a married man! Fuck, at least those pineapple maniacs are honest.’
He sits quietly, while I take a beat.
‘I just don’t get it,’ I say. ‘We’re both grown-ups. Why not just say you’re single?’
‘Because I’m not single, Sophie. I’m widowed. My wife died.’
Fucking hell. I wasn’t expecting that. My pacing quickly grinds to a halt.
‘Two years ago. . . my wife, Abby. . . she had breast cancer. Runs in her family.’
I feel a pang of remorse for yelling at him now. But he shouldn’t have lied. I sit back down on the bed. ‘Shit. That’s awful, I’m so sorry for you.’
‘Yeah, it was a tough time. The kids are grown but it was obviously hard on everyone. I didn’t tell you I was widowed because “divorced” doesn’t elicit the same response.’
‘I think I understand.’
‘When I talk about Abby, I feel sad and, God knows, I spend enough time feeling sad. But I’d never say I was single. I couldn’t ever bring myself to say that. That’s somehow worse than not mentioning her at all.’
It’s starting to make a little more sense now. Referring to his wife as ‘was’ instead of ‘is’. Having had enough love to last him a lifetime. Why he’s here alone.
‘I took time off to be with her,’ he tells me. ‘Then I took time off to grieve her. And now. . . well, I’m taking time to decide if this is still the life that I want. I don’t think I can just keep going down the same road without her. I need things to change.’
‘Ellis, I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ he assures me. ‘Just know that I’ve loved spending time with you. Fuck, you’re the only woman I’ve spent any time with since I lost Abby. . . But I’m just not ready for anything else. I’m not sure I ever will be. That part is still true.’
‘I understand,’ I reply. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I hope everything works out for you, Ellis.’
I get up and head towards the door.
‘Just know,’ he says, before I leave. ‘Our kiss. I don’t regret it. At the time, it felt right. But. . .’
‘But not any more. I get it.’
He nods. I open the door and leave.
I get back to my room, my head spinning. I feel sad. I feel foolish. A forty-five-year-old woman getting all misty-eyed over one kiss from a man she only met a week ago. It’s ridiculous.
I don’t feel like breakfast any more either. I start to pack, robotically going through the motions while I try to make sense of it all. Wet shampoo bottles thrown into my case without care. Clothes balled up and tossed on top. I don’t care. I just want to get out of here.
There is a part of me that feels for him. Losing your wife– the mother of your children– is undoubtedly traumatic. I can understand why someone would feel like they’d never get involved with anyone again. But I still can’t help feeling cheated. Feeling stupid for being hopeful that I might’ve just found someone special.
It has taken me ninety days to finally meet someone. And twenty minutes to lose them.
I take my cases down to the atrium, where a porter loads them onto a trolley for me. It’s jam-packed and noisy, not exactly what I need right now.
‘Time to go!’ Lucas announces, waving me over. He and Cam are dressed in Hawaiian shirts and don’t look at all sad to be going home.
‘Morning,’ I say. ‘Have they put on coffee or anything? I’m exhausted.’
‘I bet you are,’ Lucas says.
Cameron kindly grabs me a cup of coffee from the machine in the middle of the room.
