“I’m so sorry,” she says again, once they fall into step on an empty path.
“Did you take the video?” When she gives him a questioning look, he continues: “Then you have nothing to be sorry for.”
She waits for him to start panicking. For him to berate her for being so careless.
“Is your phone blowing up?” she asks. Surely, once he sees the impact of this post, he’ll realize the gravity of the situation. “Maybe the holiday slowed things down, but it’s probably only a matter of time…”
“Haven’t really checked it today.” He slides it from his pocket, keeping the screen where she can see it, too. When he opens his inbox, she wonders if she can feel his heart rate spiking right along with hers. Subject lines likeIs this really you?andWHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US??andso how is she in bed?andyou’ll never love her like I love her—the last ones no doubt from anonymous trolls.
Then he swipes over to Instagram, where his private profile has been flooded with message requests, his DMs overflowingfrom the followers he had before he went private. The idea of all these strangers harassing him, demanding information from him…it’s too much. The quarter might be over, but it’s not a good look for a professor and student—he could probably still face consequences from the university. She thinks about that reporter showing up on campus. What’s to stop someone from trying that again?
But then, as if it’s truly this simple, she watches as he navigates to settings.
And deactivates his account.
“You don’t have to—” she starts.
“I haven’t used it in years,” he says. “I’m glad to be rid of it, honestly.”
Nick runs a hand down his face, jostling his glasses, and she wishes she could read his mind. The cold has already flushed his cheeks a deep red. Even with his levelheaded reassurance, she has a feeling he’s out of his depth here. That whatever marginal amount of joy she brings him isn’t enough to cancel that out.
“I know you didn’t sign up for any of this,” she says, voice shaky. “And if I make a public statement about Zander, it’s just going to make the scrutiny worse.Fuck—” She pushes her fingertips hard into her eyes. “I am so tired—so tired—of living my life worrying which people I’m going to offend.”
Suddenly Nick stops in his tracks in the snowy forest. “Ramona,” he says, and there’s a firmness in his voice she hasn’t heard for a while. Maybe not since their first couple weeks of class, and even then, there was a distance to it. “Don’t you realize what a privilege it is, not being normal? How hard a million other people work to try to make it? How special it is, to have your music impact people this much, to the point where they care about yourevery decision?” A harsh puff of breath. “I’m not saying it isn’t intrusive as fuck. I’m not saying it’s right. But goddamn it, Ramona, have a little respect for what you created.
“You might be able to retire,” he continues. “You can say you’re done with it and move on to something else, but your music and your show are still out there. And that’s not changing. People are still going to sing along when they hear a song in public. They’re still going to get tattoos of your lyrics. It’s agift, what you’ve given people—the ability to see themselves, to feel understood, to feel heard. All without ever meeting them.”
Ramona staggers backward, as though his words have slapped her across the face. “I—I do realize that. I know it’s a huge privilege, and that I’m really fucking lucky.” Except…he’s not wrong, is he? She’s been so quick to write it all off, so eager to close that chapter and burn the whole book. With a jut of her chin, she says, “I didn’t ask for it, though. I didn’t choose it.”
“No, maybe not at first,” he says. “And that wasn’t fair to you. But this is the hand you were dealt. We all have to figure out how to live with our circumstances, no matter how shitty. I obviously wouldn’t have chosen to get divorced—”
“Obviously.”Ramona chokes on the word, and Nick must immediately realize his mistake, because he winces. “I’m sorry you’re slumming it with me when you’d rather be in a long and loving marriage.”
“You know that’s not the way I meant it.” He draws a heavy sigh, rubs at the back of his neck. “There are no easy answers to any of this. It’s complicated.”
What he must mean:It’s too much for me.
They may not have to worry about UCLA anymore, sinceshe’s not going to sign up for another one of his classes, but they were idiots for thinking that was their biggest threat.
Inexplicably, his voice turns softer. “We just…have some things to figure out.”
“Do we?” She doesn’t mean to scoff at this. “It’s pretty clear we have an expiration date. My mom said it so eloquently that day she showed up at my house.”
At that, his jaw hardens. “Your mother was entirely out of line. Not just that day—your whole life. Maybe she never hit you, but that’s not the only way to abuse someone. And I’m so fucking sorry you went through that. You have no idea how badly I want to erase it for you. How badly I wish it could have been different.”
It’s not fair of him, saying all the right things like this.
“Look—” She breaks off, thoroughly confused. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. If you’re trying to break up with me, just do it. I can handle it. As so many lovely publications on the internet will tell you, I’ve certainly had enough experience.”
Even as she says it, she realizes that she could do it. She could end it right now, put them both out of their misery, even if breaking up implies they’re in a relationship they never truly defined. Even if part of her just wants him to keep calling herhoney. For them to go back inside and curl up next to the fireplace, pretend none of this ever happened.
Nick looks stunned. “That’s—that never crossed my mind.”
“You ask if we can talk. You tell me all these things I’m doing wrong. You get clear evidence that being with me is more of a nightmare than it’s worth. What the hell is this, then?”
“We’re working out an issue. Together. That’s…that’s what a relationship is.”
Oh.
