Page 68 of True Blue

"I don’t have time for this—I have to go," Teddy snaps, grabbing his keys. "I thought you’d understand."

And with that, I break.

“I do understand!” I explode, my voice stopping him in his tracks. Anger rushes through me, irritation and indignation at being made to feel like I’m a cold, heartless bitch. “All I’ve been is understanding, Teddy. But I feel like you’re being pulled away from me! We barely spend a full night together anymore. You come over after work and we… have dinner, fuck, and maybe watch an episode of a show before your mom calls and you go home. It makes me feel…”

I trail off, squeezing my eyes shut.

“What?” Teddy asks, his voice soft now. “Indie?”

The word tears out of me.

“Unimportant,” I say, my voice thin. I open my eyes. “Cheap. Used.”

“Indie…” he whispers, his face wrecked.

He walks right over to stand in front of me, and for one dumb second, I want to throw my arms around him and take it all back, just because his face looks so devastated.

But I don’t.

“That’s—God, I don’t want you to ever feel like that. You’re my everything.”

“Then show me,” I say, my voice shaking now. “Because I’m getting a lot of mixed signals. You just asked me how I want to be proposed to, and we’re going to move in together in six months.” I search his face. “Are you even ready for that?”

“Yes!” he insists. “Yes, I’m ready. I want to move in with you.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, honey.”

His phone buzzes again, and he exhales hard, already split in two.

“Let me just go to her tonight. Just to make sure she’s okay. Can we do Santorini tomorrow?”

“We can’t. I’m working night shift tomorrow,” I say, feeling frustration rise because I already told him that. More than once.

“What about Friday?”

“It’s Phoebe’s birthday. I’m taking her to dinner.”

“Saturday?” he asks, pulling his jacket on already.

“I’m working.”

His phone buzzes again.

“You know what?” I snap, stepping back. “Just go. I’ll do it myself.”

Teddy looks torn. I just feel defeated.

He steps toward me, leaning in to kiss me, but I turn so he catches my cheek instead. He looks sad, and it momentarily makes me want to forget my irritation, to apologize. For what, I have no idea.

"Don’t finish it tonight," he says, his voice dropping. "We’ll do it Sunday. I’ll skip dinner."

That surprises me enough to cut through my irritation. He has not missed a family dinner since Ellie died.

“Really?”

He nods eagerly. “I promise, honey.”