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“Let’s just be us, like this? Aren’t you happy with us?” Connor sits up and leans forward, his demeanor growing more earnest and deliberate.
“Of course, I’m happy. I’ve never been happier.” I feel myself about to surrender. Cash in all of my dreams for him. He’d be worth it, I know he would. But in the past month, I’ve tasted the air on my wings. I know what life could be — what I truly envision it to be for me — for us. It’s too soon to give up on it now. I choke on the words as they come out in starts and stops that sound anything but convincing.
“But I want this relationship to be going somewhere serious, don’t you?”
“It is serious. It is to me. Why do you need a piece of paper and some ceremony to prove that?”
“What?” My eyes narrow and my brow furrows. How is this my life?
“Lainey, look, being married taught me that I’m a pretty shit-tastic husband. I love you, but I can’t get married again. Marriage was a one-time deal for me. I had my one time, it was a disaster and now I just want to be happy.”
“So, you never want to get married?” Tears gather. I don’t want them. I don’t want to hear this. His words are equal parts shocking and distressing. Miss Insecure threatens to break down her closet door, but Inner Sex Goddess blocks the way. He’s joking. He has to be.
“No, baby, I’m sorry. I don’t.” His voice is kind and almost remorseful. “Look, I’m doing my best with the whole boyfriend thing, OK. Let me get used to that for a while. Then maybe we could talk about moving in together or something like that.” His tone is one of love and tenderness, but his words feel like a dagger, slicing at my heart.
“Boyfriend thing? You’re uncomfortable with a committed relationship? And what do you mean ‘maybe’ move in together? We’ve been living together for the past five weeks.” Anger rips through my voice and suddenly rule four sucks.
“Don’t turn this into a therapy session, OK. If you want me, this is how you get me. I’ve made enough concessions to have you as it is.” Disappointment and annoyance drip from his words. Good, now he knows exactly how I feel.
“Concessions? What exactly is that supposed to mean?” I fold my arms over my chest. I need a barrier between him and my heart. I need fortified, reinforced steel, but my indignation and arm-crossing will have to do for now.
“The boyfriend thing. I actually hate that, Lainey,” he says dismissively. “Not because I want to date anyone else, I don’t. But because I don’t want our thing to be about labels. Why can’t we just be together? We’re good together. I like who I am with you. You’re easy and, until just now, pretty simple.” What is he even saying?
“I’m a complicated label now?” And just like that my Inner Analyst polishes up her black glasses and pulls out her notebook.
“Lainey, Jesus! How did we even get onto this subject? Why can’t we just enjoy the beach? We can discuss all of this when we get home.” Inner Analyst scribbles so furiously that she has to turn a page in her notebook.
Connor disappears inside the house, murmuring something about needing a beer. I am numb. Inner Analyst tries to console me.He’s experienced a great deal of trauma. As have you. It’s clear that while the two of you can offer one another a friendship with lots of benefits, you want different things. We should start regular sessions to help ease your transition after this breakup. I will conduct them during the middle of the night when you should be sleeping. We’ll meet later.
Break up? Connor and I are going to break up?Yes, my Inner Analyst nods.You don’t want to date for the rest of your life, do you? You want to get married, and that’s not going to happen.I shake my head. Stuffing my feet into my flip-flops, I wrap myself in my coverup and start walking toward the road in front of the house.
“Lainey, where are you going?”
“For a walk,” I say bluntly. “I need to think.”
“Lainey, look, I promise we will talk about all of this. Later. OK?”
He actually sounds like he means that when he says it. But I know it’s just his way of telling me that when we talk later what he’s really going to do is turn up the charm and try to convince me to keep things as they are. And why wouldn’t I want that? Connor is wonderful. He loves me. He’s amazing. But I want more. I want evermore, just like he had put on my tattoo.
I walk around the tiny island, stopping for lemonade and a cookie. I finally wander back to the house around sunset, but Connor isn’t there. There was a time when I’d totally freak out about that. I’d worry and wonder about what he was thinking of me, how he was judging me and being angry that I can’t do something he wants — which isn’t even a bad thing. But that girl is gone. She’s flown away and she can never come back.
