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“You don’t think that means something?” he asks, his voice urgent now. Hurting. He takes my hand. “You don’t think the fact that my face popped up on your dating app when I was sitting next to you meant something? Or that I happened to take a job at your company that very same week meant something? Or that your best friend was marrying my brother?”
“I think maybe it meant that Fate has a funny sense of humor,” I say. “But let’s not forget, when we saw each other on that dating app, neither was interested. That means something too, Thomas. That we aren’t meant for each other.”
He looks away, and I squeeze his hand, begging him to understand.
“I believe in first impressions. Gut feelings. Intuition. You don’t want the girl with blue hair, Thomas.”
He opens his mouth, but I set my hand lightly over his lips, stopping the words. “You think you do now. I’m a novelty. You’ve been one to me too. But it’s time for us to get on with our real lives.”
His gray eyes do something I haven’t seen before, something shiny and terrible, and I shake my head even as my own eyes do the shiny thing too.
“No,” I say vehemently. “You said. You said that if I want to walk away, at any point, I could. You said I wouldn’t have to give a breakup speech, though this sort of feels like one.
“And you said,” I continue on a breath. “That there’d be no fear of hurting you, no pressure to stay longer than I want to.”
“Because you aren’t supposed to want to walk away, Mac,” he says, angry now, though he takes a deep breath, as though trying to regain control.
His eyes are miserable. “I’ll let you go. I said I would, and I will, but won’t you just tell me why? What I did? It can’t be because I quit my job for you. That’s not it.”
“No,” I agree. “No, that wasn’t it.”
I mean to say anything else, but I don’t, and Thomas watches me with a patient, resigned look on his face.
Finally, he sighs. “You don’t know why, do you? You have no idea why you’re walking away from me.”
Wordlessly, I shake my head, tears running down my cheeks.
He nods. “Okay. Okay.” Then he pulls me close, kisses the top of my head, and pulls me against his side, his arm wrapped around me as I cry.
It’s not a breakup speech.
But it is a goodbye.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Friday, November 11
Since I don’t really do relationships, I don’t do breakups either. But I have had some nasty parting of ways with some of my flings, and normally it’s Collette who gets me through them, armed with ice cream and action movies, and guys are the worst.
Jon and Collette are honeymooning in Iceland, and I’m not so pathetic that I’d crash that with my melancholy, so I find myself leaning on another friend instead, a new one, but the only person who has a semblance of understanding of my situation.
“Damn,” Stephanie says, after I’ve repeated the entire story for the second time at her direction. “Damn, he is . . .”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t even think about saying something like ‘pretty great.’ ”
He’s not pretty great. He’s really great. I know it and I don’t want to hear it.
Stephanie holds up her hands innocently. “Okay, okay. But can I ask something that has to do with you? Nothing to do with Thomas?”
“Sure.” I wipe my nose.
“When you were a little girl. Like, nine,” Stephanie says, pouring a bit more whisky in my glass, then her own. “What was your favorite fairy tale? Like, were you into the super-dark ones? The Disney versions? Write your own, so the princess saved the prince?”
I shake my head. “None of the above. We didn’t have a TV. My mom wasn’t really the ‘read before bed’ type. I wasn’t a read at all type. I knew they existed, of course, but only in sort of the loose concept.”
“I see. So you never imagined your Prince Charming?”
“Definitely not.” I grab a handful of Goldfish.
“Okay. And what about romantic comedies? Hallmark Christmas movies? Romance novels?”
I shake my head. “Not a fan. I like my movies with lots of explosions. My favorite book genre is true crime. The only Christmas movie I like is Die Hard, and maybe The Grinch.”
“And your mom—you said she never married? What about your dad?”
I shrug. “He wasn’t in the picture. My mom told him she was pregnant, he wasn’t interested, so I’m not interested. And no, Mom never married. Not even close.”
“Okay,” Stephanie says, nodding. “Okay. I’m going to give you some homework. Now first, I’m going to put up the disclaimer that as a modern woman, I don’t think every woman needs a man. I don’t think every couple needs a piece of paper in order to have a healthy, happy relationship. But I would like to offer up some, shall we say, counter examples to your way of thinking.”
