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“We don’t belong together.” I don’t believe the words, even though I know they’re true, even though I have proof. “And I’m not going to be an albatross around your neck. You belong somewhere else. And I belong here. We should end this now, before it gets too complicated.”
“Even if that’s true—”
“It is true,” I say.
“What ifyoubelong in New York?”
I shake my head. “I need to be here with the company, with my sister.” As much as I don’t fit into Huntington Hills, I mean every word. I can’t imagine a life three thousand miles from my Lexi. “And you need to be there. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re not a good fit. You saw it, too.”
It takes a couple seconds, but an epiphany fills his eyes when he realizes. “Because we’re not a match on the app?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you didn’t ask,” he says. “Because I didn’t think it mattered.”
“I do.”
“I love you. That’s what matters.”
“No, it’s not.” I shake my head, not even letting myself process his words. “This is real life. Other things matter.”
“Do you love me?”
I don’t know. How can anyone know? I care about him, yes, and that’s why I have to do this. Because it’s what’s right for both of us. “I’m sorry.”
“Dee.”
“It just doesn’t make sense, and it’s just…it’s too much fun. I need to end things, before I get more invested, before we both get more invested in something destined to fail. We owe that to ourselves.”
“Is that all it is? Logic?” he asks.
“What else is there?”
His eyes fix on mine. His posture firms. He’s sure. He’s strong. He’s proud. “What about the magic?”
“What magic?”
“Tell me you don’t feel anything and I’ll walk away, now,” he says. “Tell me you aren’t drawn to me. Tell me you don’t feel sparks when we’re together. Tell me you don’t picture a future. Tell me that, any of it, and I’ll leave. No questions. No argument.”
I can’t tell him that.
There is something here. I am drawn to him. I do want him to stay. I want it so badly, but it doesn’t make sense.
“I’m sorry, River,” I say.
“Tell me you don’t feel anything,” he repeats. “Then I’ll leave.”
“I feel something.” That’s true. But this is true, too. “An infatuation. A crush. Good sex.” It takes all my strength to say the words. “We’re caught up in that.” That’s the only thing that makes sense. We’re having fun. Because how could it be more? No. My feelings are misfiring. Everything is off. This is the only thing that makes sense. “I’m sorry, but it’s not enough.”
He shakes his head, but he accepts it.
I offer him the room.
And he packs and leaves.
And I don’t feel any better. I feel empty and miserable.
Maybe that’s love. Letting someone go, even though it hurts, even though you’d rather hold on.
