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“It’s been... hard,” I hear myself saying. “Something happened to me when I was younger. Something that made me not trust people.”
I can feel him watching me. Why have I just opened this door? It’s something I’ve told no one—and I’ve liked it that way. And now Paul is waiting for me to say more.
The tractor chugs to a stop in the fields where, in the fall, thereis a corn maze, a pumpkin patch, and a bunch of bounce houses. Today there are only a few plots of crops and a pick-your-own-flowers pavilion, which I intend to check out. I stand quickly, making my way toward the back to climb off. Paul follows me, and I can tell his mind is churning, formulating ideas about me. I paste a smile on my face and head for the flowers. “I love wildflowers,” I call to Paul over my shoulder. “You’re not too cool to pick some, right?”
We buy bottles of water and pick some wildflowers until we have a big bunch. I’m pleased to see that Paul has gotten into it, arranging his bouquet by color and adding a few random weeds and sprigs of hay to “dress the whole thing up.” Afterward, he presents the sloppy bouquet to me, and I blush. “It’s really something,” I mock gush. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”
“You think?” He grins. “Do I have a future as a florist?”
“Oh, definitely.”
We sit down on the logs that, in colder weather, would be in front of a roaring fire. I put Paul’s bouquet to my face, inhaling the sweet, springy scents. I can feel Paul looking at me with concern.Please don’t ask me any questions,I silently will.Please just pretend I never said anything.
“Anyway,” he says, his gaze falling to the dewy grass. “If we could talk to Sienna again, see if we can pinpoint the month when she remembers Greg coming home drunk, then we could cross-reference that with Greg’s calendar. Maybe he put who he was out with on there. It’s not as if he thought the thing was ever going to be public.”
“Sounds great.” I want to hug him for moving on so seamlessly. I pull out my phone, getting an idea. “Actually, we might be able to look through all those dates and see if there’s anything suspicious on his calendar right now.”
But when I try to access the hack site, the little wheel in the corner of my phone screen just spins and spins. We’re too far out in the country to get service. I slip the phone back in my pocket. It will have to wait until later, then.
The air smells like dirt and manure, and I’m transported to the last time I was here. I was twelve, maybe thirteen; we’d picked apples. I have glimpses of my mom in my memory, but I can’t remember a thing she said to me. We must have talked aboutsomething.I hate how cruel memory can be, hanging on to the things you’d rather forget, dropping those you’re desperate to hold on to.
“I didn’t mean to get all intense with you before,” Paul says suddenly. “About my ex, I mean. I get too sensitive about it, I guess.”
“It’s okay.” I hug my knees, feeling my body tense. “We all have our things.”
“Yeah, but I have too many things, probably.” Paul stretches his arms over his head. His T-shirt rises up just a little, and I get a peek at his taut, smooth belly. I glance away before he notices. “I take myself too seriously. Just like I did in high school. I should have been doing more bullshit like this, but you’re right—Iwastoo cool.”
“We all took ourselves too seriously,” I tell him.
“You didn’t.”
I stare at him. WhowasI, to him? “Of course I did. I mean, maybe I didn’t scowl as much as you did, but I was still...me.I was a personality. I fit into a box. There wasn’t much leeway for that back then, being too many things, especially when they were contradictory. It was weird for me to be in lit mag, actually, and also do sports.” Paul nods, thinking about this. “I remember agonizing about the first meeting before going. Thinking,Shit, they’re going to see me as this jock; I’m not going to be welcome.”
“We wouldn’t have done that,” Paul says emptily. I’m not sure he believes his words, though. He looks unsettled by the conversation.
“It’s why most people stay in their little box and don’t venture out. And by the way, it follows you into adulthood, if you let it. Especially around here.”
“Especially anywhere,” Paul says.
I think about the women at the country club, with their set personalities and little boxes. But maybe Paul is right that everyone fallsprey to getting stuck in a rut. After what happened to me happened, I didn’t change. I remained fixed, stunted, unable to move on.
“But I believe people can change, too,” Paul adds. “People can grow. They can become better versions of themselves. You just have to be bold sometimes; you just have to get up and shake yourself off and be like,Okay, I’m going to do this even though it goes against every ounce of who I think I am. Because I want to try. Or because I think it’s right.” His eyes lower. “That’s the pep talk I gave myself before talking to you at the funeral reception.”
I burst out laughing. “You had to give yourself a pep talk to speak to me?”
He shrugs. “My marriage burned me. And honestly, I didn’t think you liked me much. But I’d always wanted to get to know you. For the record, when you came into that first meeting a zillion years ago, I noticed you right away. I didn’t think you were a jock who didn’t belong. I found you interesting. Thoughtful.” He looks sheepish. “And beautiful. You’re still beautiful.”
The wind shifts, blowing my hair into my face. It’s been a long time since someone’s called me beautiful—or maybe, since I’ve wanted to accept the compliment. When I look up, Paul is staring at me adoringly. My breath catches. I glance to the right and left, but we’re pleasantly alone, the tractor having disappeared down the hill. I meet Paul’s gaze again, my heart suddenly pounding. He cups my chin and brings his face closer to mine. The touch of his lips on mine feels surreal, like something out of a dream. I probablyhavedreamed something close to this. He shifts his whole body closer and places his hand on my arm. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck. And that’s where something snaps. My brain doesn’t reject the touch, but something in my body does.
But then I jolt away. Paul is breathless and looks confused. “What?” he asks, searching my face. “Are you okay?”
My face is hot—with embarrassment? Passion? Shame? I try to push the spiky feelings and memories away, but they’re flooding inanyway. This angers me. Paul didn’t do anything wrong. And Iwantthis. I gave permission.
But still, I just... can’t. “I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice, standing up. “I should go.”
He blinks, blindsided. “W-Why?”
“I...” What can I say? What can I do? “I don’t live here, Paul,” I blurt out, grasping for something, even if it’s bullshit. “I shouldn’t string you along.”
