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She sits up a little straighter before peeking in the mirror to her left. Then, she gasps and reaches for a tissue on the tabletop. She rubs at the smears, making her cheeks red.
“I just want to talk,” I tell her.
She takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Okay.”
“What happened out there?” I hook one thumb toward the door and then put my hand back in my pocket. “I, uh … I thought we were on the same page?”
“Have we been on the same page at all? You’ve said this whole time you didn’t want this to go any further.”
“I didn’t. Not in the beginning.” I reach up to rub the back of my neck, feeling hot. “But people change. I changed. I realized that Ivy loved you, and I loved spending time with you.” I can’t bring myself to outright say what I know she needs to hear. Not before I hear her reason for saying no. No use in embarrassing myself any more than I already have.
“And I’ve loved being a nanny to your daughter. You should be proud of the amazing girl she is. But I don’t think that you are at the point where you can accept a new relationship.”
“What do you mean? I just said I was ready to have a relationship on live TV, thinking that you felt the same way. Apparently, I was very, very wrong.”
“Simon, I do like you. I have been so happy with you the past several weeks. Ivy is a dream. But maybe that’s all this is—a dream. Relationships are real and ugly—”
“You don’t think I’ve seen ugly?”
“Yes, and that’s my whole point. Are you ready to handle that again?”
“You can’t just make the decision for me,” I say, sounding like a petulant child, even to my own ears. Like I should accompany the statement with a foot stomp.
“I know, and I don’t want to. But, Simon, I…love you. I’m in love with you, and I don’t think you can say the same about me.”
“This show wasn’t about falling in love at the end; it was about finding someone we wanted to be in a relationship with. The love can come later,” I protest, and her eyes grow sad.
“I know. I’m just not sure you will open yourself up to me in that way. I think you need to figure out exactly what you want before you try to have a relationship.”
“When did you decide this?” I ask, demanding an answer. I want to know when things changed.
When did she go from being the woman who was all in to the woman before me, backing away? Is this what she felt like when I kept her at arm’s length?
“Recently,” she says, telling me absolutely nothing.
“Recently,” I scoff, the sound dry to my ears.
This is incredible. How the script has flipped on me.
“Well, I’m glad we got that off our chests.”
I don’t wait around for a reply. I turn on my heel, stalking out the way I came in, barreling past a still-smirking Boris, who was clearly lurking outside the door. I can’t bring myself to care.
I recently decided not to care about any of this anymore.
