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He laughs again, looking bashful as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Okay, well, I guess I’m not going to the gloamin’, then,” he says.
“You’ve already been,” I assure him. “Many times. Remember the time we went to Puffin Cove?”
Puffin Cove is a beach just along the coast from Heather Bay. It’s hard to reach by foot, but Jett hired a boat to take us there the last time we were over, and because it’s so isolated, when we arrived, we had the whole place to ourselves — just us and the seagulls, sitting watching the sun melt into the sea, turning the world into liquid gold.
“Oh, yeah,” says Jett, his face lighting up. “That was quite some trip. Wasn’t it briefly in the running for best day of your life?”
He looks at me meaningfully.
“It was,” I say carefully. “It didn’t quite beat Mexico; but it came close.”
Just like that, the atmosphere in the room changes, and we’re back on the rocky ground of our past relationship. We’ve been dancing around the topic of Jett and Violet, and how they’re not engaged (But might soon be? Or not?), and now that we’re here, it feels like we can’t avoid it any longer.
I wonder if the days he spent with me still count as the best of his life, like he always used to tell me, or if he’s already had better days withher? Because I think that night on the beach in Mexico is probably as good as it’s going to get for me now.Jett will move forward, and keep adding new ‘best days’ to his collection, but I’ll just be frozen in time, like Miss Havisham.
This is probablynota thought I should share with the man who made me like this, though.
“Are you going to take that test, then?” asks Jett, nodding again at the envelope. His expression softens.
“Look, Lexie, you don’t have to go fishing if you don’t want to,” he says gently. “Or play golf, or darts, or whatever it is you’re pretending to be freaking out about so you don’t have to admit you’re just scared of getting close to someone, in case they hurt you. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But youdohave to do this, I think, otherwise it’s going to bug you for the rest of your life.”
He’s right.
You can’t put the genie back in the bottle once it’s out.
And Iamscared of getting close enough to someone to get hurt by them. He knows me well. Which I guess he should do, given that he’s the one who hurt me the most.
With a sigh, I pick up the swab and use it to swipe the inside of my cheek, painfully aware that I probably look like a hamster rummaging for nuts. When I’m done, I slide the swab into the plastic tube that came with it, and put it back into the envelope, handing it to Jett before I can change my mind.
“Thanks,” he says, as if I’m the one doing him a favor. “I’ll make sure this is dealt with first thing tomorrow. I’m not sure how long the results will take, but they’ll contact you by text, I think.”
“Do you still have my number to give them?” I ask. “It’s just, you didn’t reply to my message last night when I tried to warn you I was working the bar, so I thought maybe you didn’t get it?”
“I got it,” he says tightly. “I didn’t have a chance to reply; I was with Violet.”
“Right. Of course.”
Aaaaand we’re back to Violet.
“So, you and Violet,” I begin, the couple of glasses of wine I’ve had making me brave. “You said you’re not speaking? Is that my fault?”
Please be not speaking to Violet.
But please let it not be totally my fault.
“She’ll get over it,” he says bluntly. “And no, it’s not your fault. Well, it’s notallyour fault.”
Okay. Good to know.
(Not the bit about Violet getting over it, obviously. I’d prefer it if Violet never got over it. I never seem to get over anything that happens tome, so why should she get to?)
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I really wasn’t trying to cause a scene. I just wanted you to be wary of the journalist. I don’t trust him.”
“I’m always wary of journalists, Lexie,” he replies. “And I don’t trust anyone.”
Not even you, is the unspoken part of that sentence. It hangs uncomfortably in the air between us, until I get up and take our glasses to the sink, just to give myself something to do.
