“You look dreadful. Heartbreak doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not?—”
“Darling, please don’t insult my intelligence by claiming you’re not heartbroken,” Vivian interrupted. “I’ve lived too long and seen too much to be fooled by brave faces. You’re walking around like someone performing a one-woman show called ‘I’mFine: The Musical’ with a soundtrack of sad Adele songs playing in your head.”
I sank into my chair, too exhausted to maintain the pretense. “It doesn’t matter. You know as well as I do that he doesn’t believe in love. He made that abundantly clear.”
“Ah yes, the ‘love doesn’t exist’ nonsense.” Vivian rolled her eyes. “He’s been spouting that ridiculous theory since he was a preteen and caught his father with the tennis instructor.”
“It’s not just a theory to him. It’s his worldview. And I can’t... I won’t be with someone who fundamentally dismisses something I consider essential.”
“Very reasonable. Very sensible. And completely miserable, yes?”
I stared at her, caught off guard by her directness. “I... yes. Completely miserable.”
“As is he,” she assured me. “Though he’d rather gargle glass than admit it to most people. But a grandmother knows. He hasn’t been sleeping. Barely eating. Erika says he stares at his phone constantly and has your name programmed into his speed dial even though you won’t take his calls.”
“He made his feelings clear,” I said, trying to ignore the little flutter in my chest at the thought of Callan missing me as much as I missed him. “He told his friends I was ‘just a good time.’ That our relationship was ‘something fun until he figured out the bet.’”
“Men say profoundly stupid things when they’re terrified,” Vivian replied, reaching into the basket of muffins and selecting one. “Especially men with abandonment issues and commitment phobias the size of small countries.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No, it doesn’t. Nothing excuses hurting someone you care about. But it might explain it, if you’re interested.”
Despite myself, I was. “I’m listening.”
Vivian took a delicate bite of her muffin, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded in approval of her own baking. “My grandson watched his parents’ marriage implode spectacularly throughout his most developmental years to the point where he had to come live with me because his parents couldn’t parent. My son was a serial philanderer with the emotional intelligence of a turnip. Cal’s mother was a social climber who married for money and status, then acted shocked when the marriage was empty. They hated each other but stayed together for appearances until Callan was older, at which point they had the most vicious, public divorce Manhattan had seen in decades.”
I’d known the broad strokes of Callan’s parents’ divorce, but hearing the details from Vivian made my heart hurt for the child who’d witnessed it all.
“And then there was his grandfather,” Vivian continued, her voice hardening. “He was charming, handsome, and utterly faithless. We were married for far too long before I discovered he’d been maintaining a second family in Boston.”
“That’s awful.”
“It was. Devastating, actually. I loved that man with everything I had, and he betrayed me in the most fundamental way possible. But do you know what I didn’t do?”
“What?”
“I didn’t stop believing in love,” Vivian said simply. “I was hurt, yes. Furious, absolutely. But I never concluded that love itself was a fiction just because the man I loved was a lying bastard. That’s like swearing off oxygen because someone farted in an elevator.”
A startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Vivian smiled, clearly pleased with her analogy.
“Callan saw two formative examples of marriage fail spectacularly, and being the analytical, pattern-seeking genius that he is, he drew a conclusion: love is not real. It’s safer, yousee, to believe love doesn’t exist than to admit it exists but might not last. One is a philosophical position; the other is a risk.”
“And he hates risk,” I said, remembering his calculated approach to nearly everything.
“Only in matters of the heart. In business, he’s practically reckless. He’ll bet millions on a startup with a ten percent chance of success if he believes in the product. But with people? With feelings? He battens down the hatches and prepares for the worst.”
“I understand why he believes what he does, but understanding doesn’t change anything. He still doesn’t believe in love, and I still need someone who does.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I need that and he said very clearly that–”
“No.” Vivian shook her head. “Are you sure he doesn’t believe in love, or is he simply terrified of calling it by its name?”
“He explicitly stated?—”
