I go to speak, but he holds up a hand. “And don’t insult my intelligence by saying it was nothing.”
I’m grasping at straws. My head is screaming, tell him; my heart is screaming, tell him. But what they each want to tell him is not the same thing.
I have to come clean. Rip the band aid off. “I heard what your mother said. In the office. About your plans.”
He looks momentarily confused, and then the lights start to flicker on.
“I see. Refresh my memory? I have a habit of forgetting conversations with my mother. What, exactly, did you hear?”
“About how she won’t wait forever and you should sort yourself out quickly so you can move forward with your plans.” I can feel my hands shaking, and I cross my arms tightly across my body and put the mass of my ancient dining table between us.
“Right. And what did I say?” I feel like a hostile witness being cross-examined. Nick’s face is like granite.
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear that bit.” When I say it out loud like this, it sounds ridiculous.
Nick nods. “Well, if you had, you’d have heard me tell her in no uncertain terms to mind her own business and stay out of my affairs.”
The heaviness in my chest lifts for a moment. Until I realise his words are not a denial.
“So, who is thissheyour mother was talking about?”
“She’s my …” He looks uncomfortable, which is a red flag I don’t even want to think about. “I guess you could say she’s my ex-girlfriend. Eleanor. And before you ask, we broke up before you and I started …”
“Sleeping together?” Nick flinches as though I’ve slapped him.
“Yes. And frankly, I’m disappointed you didn’t simply talk to me. We could have avoided all this drama.” Frustration is starting to creep into his tone.
Great. So, his mum wants him back together with his ex. And I still don’t have an unequivocal denial that he’s planning on getting back together with her at some point. But I was also very clear I didn’t want a relationship. I know I’m on shaky ground here.
“Well, I guess I thought maybe you were ready to call it quits.” My voice cracks and I can’t continue.
“You know how this feels, Lulu? It feels like you’ve got one foot out the door.” Nick starts around the table. Stalking towards me like the panther I once compared him to.
I know he expects me to deny it, but he’s hit the nail on the head. I do have one foot out the door. It’s how I get the second foot out the door that’s presenting the problem. I feel like a fox with its foot caught in a trap of its own making. And I’m about to gnaw my leg off to escape.
“We always said this was no strings, Nick.” I can barely hear my voice.
“We did. But it doesn’t mean we can’t be invested while it lasts.”
There it is again. No commitment for anything more. Which should make me happy. Because that’s what we agreed. But it hurts.
We’re facing off now. Silently. My arms crossed. Nick’s hands on his hips. I can almost hear the synapses firing in his brain. I can’t speak past the prickly mass of fear, regret and grief caught in my throat.
“Well. I’m not ready to call it quits. But the question remains, are you? Are you in or are you out?” Nick asks.
I hadn’t counted on how hard it would be to break it off with him face to face, with those sharp grey eyes seeming to see right through me to the hidden thoughts even I don’t understand. And when push comes to shove, I can’t do it. I know I have to break it off, but I’m in so deep already. Whether it ends now or in two weeks is irrelevant, so I trade tomorrow’s pain for today’s happiness. I can only nod.
His hand comes up and, with gentle fingers, he pushes a curl off my face. And then I’m in his arms. His touch has such power over me. I can’t do it. I can’t.
“Well?”
“I’m in.”
In the days that follow, I sometimes catch Nick watching me. He’s noticed how strung-out I am, but he doesn’t say anything. I hope he puts it down to the stress of the upcoming exhibition. Luckily, because we’re both so busy, we don’t have much time to talk. I’m tired and headachy, which is to be expected, I guess, with everything I have going on.
Once my exhibition is over, I’ll work out how to extricate myself from the mess I’ve created. I try not to think about the fact Nick might actually do it for me. Until then, I don’t have the bandwidth to deal. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
On my last day at the CPM offices, Harry surprises me by throwing a cocktail party. By now I’m so tense, the smell of the hors d’oeuvres makes my stomach flop like a dying fish in the bottom of a boat, and I hate fish. Even the idea of champagne makes me shudder, and I go with sparkling water. Harry makes a beautiful speech about the work I’ve done and how much they’ll all miss me around the office, and everyone is incredibly merry.
