Then there’s his tense response to I don’t know what before we left Will and Freyja’s. It feels far too familiar. It’s an uncomfortable sensation after what happened last night. Like two worlds are colliding. And the one I’ve tried to leave behind is doing its best to destroy the one I’ve never been brave enough to hope I might reach.
We sit in silence for a good half an hour. My early training, at the hands of narcissistic parents, in making myself small and quiet so I won’t be noticed has kicked in with a sharp reflex action. I resent it. Resent being made to feel like I’ve somehow done something wrong again.
At last, Ethan clears his throat and speaks.
“Thank you for dropping everything and bringing me down here. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. But things got out of hand last night and …”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare make out like last night was some kind of mistake. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it’s another thing never to be repeated. But it was not a mistake.Iam not a mistake.” It might’ve been Ethan speaking, but all I could hear was my father’s voice. My father who made me feel like a mistake when he left. I won’t let anyone else—ever—make me feel like that again. Not Ethan. Not my father. No one. My pulse starts to race.
“That’s not what I was going to …” He catches my side eye. “Okay, maybe it was. But not in the way you think.”
The car is hurtling along the expressway now, and I ease off the pedal when I see the speed I’m doing. The last thing we need is a speeding ticket. Or, God forbid, an accident.
“Maybe you’d better explain yourself then. Because that’s sure as hell what it sounded like.” I try and relax my death grip on the steering wheel. Concentrate on slowing my breathing.
“I was going to say I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I know how important it is to you for our connection not to get out, and this didn’t help.” He punches the off button for the sound system, plunging us into tense silence, apart from the road noise.
“Not making it better so far. And if you’re going to have the gall to make the excuse you were drunk, give me some warning. Because I might need to pull over.” Which won’t be easy. We’re on the expressway now. Trucks barrelling past us at speed.
“Drunk? No. That wasn’t it either. Look, it was great. You’re great. But apart from the whole not telling Jen thing, it’s become clear to me I’m not ready to move on.” No kidding. Did he think I hadn’t clocked his discomfort? His pain?
“Nobody’s asking you to move on.”
The lines between his eyebrows deepen in a scowl.
“Not in so many words, no.”
I should’ve realised he’d be aware of the undercurrents with his family. Because I don’t think he’s referring to anything I’ve said or done.
“Do you know how lucky you are? Your family love you. Not everyone gets that. All they want is for you to be happy. And to let them in.” I shake my head. I don’t think he even realises what he’s got.
“It’s not that easy.”
I want to tell him it is that fucking easy, but I hold my tongue.
“My family … Jess was a part of my family. For over fifteen years. She was Greer’s best friend. My first and only girlfriend. I can’t just erase that.”
“Nobody’s suggesting you do. But you’re erasing her anyway, all by yourself. The entire family is too scared to mention her name.”
“You think I can’t see that? You think I didn’t see the hope in their faces when I turned up with you? And you had to go and be all friendly and charming and fit right in.”
“What? I was being polite. To a group of really lovely people. If you think I’m trying to move in and take her place, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Yeah, it didn’t look like that from where I was sitting.”
I know he doesn’t mean that. I can see in his eyes he doesn’t mean it. He’s hurting. And now I am too. Because, yet again I’m being blamed for something that’s not my fault.
“I believe I’ve made my position as clear as I can. Right now, all I’m interested in is getting my career on track. I’m not interested in a relationship. With you or anyone else. Frankly, the only thing men are good for is orgasms. And killing spiders. I have a vibrator and a can of bug spray. So, I’m all good. Thanks.” And the way he’s behaving now has only proved my point.
“Great. Then let’s just go back to how things were before we went to Bangalay.” He crosses his arms as though the matter issettled. But it’s not that simple for me. He’s poked around in an open wound, and it hurts.
“No, let’s not. Before we went to Bangalay, we were becoming friends.” He goes to interrupt, but I keep talking. “From now on it’s business only. Like it should’ve been from the start. Because friends don’t make each other feel like they need to walk on eggshells. Or second guess every word that comes out of their mouth. I grew up like that, and I won’t go there again. So you stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”
It’s fair to say I’m angry, which is uncommon for me. Maybe I’m overreacting. Because this can’t be easy for him to navigate. I get it. But I can’t—won’t—be his channel buoy while he does it.
I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to risk everything for anyone. Most especially a man who has admitted he bolts when things get tough. I just want to get my PhD and concentrate on my career.
We drive in tense silence, neither of us speaking again until we’re a few minutes from my place.
