It didn't matter that after leaving my ex I'd vowed to never shove myself into another empty—or outright harmful—marriage. I couldn't imagine legally tying myself to another person. Not after all the levels of hell I'd climbed through to end the last marriage. Not after contending with the grief of the years I'd lost to an unhinged man.
I wasn't looking for another husband and I was comfortable with that. Save for the small, fragile hope I'd long since buried and forgotten until Jude stalked toward me at the reunion.
But now I knew we weren't meant for a second chance. He'd taken what he wanted and left me the same way I'd left him. That was clear. Two weeks with no news made it painfully obvious and it was silly of me to pretend otherwise. It was time to let go of that hope.
"Please tell me that wasn't too presumptuous," Brecken said.
My gaze drifted over his shoulders to where the sun dipped low on the horizon. He seemed pleasant enough. He wasn't overtly craven or self-absorbed in pathological ways. His manner was quiet, self-effacing. No name-dropping, no pointed comments about wealth or status. He'd made a respectable effort at getting to know me, which was a nice touch, and he didn't seem like the type to get bent out of shape when I called it off.
And I knew he'd never dare to call me princess.
"I can come to Boston and we can meet up for dinner," he went on. "If that's something you'd consider."
"And if I canceled a few hours before dinner? What then?"
"I probably wouldn't mind," he said, laughing. "Though, to streamline matters for both of us, the talking point would be that we did go out and there wasn't any chemistry."
"That would be all right with you?" I peered at him. Perhaps that was why my toxicity meter hadn't pinged. "A cover story?"
The thing my mother didn't understand about her quest for safety and stability was that I'd found more of both on my own than at any point during my marriage. That I'd found strength and learned self-reliance, and I was better for it. That everything she'd done to buy me a secure future—and drive me far away from Jude—left me dependent on a man who cared little for whether I lived or died.
And the thing I didn't understand about my mother was how she could tolerate any of that. I supposed existing in a cage of her own made the one she chose for me all the more familiar.
The other thing my mother didn't understand was that I knew her moves now. I hadn't seen it coming when they canceled my enrollment at Barnard, packed up my life, and shoved me on a plane to Los Angeles, all while filing a bullshit restraining order against Jude.
I'd been too deep into my depression to put up a fight when they presented my ex-husband as their newest requirement of me. I knew better now—and I had some moves of my own.
Brecken shrugged. "What's the harm?"
I didn't think he was prepared for a detailed explanation of the pitfalls of fake relationships so I said, "You have my number."
And now, with my checkmate in hand for the night, I turned back toward the house. I didn't stop when I passed my mother, who launched into an endless stream of breathless questions as she trailed me inside. I went straight for the guest room where I'd dropped my things and made quick work of changing into jeans and a sweatshirt. It would be chilly on the ferry back to New London.
"You're behaving like a maniac," she said as I shoved today's dress into a bag. "If you're going to have one of your episodes, will you at least do it in here? Where no one has to see?"
"I'm leaving." I shouldered the bag. I'd laugh if I stopped to consider how long I'd avoided these interactions with my mother. How much discomfort I'd accepted in exchange for skirting a difficult conversation. And to what end? I was full grown and supported myself, and still cowered from confrontation. Later, I'd laugh and then I'd cry and then I'd learn how to stop betraying myself, once and for fucking all. "No episodes. Nothing to see. I'm going home."
"You can't just leave?—"
"I think I can," I said. "I have a lot to do."
"It's a weekend evening in the middle of the summer. What could you possibly have to do that's worth embarrassing me and your father tonight?"
"Didn't you hear Brecken say he was coming to town this week?"
"Oh.Oh." She stepped away from the door. "Then, yes," she went on. "You should go and?—"
"I knew you'd understand," I said, pushing past her.
I openedmy messages as the ferry pushed away from the dock. I stared at Jude's last words to me—I'm sorry—and heard them in my mind as if he was sitting here beside me. But instead of the hurried, halting promise I thought them to be, they were solemn this time. Final. A conclusion to a story that'd ambled on far too long.
His silence wasn't a symptom. It was proof that we'd reached the end while I was busy thinking about the things I wanted to say and never once saying them. Maybe it would've been different if I'd let myself be brave, let myself get hurt. If I'd stopped playing scared. If I'd acted on half the scenarios I'drehearsed in my mind. If I'd wrapped my arms around the risks and held them tight until they turned into the kind of emotional armor I required to finally get what I wanted. To fix this—and end it the right way.
It would've been different if I was different. But I wasn't.
chapter forty-five
Audrey
