“Excuse me.” She tried to navigate her way around him.
“Ashley, I’m so sorry. I got scared, and, well, the truth is, I lied about… almost everything, and I’d really like to explain.”
She stopped. Turned to face him. “Is that so I’ll feel better, or you’ll feel better…? Because I’m getting a heavy whiff, here, ofyouwanting to feel better, and I’m not sure I’m in the mood for that.”
“You have every right to be angry,” Jim said. “Can we just… step out of the traffic—”
“No,” she said. “And I’m not angry. You still haven’t made me angry. At least not at you. I’m alittleangry at myself, for being so quick to believe that you’re someone you’re not. But that’s not on you, that’s on me. You can’t help being a piece of shit.”
Jim winced. “Ouch.”
“Oh, no, excuse me,” she said. “Alyingpiece of shit, because you just admitted that you lied—I’m not sure about what, except apparently now I’m supposed to believe whatever it is that younowwant to tell me, except you’ve just told me you’re a liar…? How do I know you’re not simply lying again?”
“Jesus, you’re magnificent when you’re angry.”
“I’mnot—”
“Ashley, I was actively trying to push you away when I said what I said last night.”
“Good job,” she said. “You succeeded.”
“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he told her, glancing around at the curious onlookers streaming past them, and lowering his voice to add, “What happened in Dunk’s office also happened, absolutely, because I wanted it, not because I was playing some… stupid game. That was just bullshit. I lied aboutthat. I wanted you. I still do, God help me. But then, after we… I… I panicked.” He had tears in his eyes. “I’m not a SEAL anymore, at least I won’t be in a very short amount of time. And all I could think was,Why would you want me…?AndI don’t think I can do this, start this… amazing and terrifying thing with you, because it’s all just so freaking hard…”
“God, you’re an idiot,” Ashley said. “Or maybe you think I am. You’re either a manipulative asshole, a lying asshole, or an idiotic asshole. So, as tempting as it is to consider welcoming you back into my life, I’m gonna pass.”
Jim nodded. Wiped his eyes. Sniffed. Managed a weak smile. “That’s, um, a really good decision. I understand. Completely. I just, um, wanted to make sure you knew that the screw-up here isn’t you—it’s me. And that I’m so sorry I hurt you by making you believe that… I don’t love you. Because… I do.”
Ashley stood there, looking at him. “You love me. Of course you do. Right on time.”
She didn’t believe him. She didn’t forgive him. She wasn’t sure she ever would. And he was right about the fact that he was the screw-up here. But she was also at fault. For falling for yet another asshole, and attempting to find a comfortable place for herself in his we-are-not-equal world.
And Ashley realized in a flash of clarity that was so sharp, its edges nearly cut her to the quick:She didn’t need to change.Not radically, the way she’d thought she had to change when she’d signed up for the camp. Yes, she should and she certainlycouldnot only stop dating assholes, and also be more assertive in her personal life—morein command. She’d learned both that word and the feeling that came with it during her short camp session, and that was a good thing. A useful tool.
But to try to change herself more drastically to… what? To become more like a man…?
No.She—and the over fifty percent of the world’s population who were women and girls—didn’t need to change.
The rest of the world did.
“Good luck, Lieutenant,” she said, and this time, when she turned, he let her walk away.
***
Jim—the Lieutenant—was on her flight.
So not only did Ashley have to sit near him at the gate in Tampa, she had to sit near him for the layover at the gate in Atlanta, too.
He was, thank God for small favors, completely respectful. But she was aware of him.
She was aware that his knees were hurting. On the flight to Atlanta—a relatively short hop from Tampa—he’d somehow squeezed himself into the dread middle seat in coach, several rows up from her. He’d spent much of the time on his feet, in the aisle, which was probably only marginally less painful than sitting without proper legroom.
On the flight to San Diego, she had an aisle seat and she was ready to trade with him, but the flight wasn’t full, and all it took was a quiet word to the flight attendant: “The very tall man in row 18 is an active duty Navy SEAL, dealing with a knee injury. Is there anyway you could move him into first class, so he’ll be more comfortable?”
As the flight attendant approached him and moved him up to the front of the plane, he glanced back at Ashley, well aware of what she’d done.
In fact, he sent her a drink—a plastic cup of red wine.
She drank it with the sandwich she’d picked up at the kiosk in Atlanta, then closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
