"Emma," he sighs, and looks at me like I'm a damn weight on his chest. "She didn't know it was your birthday."
"Uh-huh. Like it doesn't take two clicks to find me online and see when my birthday is, right? Sheplannedit. To ruin my day."
He makes a face that drives me nuts. "Lisa is not obsessed with you; she's just pregnant. Be more understanding, please."
I scoff, cross my arms, blood rushing in my face. "Great. So now I'm a self-centric prick on top of everything else." I completely pull away from him. "It feels really great when your boyfriend can't be with you on your birthday because he has to run around the stores to buy her mangosteen and then he never comes back. When you have to spend the rest of the day pretending you didn't want to cry."
"I told you, I will make it up to you. I will," he says, frowning but apologetic. "I couldn't leave her when she was puking in the bathroom. I'm not an asshole."
I groan long and loud. "I want you to be there for her, but you know what she's doing. Why can't you at least admit it?"
He doesn't.
Doesn't say a word.
Just looks away, behind me, like I'm not here breaking.
Which only fires me up.
I stand up, my tone resolute. "I think it's about time you tell me the truth. Will she let you go? Is Lisa going to let you divorce her?!"
He drags both hands down his face, then looks at me with exhaustion painted all over his face.
"Emma... I'm sorry for shouting. You're right. Let's not—"
"Too late," I cut him off, my voice trembling. "Tell me.Huh? I'm done waiting in some half-life version of us. Is she going to allow you the divorce?!"
"I don't know, okay?! I don't know!" He snaps, louder, and stands up too, the warmth we shared until five minutes ago gone. Now it's just cruel air.
"Of course you don't." I cross my arms.
His nostrils flare. "Do you know what it's like to feel like the biggest scumbag alive? No matter what you do, you're hurting someone. When you go so mad you start praying the baby somehow appears inyourbelly?"
The pain in his eyes makes my throat lock.
"Or worse—when you lie in bed at night and think, I wish there wasnobaby?" He looks up at the sky, his face twisted with disgust. "Do you understand what that does to me? Huh?"
I blink, speechless.
He shakes his head at me, sharp and defeated. "No. You have no idea what it feels like. So stop judging me."
Silence.
Just our breathing and the sound of the wind. I should be angry, but I'm more hurt, and he's right, I don't know what it feels like. So I don't argue anymore.
I move one step and wrap my arms around his rigid body, nodding and whispering "it's okay" because I don't know what else to do and I hope that if I say it enough, I'll believe it myself.
"It's everything but okay," he says, holding me barely a second before he pulls away, not meeting my eyes. "Let's go. There'll be traffic."
I level him with an empty look. We both know it's 1 p.m.Saturday, so it's a lie.
Inside, I snort. Inside, I do a lot of things—like curse and kick a stone, and jump from the cliff again, this time for a valid reason.
Instead, we pack quickly and leave the beach that's forever haunted by us.
The drive back is quiet, except for the filler talk about the football season finale and the weather, because what else is left when you can’t touch the real things?
By the time we reach my place, something invisible and heavy sits between us.
