“I get it.” She nods slowly, her voice steady. “So, you’re moving,” she says, distant and nothing like the Liv I know, as she picks up her fork to push her food around her plate.
“Not yet. They want me to start in January.” But she doesn’t react. Not really. Her shoulders stay stiff, her jaw locked tight. It feels like I’ve opened a door to something I can’t close, and she’s standing on the other side, stepping back one inch at a time.
“That’s basically now.” Her eyes flick to mine for half a second, just long enough for me to see the hurt she’s trying so hard to hide, before she forces them back down to her plate.
“It’s not that soon,” I say, reaching for steadiness. “We have time—”
She cuts me off before I can finish, her fork clattering to the table. “Time for what? For you to change your mind? Or for me to pretend this”—she gestures between us—“doesn’t suddenly have an expiration date?”
“Wait, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying, Jay?” Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t look away. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re committed to a job you didn’t tell me about, and now you’re saying you’re moving to California within a few weeks. All of that feels pretty set, telling me is just a formality, right?”
“That’s not… I just wanted to be sure before I said anything. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
She laughs, but it’s hollow. “Myhopes?” She shakes her head. “God, Jay, you think that’s what this is about?”
“I don’t know what this is about,” I admit. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“Iamhappy for you,” she says, and I believe her, even with the conflict of the way her throat tightens, the tears gathering that she refuses to blink away. I can see she’s fighting this. “That’s the”—she huffs a broken sound before continuing—“I am so incredibly happy for you.” She pushes her chair back, the scrape of it loud against the floor, eyes locking with mine. “I’m really proud of you for chasing your dream, and I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”
What if I have two dreams now?I want to tell her, but I don’t. I’m not prepared for that to be thrown back in my face. Something in her expression fractures. It’s small, quick, like she’s clamping down on the part of her that wants to reach for me. And it guts me, because she’s never looked at me like I was a choice she wasn’t allowed to make.
“Liv, please, can we just talk about this?” My hand settles on hers, and her focus snaps to it, but the way she flinches tells me more than I need to know. She’s protecting herself.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t have to worry, I have a house I can move into next week. The university has been emailing me, but I didn’t…” She sniffs audibly and clears her throat, but when her eyes find mine, I see the moment that wound opens for her again, and I almost crumble at the sight. I don’t know how I know, I just do. “I can move out.” All I can think is that I never wanted to be the reason she sounded like this.
The remaining air vacates my lungs. “What? I don’t want that. You don’t have to move out right away.”Or at all, my head screams.
Her laugh is thin, and it settles between us like broken glass, but she’s already heading down the hall. Each step pulls her further out of my orbit, and something feral in me panics,reaching for her even though she’s already slipping into the shadows. “I’m sorry, I’m… tired. You should eat. We’ll, uh, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Liv—”
She stops at her door, and the fact that she isn’t automatically going into mine tells me everything. She doesn’t turn around when she whispers, “Congratulations, Jay.”
Then she closes it, and it feels like a shot to my chest. It’s the first time she’s ever shut me out like that, and I’m not sure what to do here. My first instinct is to go to her again, but I know her, and Liv doesn’t like being pushed. She’s a storm that needs space to gather herself, to breathe without someone trying to fix her. And if I crowd her now, I’ll only make the damage worse.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the door, waiting for it to open again. It doesn’t. And despite knowing I shouldn’t, knowing it’s a bad idea, I knock once, twice. “Liv?”
Nothing.
Eventually, I drift back to the table. The candles have burned low, wax pooling at their bases. The food she went out of her way to get for me sits untouched, the scent no longer comforting.
I sink into a chair and stare at it until my vision blurs.
I got the job. Everything I thought I wanted.
So why does it feel like I just lost the only thing that mattered?
Chapter fifty
Liv
Idon’tsleep.
Every time I close my eyes, all I remember is the look on his face when he said he’s moving. The hope in his eyes sliced through me like a knife to my very eager heart that seems to beat mostly for him.
I should be able to hold onto that for him, be happy for him without feeling like the floor vanished underneath my feet. I turn onto my back, then my side, then curl into a ball, but none of it stops the ache. None of it stops the part of me that whispers, stupidly, desperately, that maybe he could’ve told me sooner, maybe I wouldn’t feel caught in the crossfire like this. And then guilt crashes in, like a destructive wave, because this isn’t about me, not really. He earned this. He deserves the world. He deserves every single good thing that ever finds him.
