Claire noticed me eventually. She glanced over her shoulder, water still running.
“You, okay?” she asked.
Not really.
“Yeah,” I said anyway.
The lie sounded thin.
I stepped farther into the kitchen, leaning against the counter like I needed the support. The question pressed harder, like it knew it was running out of time.
I took a breath. “How was the date?”
Claire paused, she shut off the faucet and set the container aside before turning toward me. Her smile came easily, practiced.
“It was fine.”
Fine.
That word had always bothered me. It didn’t mean good or bad. It meant nothing.
My jaw tightened before I could stop it. “He made it, then.”
The second the sentence left my mouth, I knew I’d crossed a line.
Her head snapped up, eyes sharpening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I lifted a hand, already backpedaling. “Nothing. I just meant, you said he cancels a lot.”
“Oh,” she said flatly. “So now you’re keeping track?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly.
She crossed her arms, weight shifting onto one hip. “Then what did you mean, Ethan?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The careful answer, the one that kept things polite and intact, hovered right there.
I didn’t use it.
“I just don’t get it,” I said instead.
Her jade eyes narrowed dangerously. “Get what?”
“Why you’re with him.”
The air changed immediately. Like the room had tilted.
Claire went very still.
I should have stopped there. Any reasonable person would have. But the question had been sitting in me all day, and once it cracked open, everything behind it rushed out.
“You deserve better,” I said. “You always have.”
Her laugh was short and sharp, not amused. “Do I?”
“Yes,” I said, stepping closer without meaning to. “Of course you do.”
She shook her head, something brittle flashing across her face. “Not everyone wants some big, dramatic love story, Ethan. Not everyone wants the highs and the crashes and the constant uncertainty. Some of us just want something easy. Stable. Normal.”
