For my part, I’ve been so busy catching up to him that I forgot to really work through what it is I’m catching up to himfor,and now that we’re face-to-face, in addition to being out of breath (and lightly sweating) I also can’t think of a single word to say. I go with Ben’s thing.
“Is everythingOK?”
“Sorry?”
His face is a picture-perfect translation of: ?????
“You seem like you’re in a bad mood.”
“I—OK?”
“If you’re mad at me about something, you should justsay.”
I admit: my tone is accusing. I am rapidly losing sight of what it is I’m doing here. Meanwhile, the power of speech has totally deserted Connor. He is standing there gaping, his eyes roaming all over my face.
“You think I’m mad at you?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe. You’re being weird.”
“I’Mbeing weird?!”
“Yes!” I say, indignant. “You are. You’ve been weird all day.”
Retrospectively, maybe he wasn’t mad before. But he’sdefinitelymad now. He rubs at his temples, weighing up what he wants to say to me. Or possibly praying for patience.
“You never got in touch this weekend.”
“So you are mad atme.”
“I’m notmad,” he says. “I’m—I don’t know, disappointed, I guess. You said you were going to call me, and when I didn’t hear from you all weekend, I thought, that’s fine, you’re busy with your sister. But then you came in this morning and you wouldn’t even look atme.”
He glares at me, but it’s not angry. It’s wounded. It all clicks into place.
“You thought I was blowing you off.”
His hands are in his pockets, and he gives me the smallest little shrug imaginable. “What was I supposed to think?”
“Not that.”
Instead of looking at me, he’s looking at the ground, toeing at a pebble beneath him. My heart clenches. He’s not convinced.
“The truth is—” I take a deep breath, hating that I have to tell him this. “The weekend was a disaster.”
He looks up at me then, his head tilting to the side. A silent invitation to continue.
“I was not the bigger person,” I say pathetically. My hands dangle uselessly at my sides. “After I left your place, I went to meet my sister at the wedding dress shop for her appointment and we got into a huge fight.”
I trail off, my voice cracking on the wordfightand I can feel my mouth twisting, my chin scrunching up under the pressure not to cry. Whenever this happens, I completely lose control of my nostrils. They’re flaring in and out while I work to calm myself down.
One more deep breath and I manage to swallow back the tears that are threatening.
“I said something really mean, which I am way too embarrassed to repeat to you, and then she, well, she told me she hatedme.”
“Annie—”
“I was really disappointed in myself,” I continue, cutting off any attempt at sympathy. “And worried you were going to be disappointed in me too. That’s why I didn’t text. And thismorning when you asked me, I knew you’d see right through me if I even attempted to talk about it, and I just panicked.”
He doesn’t say anything, just gently steps forward, tucking a strand of hair behind myear.
