His face falls slightly. “Everyone hates me. I know that’s my fault, but it’s hard. Your friends. Dominic’s pissed at me because ofthe situation I’ve put them in. Ruby and Leo… god, you should have seen their faces when I first saw them in France. I really let everyone down. I’ve been trying to ignore that feeling all summer, try to focus on new things, but it always comes creeping in.”
This is the cue I need.
I’ve said what I needed to say. He’s confirmed to me that we’re over. He doesn’t have anything more to add. I could ask him a load of questions, analyzing every aspect of our relationship, demanding to know what I could have done or said differently, but I don’t want to. And I’m not going to sit here comforting him, either.
I stand up to signal he should go. He looks surprised.
“I’m meeting some friends,” I lie, checking my phone. “I should get ready.”
“Oh. Right. Sure.”
He seems torn, as though he’s considering protesting, but must think better of it. He pushes himself up off the sofa and we stand facing each other. I suddenly remember something. Something I’d tucked away on the shelf of the coffee table, ready to return. I bend down and pull out the engagement ring box.
“Here,” I say, holding it out to him. “You should have this back.”
He stares at it, crestfallen. “You… you should keep it.”
“No, that’s okay,” I tell him firmly. “It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
He reaches up slowly to take it, before sliding it into the pocket of his hideous denim shorts.
He waits a moment and then holds his arms out.
I step toward him and he wraps them around me. I close my eyes as I rest my head against his chest. I breathe in his smell. He kisses the top of my head. We stay like that for a few seconds too long. It’s comfortable and safe and familiar, and we both know it’s the last one.
“You’re amazing, Freya,” he says, his voice muffled in my hair.
I force myself to pull away, stepping back. His arms drop to his sides. He clears his throat.
“Thanks for having me over,” he says. “And thanks for not kicking me in the balls.”
“You’re not out of the house yet. Still time.”
Even though he knows I’m joking, a flash of panic crosses his face.
We wander out of the living room and linger awkwardly and silently in the hall, neither of us knowing quite how to wrap this up. We’ve already done the hug. I reach around him and open the door.
“Maybe I’ll… see you around,” he remarks.
I give him a small smile. “Goodbye, Matthew.”
He nods slowly, before he steps out into the sunshine and walks away. As I shut the front door, I catch a glimpse of him looking back over his shoulder. The door closes and he’s gone.
That’s it.
I stand in the hall, leaning back against the wall. A sad end to our love story. Nothing anyone can do. No grand gestures, no words that can change the tide. It just didn’t work out.
I’d better go water my peace lily.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The trapeze is not easy to master.
Look, I’m all for trying out new things and I appreciate the recommendation from Phil, but if I hate something straightaway, I’m not going to hang around. I lasted precisely eight minutes in the trapeze class, before I thought to myselflike hell I’m doing thisand pretended I needed the loo, walking out to go get a lovely chilled glass of rosé in a bar nearby in this glorious sunshine.
I give myself a little toast—“to trying new things”—and hold up my glass to no one, before taking a very satisfactory sip.
It’s actually quite nice to have some time to myself.
