Page 82 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
I guess I’m doing this.
He raises his eyebrows at me, waiting obediently, possibly the first time he’s ever done what I asked so easily. That just figures.
But I swallow my fear, my hesitation, and then I spit the words out, before they can dissolve on my tongue. “I like you.”
I say them just like that:I like you.
And for a brief moment, there’s nothing but silence in the car. Felix’s eyes widen, frozen, and his jaw gapes. We spend a good five seconds like that, staring at each other in an endless chasm of awkwardness.
Gradually, it seems, he returns to himself. He turns to face forward, running one hand through his hair, then over the back of his neck, and it could not be clearer that he’s trying to figure out what to say, what to do. He stares out the front window like he might find the secrets to the cosmos, and for all I know, he might. In this very minute, I could believe anything.
“You said—” he finally begins, looking at me. He breaks off and then tries again. “You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.”
Someone says the same thing inA Walk to Remember,I think, either the book or the movie—I’m vaguely aware of this, maybe because my mind is searching frantically for something to hold onto.
“I’m not in love with you,” I say, and the words sound like they’re coming from someone else, someone calm and normal and collected. “But I do like you.” I force a smile. “I broke that promise, anyhow. Sorry. That one’s on me.”
This is all going very well, I note from that same place outside of myself. It hurts more than I thought it would, but overall, it’s going smoothly. I wait for him to speak, patiently, so that this can all be over and done and I can mourn in peace and then move the heck on.
It takes him forever, or maybe it just feels like forever. His hands grip the steering wheel, a life raft in the flood I’ve unleashed, until finally I sigh.
“Felix,” I say, and he jumps. “This isn’t rocket science. Just answer. You’re not going to hurt my feelings. I know you’re a people-pleaser, but dragging it out or saying it flatteringly is worse.” I hesitate. “It’s okay if I’m notthe one, or whatever. It’s okay if I’m the same to you as other girls or other friends. You haven’t led me on or promised me anything.”
He slumps backward, finally letting go of the steering wheel as his head comes to rest against his seat. Then he runs one hand down his face and looks at me. “I don’t know how I feel, India.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I just nod. “It’s okay. If you don’t know, you probably don’t feel the same.” I take a deep breath, and with every bit of willpower I possess, I force my stinging eyes to stay dry—at least until I get inside. “You’ve been an awesome friend,” I say. “Truly. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Felix shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye,” he says with a weak laugh.
I smile but don’t answer. “Your article will be great. I’ll read it when it comes out.” Then, because I can no longer stop the trickle of tears trying to escape, I open the door. “Good luck getting everything written!” I call over my shoulder.
I don’t let him respond; I can’t. I need to cry now, and I won’t let him see. So I wave as I’m turning around, and then I hurry up the driveway and into the garage.
By the time I’m stepping into the laundry room, I still haven’t heard his car pull away. And when I find Jules and Aurora in the kitchen—sitting on the countertop, eating leftover Chinese takeout, and looking so much likehomethat I could cry—all I can do is shuffle toward them, my head hanging.
“How was it?” Aurora says, her voice unsure.
But Juliet knows. “Oh, Indy,” she says in a sad little voice. She hops off the counter and sets her lo mein aside, fork poking out of the container because despite being the most dextrous of us all she still can’t use chopsticks. Then she wraps me in a giant bear hug, her graceful arms tight around me. Aurora joins only a second later.
“Do you want us to egg his house?” Aurora murmurs, and I know if I said yes we’d be out the door with a carton in a heartbeat.
But I just give a watery laugh and shake my head. “No,” I say, sniffling as I let my sisters piece me back together. “Are there any dumplings left?” My stomach growls. “I’m hungry.”
FELIX
There appearsto be something wrong with me.
I can’t say for sure what, but if I had to guess…
The flu. Maybe. Or pneumonia. Or clinical anxiety?
I grimace, rubbing my sternum and taking a deep breath. Of all of those, anxiety feels the most accurate.
But then how to explain the hot flashes and cold sweats I’ve been experiencing all day? The bouts of feeling like I’m going to throw up mixed with that nagging feeling that there’s something I’m forgetting to do—like turn the stove off?
I like you.
More nausea—and I fight the urge to dive for the nearest trash can, because I know it will pass in a second. So I lower myself to the ground instead of crouching like I’ve been doing for the last hour. I settle on the ugly Berber carpet and sit like I’m in kindergarten, criss-cross-applesauce style, letting my head hang until my chin rests against my chest.
