Before.
He pulls on a pair of sweatpants.
Good night, rugby thighs.
Then he peels off his t-shirt.
Hello, sexy back.
I shouldn’t covet him like this. It’s not going to make breaking up again any easier, even if I take the coward’s way out and just inform my family via text message, maybe mid-January, that unfortunately Garrett and I have decided to part ways.
What I should I have done last April.
This is what I get for procrastinating to avoid the mess. I get even more mess.
I finally manage to tear my eyes away as he slides on a clean t-shirt for bed—goodnight, sexy back—and I try to get comfortable in my makeshift bed.
Across the room, he stashes his bag away, then glances my way.
I stare at the ceiling.
“You think I should have told you earlier that he asked me about a wedding?” he finally asks.
My shoulders tighten up and I try not to hunch them towards my ears. “You don’t?”
“Nope.” Unapologetic, resolutely calm. So Garrett of him.
I twist the edge of my blanket in my fingers. “Why not?”
There’s a rustle as he gets settled on his couch. Then he says, “Because it wasn’t emotional for me, but it would have been for you.”
I press my lips together. He’d already said as much, but to hear him say it again, and more explicitly…he’s right, and that’s a surprise. I’m emotional now just thinking about it. And he’s not, even about something that he claims he wanted very much.
Maybe he didn’t.
Maybe that’s why I pushed him away, even though he’s the only one I want close.
“Stop thinking that I don’t care,” he mutters.
I gasp. “Excuse me?”
“I can hear you.”
“No you can’t.”
“You’re stewing so hard the whole room is vibrating.”
“Well maybe I’m thinking there’s a reason why you aren’t emotional about it!”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Come over here and tell me all about it.”
I huff. “You’d like that.”
“Yeah, I would.”
