He hugged her, and she had to stop herself from pushing him away. He smelled like cologne, exactly like he always did, but for some reason the scent of it now made her want to gag.
Instead she pulled back and said, “Let me just look at you.”
When she did, she felt nothing except a slight tremor of uneasiness. Looking into his eyes, seeing the flatness there beneath the big smile, she knew for certain he didn’t love her.
And she had to admit what she’d known all along—she didn’t love him either.
Yet they’d been together for nearly a year. A year of lying to each other and, worse, lying to themselves. Why would they do that?
Because you were afraid, the answer came to her as her father finished his call and joined them. Not afraid of being alone. Afraid of being unwanted. Uninteresting.
“Hello, kiddo,” her father said, stepping forward to give her a kiss. His phone beeped, and he winced. “Sorry, have to take this, back in a sec.”
Unworthy of attention.
Her mother watched her father go with an expression of annoyance, but when she looked in Sadie’s direction again it shifted to one of triumph. We may compete for his affections, but I will always win, it said. Sadie realized she’d seen that expression over and over again growing up. Every day. She had mistaken it for love.
And in a way it was, Sadie understood. Because she allowed her mother to feel victorious, and for that her mother was grateful. Without Sadie, there would have been no competition for her father’s attention, no affirmation of supremacy. Possibly no interest.
Instead of being upset, Sadie felt sorry for her mother. There was so much more to aspire to. Sadie felt like she could see everything so clearly, all the complex dynamics and pallid emotions that were the warp and weft of her life. It wasn’t that she felt muffled right now. This was how her life had always been. Controlled. Safe. Buffered.
Numb.
“What’s wrong, darling?” her mother asked, and Sadie wondered what would happen if she told her. If she said she didn’t want to substitute words for feelings anymore, conversation for intimacy. Attention for affection. That she wanted to feel things, even if they were bad or confusing. That she was tired of smiles you had to remind yourself to put on. Would she understand?
Her father ended his second call and rejoined them. “How about lunch at the yacht club? I don’t know about anyone else, but I could sure use a mimosa.”
“That sounds great,” Sadie heard herself agreeing.
Pete drove Sadie’s car, following her parents but keeping up a steady stream of conversation. He kept glancing over at her and grinning.
“Did you miss me at all?” he asked.
“Of course,” she told him.
“Do you still love me?”
“Of course,” she answered, but the words felt like eraser bits in her mouth.
Lunch was filled with people coming by the table to talk to her father or mother. Pete kept leaning toward her to kiss her neck, and every time he did her muscles tensed.
She felt like she was a hollow shell and everything anyone said to her just echoed back to them. And no one noticed, or cared.
Halfway through lunch Decca showed up, dragging by the hand the bartender from the party her parents had given. She threw herself on Sadie and gave her a giant hug, and Sadie didn’t want to pull away. “Thank god you’re back,” Decca said. “Bosko almost convinced me to take up marathon running, I’ve been so bored and lonely without you.”
It was a lie, Sadie was sure, since Decca had hundreds of friends, but it didn’t come off as a lie. As they waited for the server to set more places at the table, Decca took Sadie’s hand and said, “We’re going to the bathroom. And if you boys think we’re going to talk about you, you’re right.”
Instead of heading to the bathroom, Decca led Sadie around the side of the club to the area outside the kitchen where the staff smoked. Club members never went there, so it was relatively discreet.
“We don’t have a lot of time so I’ll cut to it. What’s the problem, sweetie?”
“Nothing,” Sadie said. When Decca kept looking at her Sadie felt herself cracking. “I don’t know. Everything is wrong. Nothing has changed, but everything feels completely wrong.”
Decca bit her lip. “When my parents were still married, every time my father would come back from a business trip, whether it was for a night or a week, they would fight. Every time. It was like coming back made it hard to get the rhythm right again. I called it the reentry period. You were gone for almost six weeks and you took a trip somewhere very different. I’m sure it’s normal to feel out of sorts.”
Sadie nodded. That sounded right. True.
Except for the part where you were the eyewitness to a murder committed by the guy you love, and were helping to cover it up by not telling anyone. And the part where you couldn’t stand to be touched by your boyfriend. And your parents looked like painted marionettes, and your life looked like a hollow baroque opera.
“What did your mom and dad do during the reentry periods?” Sadie asked.
“They found liquor helped.”
“Then it sounds like we should be getting back to lunch.” She hugged Decca tightly. “Thank you for being such an amazing friend.”
Decca looked at her steadily. “You’ve changed.”
Sadie had to take a deep breath. “Maybe. I—I felt alive for the first time.”
Decca’s eyes got huge, but all she said was “Come on. We may need to stop at the bar for shots.”
After lunch Pete drove Sadie home. He bent over to kiss her at every light and held her hand the whole drive. The thought of doing anything with him made her skin crawl, but she wasn’t sure how to say no without provoking a fight.
So, she asked herself, why not provoke a fight? The thought surprised her, stunning in its simplicity, so obvious and yet so foreign. Could she do it? Would she?
He pulled up at the end of her street a block from her driveway. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I was hoping we could spend some time, just the two of us, before we got to your house. You know how your mom goes all puritan.” He turned toward her. “I missed you so much, babe. I’ve been saving up all this stuff to tell you, but right now all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you.”
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. She put her hand on his chest. “Pete, I can’t do this.”
He sat back and blinked, surprised. “Do what? Make out with me? I know the car isn’t that comfortable. Should we risk going to your house?”
“No, it’s not the car. It’s—” Sadie ran through a dozen excuses. She was tired, she still felt strange from Syncopy, she shouldn’t have done that Bailey’s shot with Decca. They were all comfortable. Easy. What she would have done in the past.
She said, “I don’t think we should be together anymore.”
He stared at her. “I don’t think I understand. Do you mean anymore today? Or anymore ever?”
“Ever.” She said it quietly, looking at her hands.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He sounded so plaintive, she felt a twinge of remorse. “No. You were perfect. Great. I just—I’ve realized I need to make some changes in my life. Learn new patterns. Start fresh.”
“Start fresh.” He repeated the phrase as though he were new to the language. “That’s what you call dumping someone you said you loved?”
“I did—do love you,” Sadie said, feeling the situation get out of her control. “But not the way you deserve.”
He stared at his lap, shaking his head.
“I’m really sorry, Pete,” she told him honestly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”