Page 2 of Daydream

Our parents were elated, naturally. Their dreams of wedding planning and shared grandchildren felt that much closer, and it didn’t matter that I was going to be in Maple Hills and he was going to be in San Diego. It’s only two hours away, and they were certain we’d be totally fine because I could arrange my schedule around Will’s hockey commitments.

No. Big. Deal.

Their confidence gave me confidence, which was something I desperately craved after that initial buzz wore off the first time Will asked me to have sex with him. I told him I wasn’t ready, and he said I was intimidated by all of the girls he’d slept with, but that I didn’tneed to worry. I, through a horrified grimace and the strongest urge to vacate the building, told him I didn’t care about who he’d been with before and his sex life had no bearing on us taking that step or not.

I wanted butterflies and the unexplainable need to pop my foot up delicately when we kissed, but I got wasps. Nasty, uncomfortable things that stung me every time Will would slip his hand beneath my T-shirt. My gut told me something was wrong, but my heart told me I just needed to give it time. My head told me I already had all the answers, but I was just too much of a chicken to listen to them.

“Halle? Will you get out of your head for long enough to have a fucking conversation with me? Jesus,” Will says harshly, raising his voice enough to wake Joy. She saunters across the table, brushing her tail along my chin before lying back down in front of me. The oven timer beeps, and Will mutters expletives under his breath while I turn it off and take out the croissants I now have no desire to eat.

“Nothing about this makes me feel happy. I feel like you’re annoyed at me for saying okay instead of what? Screaming at you? Sobbing?”

He scoffs, bringing his coffee mug to his lips, smothering whatever he muttered. I’ve always hated the muttering. “I’m annoyed about all the shit I’m going to get for being the one to break up with you, when you’re just too much of a fucking people pleaser to do it yourself.

“I’m going to be the world’s biggest asshole for doing something you’ve been too much of a coward to do. It isn’t fair. I want you but you don’t want me, so I have to be the bad guy.”

I was wrong. There are adjectives that follow when someone talks about me. Just not complimentary ones, I guess.

“I’m not being a people pleaser. I was trying to give us a chance to work things out. It’s not like I wanted to suck at this.”

“I wish you wanted to suck. Maybe that’d solve our problems,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.

It’s like he’s poking a tender bruise. A metaphorical one that’s there because of him in the first place. I want to roll my eyes and tell him how childish and pathetic he’s being, but in reality, he’s finally found something in this awful conversation that makes me hurt.

I don’t know why my sexual urges disappear as soon as he’s in the equation, and Ireallywish I did. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’s gotten to me, so I sigh and cock my head. “You’re being an asshole.”

He folds his arms across his chest as he sinks into his chair to shrink himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “Sorry, that was low. I just”—he sits up straight again, his restlessness a contrast to his normal easygoing nature—“can’t help but think things would be better if it actually felt like an adult relationship. I don’t know how you can know you hate sex if you won’t even try. I’ve been so patient with you, Halle, haven’t I? More patient than another guy would be.”

His need to break up with me rightnowsuddenly makes more sense, given I said I still wasn’t ready to have sex with him last night. If patient means stopping when I say stop, then yes, Will has been patient. If patient means repeatedly bringing up sex and interrogating me about my thoughts and feelings but becoming moody when I once again say I’m not ready, then sure, he’s been patient.

I’m pretty sure neither of those things could be construed as patience, but I don’t have the energy to delve into my mostly solo sex life during breakfast.

“We’re two adults in a relationship—that’s what makes it an adult relationship.” As I’ve said a million times before. “And oh my God, for the last time, I never said I hate sex. I’ve only said I’m not ready and we compromised, I did the other stu—”

“Oh, because calling it a compromise makes me feel really great. Thanks.”

I want to bash my head on the table. “Look, we’re getting off topic. We can tell our parents it was a mutual decision. No bad person, mutual.”

He shoots me a disbelieving look. “Like they’ll buy that. What about Thanksgiving? Christmas? The vacation at spring break? You’re naïve to think they’ll drop it.”

I can’t pretend it’s a stretch for him to be worried about how our parents might take the news. It’s the thing I’ve been worrying about, too. Maybe he’s right; maybe I am a coward and too much of a people pleaser, and I’ve forced his hand to save myself.

The summer we just shared back home made it very clear that without our hobbies or our family commitments to fill our time, we’ve outgrown each other. Will wants adventure with his friends until he starts his professional career, and I want to be a published author by the time I’m twenty-five. We’re both driven, we’re just driving in different directions. When you add the tension caused by my unwillingness to drop my panties on demand, this breakup was the only thing inevitable about us.

If I had any friends that I didn’t share with Will, I’m sure they’d wonder why we were together in the first place. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the past year, and the answer didn’t paint me in a very good light.

I bounced between everything from being a people pleaser like I’m so commonly called, to having a late rebellion phase against my older brother, Grayson. He always hated Will, claiming he was too arrogant and our friendship was too one-sided. I was too well behaved to rebel about anything else going on, so not listening to my brother was as rebellious as I got. Even then, my rationale felt a little far-fetched.

In the end, I couldn’t escape the truth: loneliness. Because if we split, who would I have?

Sure, our relationship wasn’t perfect, but he called me every day and he wanted me around.

“I’ll say I have the strongest urge to spend Christmas with Dad and Shannon. I think my brother will be there so I can use him to make it more believable. By the time we’re both home in March for the spring break trip, everyone will be over our split.”

“You sure?” he asks. I just offered him the best get-out-of-jail-free card in existence and he can’t even hide the happiness. God, this is nauseating.

“I’m totally sure.”

I watch as he relaxes. “If you’re not coming home, I also don’t think you should come to my games anymore.”

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