Page 69 of When Ben Loved Jace
“I suspect the difference in our two cases,” Eric continues, “is that Gabriel and I spent decades together. There weren’t really any mysteries left, whereas your relationship with Tim was relatively short-lived. There must be a lingering sense of unfinishedbusiness.”
I swallow and nod. “Especially since he wasn’t able to be so open with his feelings, like he is now. Back when we were together, he never even said that he loved me.”
Eric seems surprised by this, which makes me wonder what else Tim has told him.
“Do you think it’s possible?” I ask. “Iwantto be his friend but… I don’t know. I’m the one who left him. And sometimes, I wish I hadn’t. Even now.”
Eric hesitates, clearly conflicted. Probably because of his loyalty to Tim. I stop recording on my phone, in case that helps.
“I feel unqualified to answer that question,” Eric says at last. “It’s a deeply personal decision. I just know that Tim has often expressed his regret over how things ended. And I’ve seen firsthand that you being a part of his life again makes him incredibly happy.”
It’s definitely the sort of answer a friend would give, but that doesn’t make it untrue.
We hear barking. Eric gets up to let Chinchilla in. I glance around the living room while lost in thought, some part of me processing what I see, because a certain detail stands out. Art covers the walls. That’s no revelation. Tim even brought my attention to a few of his favorite pieces the last time I was here… But none of them are his.
“Do you have any of Tim’s paintings?”
Eric’s expression is blank as he returns with Chinchilla in tow. “What do you mean?”
“You like art. Are there any of his hanging up somewhere?”
“These all belong to me,” Eric says after another pause. “I wasn’t aware that he owned any paintings. Or am I misunderstanding you?”
I don’t think he’s trying to keep a secret for Tim’s benefit. Could it be that he really doesn’t know? I remember suddenly how Tim’s fingers looked different to me the other day. I couldn’t figure out why then, but I do now. I haven’t noticed any smudges of color on his skin, or paint under his fingernails. He hasn’t talked about his art at all, except in regards to his education.
“I just thought, with him majoring in architecture…” I say lamely. I don’t go any further, since I can’t bring myself to lie to him.
Eric blinks. “What a charming idea! I’ve always foundblueprints intriguing. I’ll have to ask to see some of his. I could have them framed!”
I stay long enough to smooth over the misstep and to finish off the glass of wine. Then I thank Eric before excusing myself, because I have a lot to think about. My thesis, yes, but that now seems easy by comparison to a much more pressing issue.
What am I going to do about my ex-boyfriend?
Chapter Sixteen
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the painting Tim gave me, as I have done so often before. Fiery colors that evoke passion bathe two overlapping hearts. My own beats hard as if in response. And that’s a great big problem, because I don’t know if I can deal with it anymore.
I guess I’m about to find out.
I pick up my phone and send him a text.Wanna go for a walk?
He doesn’t keep me waiting.I think Chinchilla knows how to read, because those are her favorite words, and she just got really excited.
I smile, despite the melancholy I feel.Bring her with you.
Should I come pick you up?
No.
I suggest a park on the outskirts of town that has hiking paths. We’ll be on our own out there, far away from prying eyes. I welcome the temptation. We agree to meet an hour from now. I check myself in the mirror, avoiding my own gaze. Then I return to my bedroom and sit in the same spot, staring at the painting while thinking about everything. Who we used to be. How everything has changed. What we could become. I still can’t decide. The time passes much too quickly before I have to leave.
When I get to the park, Tim is already there, standing near his car and holding Chinchilla’s leash. She wags her stubby little tail while tangling up my legs. I gingerly free myself and squat to pet her while trying not to stare at Tim. His hair is pulled back. He’s wearing a tank top and shorts. I already want him. Being in this heat doesn’t help. I always did love working up a sweat together. Lord help me if he decides to take off his shirt.
“Dude, it’s so good to see you again,” Tim says as we begin our hike. We’re at the base of a wooded hill, the dirt trail we plan to follow zigzagging to the top. “I was starting to wonder if I ever would.”
Not long ago, I assumed that would always be the case. We’d never see each other again. Part of me still longed for him, but life was a lot simpler then. I’m almost wistful for that time.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks when I don’t respond.
