Page 22 of Wild Love
“Yeah. It’s good. Gonna head up to see my parents for dinner tonight.”
“Nice. Say hi to them for me.”
Yeah. ‘Cause that won’t be awkward. “Will do. So, listen?—”
“When are you thinking you’ll head back?”
“Right, so… that’s the thing. I sort of… I got a job here.”
The crunching finally stops.
“You got a job there?” He sounds floored, and I instantly feel guilty.
“Yeah.” My lips roll together, and I look out over the field where I grew up playing soccer. “Kinda just fell into my lap. And well, you know I’ve been trying to find a job.”
“Yeah. Butthere?” He says it with a scoff that rankles me.Has me standing up just a little bit taller. Feeling defensive of this place. I’m allowed to rag on Rose Hill—it’s not perfect, but it ismine. He’s not from here, though, and it rubs me all wrong that he thinks he’s allowed to shit-talk my town.
“Yeah. It’s a great opportunity. And I need the space.”
“Space?”
I wince. I can imagine him now. The air of boyish confusion on his face as he turns that word over in his head.
Space.
“Yeah. Space.”
I’m met by silence at first. “Is that figurative or literal?” he says, finally. “Like the space around you that you get out there? Or space from me?”
I swallow, regarding all the parents waiting to pick their children up. They chat happily, and I get the odd curious glance. I grew up here, sure. But I don’t come back often enough to register for most people.
“I think both,” I say in a hushed tone. More silence.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m just… I want to be straight with you.”
“Is there someone else?”
I think of all the dirty looks Ford shot me this afternoon. And the way he tugged on my ponytail last night.
I shake my head. “No. There isn’t.”
His heavy sigh tells me he’s relieved. That flash of jealousy after him seeming so disinterested lately catches me off guard.Too little, too late.
“Okay, good. Listen. I—can I come visit you there? I’dlove to just sit down and really talk this over. See what we can do to give this our best shot.”
I want to tell him no. I want to tell him I’m done. I want to say it’s not me, it’s him. I also want to ask him why he was so damn comfortable brushing the Stan situation under the rug.
But I also don’t want to talk about that at all—to anyone. And I don’t want to bemeanlike Ford told me I am. I don’t want to make such a final decision when I already feel so lost. And I don’t want to be the kind of grown woman who dumps a long-term boyfriend over the phone.
“Yeah, sure. Of course.”
“Okay, great.” I can hear the smile in his voice and the creak of his chair as he adjusts himself in it. “I’m looking at my calendar now. Would the second weekend of next month be all right for you?”
My mouth hangs open so wide that a flyandits entire family could move in. “Next month?”
“Yeah. I have some really important projects right now. Workload is impossible to get out from under.”
Really important.
