Page 52 of Lovely War
“Nice.”
“But then he emailed me to tell me he had moved to Boston and he wanted me to move there too.”
Ben’s eyes pop out in horror. “Radford, no.”
“Oh, yes. I did it. It was after I—after I left here. I got an internship up there and used it as an excuse to go, and then once I got there we were on and off for a couple months and then he freaked out and told me he didn’t want to get married—”
“You wanted to get married?”
“Hell, no. I said fuck-all about getting married. I was, what, twenty-two? It was all in his head. But naturally I had to stay in Boston for three more freaking months to prove a point.”
“Naturally. And that was it?”
The coaster under my beer is getting soggy. I fold the corner over with my thumb and press it down. “Well.”
His head falls back and he groans. “Damn you, Oliver.” He breathes in sharply. “Wait, tell me it’s over now? I can’t handle it if it’s not.”
“No spoilers,” I chide. “A year after that, he moved to New York and asked if we could be friends, and of course he started telling me I was the one that got away.”
“And then you told him off?” At this point he looks distraught.
I could cut to the end of the story, but now that he’s emotionally invested it’s more fun to draw it out. It would be more effective if I could keep a straight face, but I can’t.
Mom used to tell me:You’ll laugh about this someday.Also:Please, no more Geminis for you.I couldn’t fathom laughing about it then. But now, with all the feelings long since vacuumed out, the bitterness swept from the corners,all that’s left are the bones of the story and people that seem like characters written by someone else, even me. So yeah, now it’s funny.
“No.” It comes out on a laugh like the tiny shriek of air being let out of a balloon. “We got back together for a few more months, and then he decided he was homesick and wanted to go back to England. He asked me to go with him.”
He looks ready to fall off his barstool. “Please, please tell me you didn’t move to England.”
I settle down and sip my beer, allowing the dramatic tension to build. After dabbing the corners of my eyes with a napkin, I shake my head. “I didn’t move to England. He’d already decided he was going, and I was tired of all the emotional turmoil. We didn’t know how to be in a relationship with each other. We fell in love the first time because we were running around drinking wine in the fucking hills of Tuscany. But that was all we had, and we spent the rest of the time trying to get that feeling back. Finally I ended it, and he left.”
“For good?”
“For good. And I’m not a morally superior human like you. We don’t talk, and we certainly don’t exchange Christmas cards.”
“Never send him a Christmas card,” Ben implores me. “If he sees the return address he’ll show up at your door.”
“To bring this back toThe Beach House—”
“Oh, I forgot there was an actual point to this story.”
I backhand his arm lightly. “The point is I think it’s a mistake to ascribe grand emotional significance to a relationship that develops in a fantasy world. But also, nojudgment if you have to make the mistake three times before learning your lesson.”
After dinner, he drives me back to campus. My car is the last one in the parking lot. After I unbuckle my seat belt, he leans over to give me a hug. It’s long enough that I take in his clean soapy smell for two full breaths. Long enough that he drags his thumb down the side of my neck in a way that feels deliberate. His stubble grazes my cheekbone as he pulls away.
This is now the second time we’ve hugged. It’s apparently a thing we do now. I’m not sure of the parameters.
“Before you go,” he says, his voice a little rough. I stop with my fingers wrapped around the door handle. “I’m sorry your dad’s friends didn’t make it tonight. They missed out.”
He’s looking at me in a soft way that makes the car feel too small, like I’m sitting too still, like I need to get out and start moving. I look back at him.How close can I get?I pull the door handle. “Thanks,” I say. “And Happy Valentine’s Day. Technically.”
FIFTEEN
“Hey, we have to showyou—oh, she’s busy.”
I peer around my computer monitors to see Ben in the doorway, with Eric behind him. “What’s up?”
“How do you know she’s busy?” Eric asks, nudging his way past Ben into my office. “It’s not even nine thirty.” He tosses an apple from hand to hand.
