“I learned something while we were apart,” he says.
“What did you learn?” I ask dutifully.
“I met a lot of women. I admit I had a lot of sex. Some was amazing—I mean really amazing,” he says, smiling in a reminiscing way. I hate him for that smile. “Some wasn’t so amazing. But I don’t regret any of it. Because it helped me to see that it was just sex. None of those women were like you, Anna.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear for me, and the sensation of someone else touching my hair sends discomfort through my nerves. I ignore it, as I’m supposed to.
“I want someone in my life who’ll be there for me no matter what, even if I’m sick and bedridden. You always see things my way. You put me first. You don’t push me to do things I don’t want. Being with you is easy. Do you know how special that is? I want us to be together again, just us. No more exploring. I know what I want,” he says.
I make myself smile. It feels twitchy and wrong, but he doesn’t seem to notice it’s not my best work. He smooths his hands over my hair, like I’m his favorite pet, and I tense my muscles and bear it as his words make me combust inside with silent rage.
When we were together, I didn’t always see things his way. I pretended to. I put him first, even above myself, and after being with someone who truly cares about me, I see how wrong that was. I never fought for myself, and that suited him just fine because he got everything he wanted out of our relationship. From the looks of things, he wants more of that.
There was a time when I thought this was what I wanted. But I don’t. I don’t want this at all.
And I don’t know how to say it. I can’t be the one to end this. My family would be so upset with me.
But if he ends it . . .
“I saw someone,” I say with a suddenly dry mouth. “While you and I were apart.”
He stiffens abruptly and blinks at me like he doesn’t believe it. “You did?”
I wet my lips, nervous now. But an open relationship works two ways. It wouldn’t have been fair to expect me to sit at home while he had sex with every woman he saw. Even so, I try to minimize my wrongdoing by saying, “One person.”
“Do I know him?” he asks, sneering ever so slightly.
“No.”
That seems to appease him somewhat. “Did you guys . . . Was it good? Did you like it?” There’s a mocking edge to his voice as he asks his questions, and I get the distinct impression that he believes it’s impossible for me to “like it.”
I lift my chin, and though my voice isn’t loud, I still say, “I did.”
His expression darkens for a heart-stopping moment before it clears. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“You did.”
“Well, I hope he had fun while he could. It’s over for him now,” he says, grabbing my arms and pulling me against his body. “I’m the one you love.”
He tries to kiss me, but I turn away so his lips land on my cheek.
“My dad is right there,” I say.
“He’d be happy for us,” Julian says.
As he’s trying to kiss me again, my mom pokes her head in the door. “Your mom says it’s time to go soon,” she says, and her expression is carefully blank, even though she must have seen what she was interrupting.
He grins at her like they’re sharing an inside secret and kisses my temple before stepping away from me. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe.
He leaves the room and follows my mom down the hall, and I stand there, frozen in place. If my mom hadn’t come at just the right time, I probably would have
let him kiss me. I might even have kissed him back. Not because I want to, but because I feel like I have to—in order to make everyone happy.
Everyone but me.
My dad starts moaning, his regular E-flat moans, and my heart sinks. My everything sinks. I check the time. Not medicine time. I go to his side and touch his forehead. Cool to the touch. No fever. I check his body positioning to see if anything is off. There’s nothing obvious.