Annie
‘I don’t understand what the rules are between the two of you,’ Bridget says over her wine glass.
After biting her tongue for months, she’s finally asking me outright about where Hunter and I stand. ‘There are no rules.’
She appears confused. ‘Because you broke up?’
‘We didn’t say those words. We just kind of agreed to be… separate.’
Her eyebrows come together. ‘Like a long-distance relationship?’
I draw a breath. ‘He doesn’t want me to wait for him.’
‘Oh. So it’s an open relationship, then.’
I give her a tired look. ‘We never had a conversation about starting the relationship, so I guess there was never a need to have one around ending it.’
Bridget crinkles her nose. ‘So it was a casual country fling, and now you’re friends?’
There’s nothing casual about us. It was intensely serious from the second I stepped up onto that veranda. ‘We’re just living the lives we need to right now, and then we’ll…’ Look at me pretending I have answers to these questions. ‘See what happens in the future.’
She leans against the countertop, watching me. ‘So Hunter would be fine if you went out tonight and met some guy, because you’re living the life you need to right now?’
Hunter wouldn’t be fine with that. I wouldn’t be fine with that. ‘It’s not something I’d mention in a casual text.’
‘But you could technically do it.’
I’m chopping potatoes for dinner, and this conversation is making me clumsy with the knife. ‘I suppose I could.’
‘You suppose? I can’t believe you didn’t clarify all this stuff before you left.’
‘He didn’t want to talk about it.’ Or face it. Knowing the status of our relationship and saying it aloud are two very different things.
She takes a drink. ‘Are you expecting him to be celibate for the next four and a bit years?’
The blade of the knife slips, narrowly missing my finger. ‘Of course not.’
She sets her wine glass down, takes the knife from me, and starts chopping. ‘But you’re hoping he will,’ she says without looking at me.
Hoping. Praying. Sacrificing small animals in fire rituals. ‘I’m a little more realistic than that.’
She tosses the potatoes into the pot. ‘When did you last text him?’
‘June.’ I manage to keep my voice casual despite feeling choked.
‘As in two months ago?’
I nod.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said… “How are the sheep?”’
She bites down on her top lip to stop from smiling. ‘And did he reply to this profound message?’
I pick up the pot and carry it to the sink. ‘I got one word back.’
‘Which was?’