She shakes her head furiously. “I—I didn’t lie to you. What did he say? What did I lie about?”
“You lied to me. Did you live with him?”
“Yes, but I never said I didn’t. We didn’t even talk about that.”
“Did you break up with him the day you moved out here?”
“No! I mean, I guess, technically,” she fumbles. “I had broken up with him so many times before. I’d told him we weren’t going to be together. I just—I wasn’t going to get my own place in the short time before I moved, because I knew I wasn’t staying in Chicago anymore.”
“Those are lies of omission, Brook. You obviously felt the need to hide that shit from me. You also hid the fact that he’s been calling and texting you.” I point my finger at her. “But Neal told me.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” She shakes her head, her chin quivering, and I want to pull her into my arms and tell her it’s all going to be okay, but I don’t know if it is.
“I get that what happened in the past doesn’t concern me, but when I told you over and over how scared I was of you deciding one day that you were done with life out here and leaving it all behind to start over someplace new, you could’ve told me about Neal. You were engaged to him and didn’t even tell me that.”
Her eyes snap up to mine, instantly growing angry. “I was never engaged to him,” she says emphatically.
“Did you really break up with him the day you moved out here?”
“I had ended things with him weeks before,” she says as she furiously wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. “Yes, I was still living in his apartment, but I slept in the guest room. We hadn’t been intimate in months. I had broken up with him and he couldn’t accept it. He thought if he proposed that it would somehow change things. So when he proposed the night before I left, I said a big NO. I told him there was no way we were ever getting back together or married or anything. It was done—final.” She spreads her arms out like an umpire calling a play.
“Why didn’t you tell me that he’s been calling and texting you?”
She buries her face in her hands and shakes her head.
“I don’t know. He went to my parents’ house and they were acting like everything was okay with him. He’d told them we were just on a break and that we were going to work things out. I set things straight with them and I just—I don’t know—I was so worried it would fuck things up with us . . . and I was right, it has!”
“No, it wouldn’t have if you hadn’t hid this shit,” I spit the words out.
She recoils.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t love him. I love you, more than anything. What we have can’t compare to anything with anyone else, I promise. I didn’t go see him at the bar and I have no intention of speaking to him again. I deleted everything from him and blocked him.” She fumbles in her purse and pulls out her phone, thrusting it toward me. “You can see for yourself.”
I don’t take the phone. I’m exhausted and I don’t know what to believe or think at this point.
“The only reason I had that talk with Neal the night before I left Chicago is because he proposed. I wanted him to understand that there was no hope—there was no maybe.”
“Well, clearly, he didn’t get the message, because he showed me the ring tonight and said he’s not leaving town without you. Honestly, Brooklyn, this thing between you two doesn’t involve me. You need to talk to him and sort out your shit.”
I go to close the door and she extends her arm, pushing it back open. “So that’s it? What now?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know!” I shout angrily. “I just need some fucking space. Please leave.”
A sob breaks through her lips, “Tyler, please.”
“Leave!” I shout, and this time I slam the door, marching back upstairs to go to bed—trying to pretend that this is all just a horrible nightmare that will be gone when I wake up tomorrow.