His hands go to his hips, and he squints out the window. “How many times did you practice that one in the mirror?”
“Excuse me?”
“You sound rehearsed.”
My arms fold across my chest. I take a deep breath and remind myself that he’s deeply hurt, that sometimes people get this way as a defense mechanism, that hurt people hurt people.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, yes. But I haven’t rehearsed any of it. I’m speaking from my heart,” I say. “Anyway, I hope we can stay friends after—”
Grant collapses on the sofa, his head buried in his hands. I can’t tell if he’s actually crying or if he’s faking it—all the more reason to assure myself that I’m doing the right thing. I’ve seen countless sides of this man in the last week that I never knew existed.
“I fucked this up.” His voice is muffled against his palms. “I’m so sorry, Brie. I’m so sorry.”
I hesitate before taking the spot next to him, and then I place my hand onto his back to let him know I’m still here. “You didn’t … fuck anything up.”
“What can I do?” When he turns to me, his eyes are red and glossy. But his cheeks are dry. “Tell me what to do. I want to make this right. I can’t lose you.”
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I stop myself.
We’re going in circles.
“I’m sorry.” I collect my bag. “My mind is made up— for a couple of weeks now.”
The color drains from his face as he watches me stride to the door. Half of me expects him to rush to my side, to try to capture me in his arms, to fall to his knees in an act of last-resort desperation.
But he remains planted on the sofa, still as a statue.
“I’m moving to Manhattan,” I say, because I know that as long as he believes I’m in town, he’ll relentlessly pursue me.
“What? When?”
“Next week,” I say.
“How long have you had this planned? And when were you going to tell me? Is this why you’re ending things?”
“I just decided the other week. And it’s a temporary arrangement. I’ll be moving back after the first of the year. I’m doing a favor for a colleague.”
He exhales, as if he’s relieved that I’m coming back. Though, if I’m lucky, he’ll have moved on by then.
Grant is an attractive man. He’s successful and driven. He’s ambitious and hard-working. He’s an outgoing people person. Phoenix is filled with beautiful, intelligent, driven women who’d be happy to scoop him up in a heartbeat.
“Why don’t we just take a break then?” He stands, shoulders back. There’s a confidence in his tone that doesn’t belong. “Three months apart. Three months to think about things. To really think about them.”
“I’ve already thought about them …”
“Think about them some more then,” he says. “You might be surprised. You might miss me. You might change your mind. And when you do, I’ll be here. Waiting.”
24
Cainan
“Can you believe this shit?” Grant blows a breath into the receiver Thursday morning. I check the clock—my nine AM should be here any minute.
This is the first we’ve talked since brunch last weekend, and I have to admit I’m relieved he’s pretending like our heated little moment never happened. Moving on is in everyone’s best interest.
“I’m so sorry … I know you really liked her.” I drum my fingers against my desktop. Pretending to be shocked at this news and lying to my best friend isn’t my finest moment, but the truth would make things ten times worse.
“I just … she blindsided me,” he speaks slowly, as if he’s dumbfounded with disbelief. I picture him slumped over his desk, head in his hands, staring at the wall with wide eyes.
“You really didn’t see this coming?” As much as I want to remind him of the fact that he literally said she was having second thoughts a few days ago, I opt not to go down that road.
“I mean, maybe? She’d been kind of quiet the last couple of weeks; thought maybe she was pulling away. Then I thought it was my imagination. Guess I didn’t want to believe she was having a change of heart.”
“She could still change her mind.” I say the kind of thing I’d want to hear if I was on the other side of this. “You never know.”
“She’s moving to New York for a few months.”
I almost choke. “What?”
“Some job trade thing with one of the actuaries at the Manhattan branch. It’s just until the first of the year.”
My heart races as fast as my thoughts. I’ve spent the past several days wrapping my head around Claire’s dream theory, ignoring the lingering pull that remained, and convincing myself to let the whole thing go because it was as unrealistic as it was impossible.