In the Daylight

On Tuesday, he didn't ask whether I'd eaten.

He sent one message at nine in the morning.

I'm speaking to Claire at eleven. You don't need to answer. I wanted you to know.

I read it on the bus, holding my bag against my knees.

Then I put the phone away.

I attended a lecture. I helped Tessa sort questionnaires. I made three separate mistakes entering a number and had to ask someone else to check the page.

At noon, my phone stayed silent.

At one, it rang.

I went outside before answering.

"It's over," Nate said.

I stood beside a bicycle rack while students moved around me.

"What did you tell her?"

"That I don't love her the way I should. That I've been dishonest with myself and unfair to her. And that there is someone else."

I closed my eyes.

"Did you tell her who?"

"She asked. I told her it was you."

The air seemed to change against my face.

Someone outside the two of us knew. Someone who hadn't been chosen because she would be kind.

"What did she say?"

He exhaled slowly.

"That she'd noticed. That she'd spent weeks explaining it away because she trusted me."

I pressed my free hand against the cold railing.

"I'm sorry."

"Elliot, no. That's my apology to make. I made it."

For a while, I listened to him breathe.

"She doesn't want to see me for a while," he said. "We're telling our parents separately. There won't be a joint statement pretending we've remained delighted friends."

I almost smiled at that. Then I thought of Claire under the lights in our garden, and I couldn't.

"Is she all right?"

"She's hurt. And angry. She has every right to be."

He didn't make her anger into an obstacle I needed to help him get past.

That mattered.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"Outside the cafe."

"Do you want to see me?"

The answer came so quickly that my eyes stung.

"Yes."

We met in a little square near campus. He was sitting on a bench without looking at his phone.

When he saw me, he stood.

I stopped in front of him.

There were questions. About our parents. About the house. About everything that came after a broken engagement.

For a moment, I couldn't ask any of them.

"You did it," I said.

He looked at me as though he understood exactly how small and enormous that sounded.

"I should have done it sooner."

"Yes."

I stepped into him.

He held me carefully at first, as though waiting to find out whether this was a mistake. Then I put my arms around him, and his hand settled at the back of my head.

In the square, a cyclist argued with a delivery driver. A woman ate lunch on the opposite bench. Nobody knew who our parents were.

For the first time, being ordinary felt almost extravagant.

"I love you," he said beside my ear.

I went still.

He leaned back enough to look at me.

"I know I haven't earned an easy answer. I wanted to say it without asking for one."

I looked at the face I'd spent years trying not to need.

"You're making it difficult to be impressive about this," I whispered.

His laugh broke slightly.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing for that part."

I touched his coat where my hands had wrinkled it.

"I love you too. Unfortunately."

He smiled, and I couldn't keep pretending I wasn't smiling back.

We sat on the bench.

His hand rested beside mine. After a minute, I took it.

"Our parents," I said.

"We need to tell them. Together."

"Not in a restaurant. Mom will feel trapped."

"At home, then."

"And not while your father is on his way somewhere."

"I'll ask him to keep Thursday evening free."

I nodded. Having a day made the fear more solid, but less endless.

"I want to speak for myself," I said.

He looked at me.

"Of course."

"I'm serious. You get a certain voice when you think something is your responsibility."

"An attractive voice?"

"An exhausting voice."

He smiled, then became serious again.

"You speak for yourself. I answer for what I've done."

I leaned against his shoulder for a moment.

We sat until I had to return to campus.

That evening, Claire sent me a message.

I stared at her name long enough that Ben looked over.

"You don't have to read it with an audience," he said.

I went into the kitchen.

The message was short.

Nate told me. I would rather have heard the truth before standing in front of everyone wearing his ring. I don't want an explanation from you. Please don't ask me to reassure you that I'm fine.

I sat down.

There was nothing unfair in it. That made it harder.

I wrote three replies and erased them.

Then I wrote, You're right. I'm sorry for the hurt I helped cause. I won't ask that of you.

She didn't answer.

I didn't send anything else.

When I told Nate, he listened without trying to make the message mean less.

"She doesn't owe us comfort," he said.

"I know."

"Are you all right?"

"Not entirely."

"Me neither."

It was a strange relief to have him admit that happiness could contain something difficult without ceasing to be happiness.

On Wednesday, the placement coordinator offered me an interview.

I called Mom first.

She was delighted. She asked whether I'd bring the details home so she could understand what the summer involved.

I said I'd come that evening.

Nate was already there when I arrived, home early to speak to Victor about canceling the engagement. I didn't know how that conversation had gone until he met me in the kitchen.

"He isn't pleased," Nate said.

"Understatement?"

"Considerable."

"Does he know about me?"

"Not yet. I said there was someone else. He asked who. I told him we were having that conversation tomorrow, with you and Rachel."

My stomach tightened.

"He agreed?"

"He said a number of things. Eventually, yes."

I breathed out.

Mom's car wasn't in the drive. She'd said she'd be back before six.

Nate handed me a mug of tea.

"You made this?"

"I can operate a kettle."

"Rumors of your competence are spreading."

He smiled.

I put the mug down and stepped closer.

"I'm scared," I said.

His expression softened.

"So am I."

I put my arms around him.

He held me, and for one moment the kitchen was just a kitchen, with a warm mug on the counter and somebody who knew when I needed quiet.

"I love you," I said into his shoulder.

His hand moved gently over my back.

"I love you too."

The back door opened.

I looked up.

My mother stood on the threshold with her keys in her hand.

She had heard us.

I knew before she spoke.

"Elliot," she said. "Tell me I didn't understand that correctly."