If It Makes You Happy(102)

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I’m mad at you. Why are you mad at me?”

He slaps his palms on his thighs and looks off to the side, toward nothing on the wall, before swiveling his eyes back to me. They’re like two sharp points, locked on me.

“Because you come over with no introductions. No agenda, except to tell me my flaws.” He huffs another laugh.

“Well”—I lick my lips—“you’re irritating.”

“I know I’m an irritating guy. You think I don’t know that?” Now, he is getting frustrated. “I was told that for fourteen years. And, listen, I’m not changing anytime soon.”

I don’t want you to.

I fold my arms over my chest, and he squints at me.

“You’re not saying something. What are you thinking?”

“Why did you go on a date with Sara?”

His mouth drops open, and he tongues his cheek. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pauses, then breathlessly says, “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“You … you … God, well, you know what? I didn’t like it either. It was actually kinda shitty.”

“Shitty?”

“Yeah, Michelle. It was really shitty. I felt like shit.”

“You said you needed to get back out there.”

“No,” he counters, pointing a finger at me. “You said I needed to.”

I grit my teeth. “And you agreed.”

He blinks at me repeatedly. His mouth opens, then slams closed. His frustration is picking up now. He’s adding fuel to my fire, and I’m thrumming with energy. I want to raise my voice. I want to argue with him. I have so many emotions; I’m boiling over with them.

“Seriously?” An arrogant grin pulls onto half his face. “What? Am I gonna argue with you? Do you know how impossible that is? It’s impossible now, and I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.” He exhales and holds up his palms, as if trying to calm himself down. “I shouldn’t have said yes. That’s my fault. Not yours.”

No, I think. It’s me. I’m the one with problems.

I keep circling it over and over. I did this to us. We were doing just fine until this. He was doing fine until I came along.

Cliff pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “God, stop thinking for half a second, Michelle. I can never tell—”

“You don’t need to. I don’t owe you or anyone anything.”

His eyes snap to mine, and he’s speechless for a moment. “Fine.”

“Fine,” I answer.

But I don’t move. I don’t want to be done. I’m far from it.

“Well, then where do we go from here?” I ask.

“What do you want to happen now?” he asks me.

“No,” I drawl. “No, stop being so accommodating. Stop asking me what I want. You’re so—”

“What am I—”

“You’re always—”

“Do you even—”

“This is so complicated!” I raise my voice above the jumble of a nothing argument I’ve created. “I want you to be happy and—”

His next words almost come out in a whisper. “Have you ever thought I might be happy with you?”

I tense, taking in a shaky breath. “You can’t mean that.”

“I almost wish I didn’t.”

“But you said—”

“I say so many things that I don’t know what comes out of my mouth half the time,” he says. “But you do … you make me happy. So, there. I’m stuck in my own damn head with thoughts of you that I can’t get rid of. So, what do I do? Huh? What do I do?”

Suddenly, our fight is too real. I pushed him too far.

He lets out a slow exhale. His hands fall by his sides, defeated. “Come on, Michelle. Talk to me. Please.” He sounds so desperate.

His head tilts to the side. His eyebrows turn in.

It’s too much. It’s all so much. I’ve done too much damage.

I deserve to be alone.

I turn on my heel to leave.

But in a stern crack of words, Cliff says, “Don’t you dare walk away.”

I freeze in place and turn around.

“I’m not letting you leave this discussion like that. Let’s talk through this. Stop overthinking what it is you have to say and say it.” He’s trying to stay collected, but the flush on his cheeks is betraying him.

“I’m done.”

His blue eyes dart between mine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d forgotten where he was.

“You’re done,” he echoes.

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. I start to turn again, but then he says in the most matter-of-fact way that it punches through my soul, “No, you’re scared.”

“Scared?” I ask with a sardonic laugh. “Of what?”

“You’re lashing out at me because you’re scared. That’s why you came over. You’re scared of being happy for one single second.” He inhales, swallowing and staring at me with a pointed look. “And maybe you’re even scared of … of falling in love again.”