Out On a Limb(45)

“He sounds like a jerk, Win. I’m sorry.”

“Long time ago now,” I say, shrugging.

There’s a lingering silence. I resist the urge to look back toward him as much as I can, feeling his eyes burning into me. After what feels like far too long, I decide to give in, mostly to set him at ease with a smile. But when I do eventually turn toward him, I don’t smile. I can’t.

Not when Bo’s looking at me like he heard far more than I was willing to say. Like he’s seeing every invisible scar I’ve tried to cover up.

“He wasn’t nice to you.” He states it like fact. Simple. Sad. True.

I shake my head no. Just subtle enough that a part of me can pretend I didn’t answer him at all.

Bo’s jaw works, his eyes falling briefly before he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

I inhale a shaky breath, biting the inside of my cheek. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

He nods, then scratches the side of his nose with a bent knuckle.

Change the subject, everything inside of me shouts.

“Did, uh, did you go to university?”

Bo licks his lips, nodding, his usual lightness missing. “Yeah, Waterloo for Accounting and Financial Management.”

“Sounds like a party,” I tease. He rolls his eyes playfully, though his smile is still absent. It seems his thoughts are held elsewhere. I wonder… if maybe… they’re held on her. “Did you have a Jack too?” I ask.

Bo breathes into his hand as he wipes his mouth. “How much has Caleb told you?” he asks, eyeing me like he’s got my number.

I tsk, hissing in through my teeth. “Busted,” I say quietly through a nervous, soundless laugh. “Caleb hasn’t said much, though.” Nothing helpful, at least. “I don’t think he and Cora are particularly close.”

“Listen, things were complicated with Cora. I don’t want to imply that—”

“You should probably know that Sarah and I refer to her as the spawn of Satan,” I interrupt. “Frequently and in front of Caleb. She’s been nothing but nasty to Sarah. So if you’re trying to be diplomatic for my sake, don’t bother.”

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Bo says gently, leaning forward in his seat, his hands clasped between his knees, wringing. “I mean… sorry. You can call her whatever you want. I just…” His voice trails off.

I feel a twinge of guilt and unease pull my lips askew. “Sorry,” I offer simply. So he’s not over his ex, then. The sudden pang of sadness thrumming around my chest is unexpected. It’s not jealousy, I don’t think. Or at least, not entirely. It’s more complicated than that. It’s wondering if during one of the more meaningful sexual experiences of my life, certainly the most pleasurable, my partner was thinking of someone else. Wishing for someone else. If I was just… there. Available. Overly willing, throwing myself at him until he gave in. It’s the crushing weight of questioning whether he wishes I was her. Them having a baby. Them sharing a home. It makes me feel like a trespasser. Inferior.

“I shouldn’t have called her that. We shouldn’t call her that. You’re right.”

I can tell Bo’s choosing his words carefully as he sets his emptied mug down on the coffee table. “It shouldn’t upset me. It wasn’t exactly a good relationship. She, uh, Cora… things between us were not great.”

Things are already awkward; I may as well get some answers. “Caleb did mention that you two were engaged.” The moment I say it, Bo’s hands are all over his face—anxiously rubbing at his chin and cheeks and forehead.

“Yeah,” he says, his nose scrunching up. “Technically, yes.”

“Technically?” I ask when he looks up at me.

“Okay. We’re doing this,” he says, under his breath. “Day one, pulling out the big guns.” He laughs half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking myself. “We don’t have to…”

“Did you want to take that walk to the beach? Together? I always find it easier to walk and talk about heavier shit, you know?”

I do know. That’s what I went to school for, at some level.

“Yeah, sure.” I nod and stand from the couch. “Give me a few minutes to change.”

A little while later, we’re both dressed in warmer layers and halfway to the water. We’ve walked mostly in silence so far, making fleeting comments about cute dogs as they pass us by or how lovely the weather feels after an otherwise moody winter.

When we arrive at the beach, it’s empty. The sand is nearer to mud in colour, wet and partially covered with half-frozen puddles in its valleys. The rocky shore is hidden under snow that’s already begun melting under today’s golden sun. The lake’s ice is thin enough to see through and cracking all over. The sky is a hazy blue with soft, wispy clouds, as if a painter dried their brush against the horizon.

A perfect late-winter day.

A hopeful, spring-is-closer-than-you-think type of day.

I feel it all thawing my weary bones. The sunshine, the birds singing, the breeze that isn’t frigid enough to hurt my skin. A sign of all the good to come when winter ends. When I can spend my days outside, feeling more like myself.

It isn’t until we stop at the shoreline that Bo seems to begin collecting his thoughts once again. This time, I wait patiently for him to offer me whatever he wants. I shouldn’t have pried, considering there’s a lot I’m not quite ready to tell him about my last relationship, so I won’t again.