The Breakaway(102)

Sebastian’s not a guy like that, Abby thought. Except maybe he was. At least, he had been, very recently. And he told her he wanted to change, but could she believe him? How well did she know him? How much did she trust him? Was it even possible for him to be any better?

“I don’t get it,” Mark was saying. “I don’t understand. Is that all you think of yourself? Is that what you think you’re worth?”

“Maybe,” she said, in a tiny voice. Maybe that is all I think of myself. She didn’t have a career. She lived in a place her parents had found, and still used her parents’ passwords to watch TV. She’d never finished her master’s degree, she didn’t own a car, and she had less than a thousand dollars in her checking account. The only thing she’d figured out how to do in her years on the planet was live relatively happily in a larger body, and she couldn’t even manage that all the time. Maybe, deep down, she didn’t believe that she deserved any better than someone like Sebastian, any more than a few hours of fun with a guy who’d probably forget about her the minute he got back to Williamsburg, like he’d forgotten about dozens, maybe hundreds, of women before her.

Mark was wiping furiously at his eyes. “I love you.”

“I know,” Abby whispered. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so sorry.”

“We had a life together. Which you just tossed in the trash.” He grabbed at his hair again, took a shuddering breath, and sat down on the couch beside her. Abby let him take her hand.

“I could forgive you,” he said, staring straight ahead. “We could try to get through this. If that’s what you want.” He turned toward her, giving her a hard look. “Is that what you want?”

Abby felt her eyes getting hot and her throat get tight. She knew what the truth was and made herself say it. “You deserve someone better than me.”

Mark dropped her hand and shook his head. “So that’s it, then?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing the ground would open up and let her fall through it; wishing she’d never met Sebastian; wishing she was anywhere but here. “You’re a wonderful man, and a wonderful boyfriend, and I know…” She swallowed hard, wishing that life had a fast-forward button, so that it could be an hour or a day or a week or even a year from now, and this would be over.

“Why?” Mark asked. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Hey, you don’t get to give me the silent treatment. I deserve an answer. What’s he got that I don’t have? Besides lots and lots and lots of experience?”

He knows how to ride a bike, Abby thought, but did not say. A wiser woman doing a side-by-side comparison of Mark and Sebastian would have chosen Mark in a heartbeat. He was the safer bet, the sure thing. Even if Mark couldn’t ride a bike, even if he sometimes accidentally threw out her leftovers or let her ice cream get freezer burn, even if the sex, even at the beginning, had been good instead of great, Mark was the better choice. Mark would love her forever; he’d be steadfast and unfailingly kind and a wonderful father. Sebastian might not even remember her name next week. He might not want to be a father at all.

And yet, Abby thought. And yet.

“He doesn’t have anything you don’t have,” she said, her voice muted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s nothing you did. It’s me.”

Mark’s voice was bleak. “So this is it?”

Abby nodded without meeting his eyes.

Mark made an unpleasant noise and got to his feet. “I guess we’ll always have Camp Golden Hills.”

And feet, Abby thought. She’d be on her own for finding pictures of disgusting feet.

“I’ll text you when I’m back home with a good time to come pick up your stuff,” he said. Then he turned and walked stiffly out of the room, out of the house, and out of her life, for good.

Abby sat on the sofa. She wasn’t sure she could move, and she knew she’d be crying soon, but, so far, the tears hadn’t come. She imagined a woman ripping up a winning lottery ticket and throwing its snippets down a sewer. Was that what she’d done? Had she just tossed away her only chance at happiness? Would life with Mark have made her happy? Or would it have ultimately felt like a too-tight pair of jeans, something that looked good from the outside but made her feel constrained, confined, like she’d never take another comfortable breath again?

She rested her head in her hands and thought about how Mark had felt like her destiny; how running into him in Kensington had felt like Karma nudging her toward the natural next step. But maybe she’d been on the wrong staircase. Maybe it was time to stop doing things because they were expected, or conventional, or easy. She’d be home soon, and she’d be at the bottom again, starting over from nothing, but at least she’d be the one deciding where to go.

Abby heard footsteps approaching, someone coming down the hall, and her pulse sped up. But the person who entered the living room wasn’t Sebastian. It was Eileen.

“What happened?” she asked.

Oh, God, thought Abby. “Can you not be here?” she asked. It came out sounding nastier than she’d intended.

Eileen looked startled. Then hurt. She folded her arms over her chest and pressed her thin lips together.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am fine,” she snapped, somehow managing to make the words sound closer to Like you care.