Me: Why are you here?
He works his jaw back and forth before responding.
Ridge: Do you want me to leave?
I look at him and slowly shake my head no. Then I pause and shake my head yes. Then I pause again and just shrug. He smiles endearingly, completely understanding my confusion.
Me: I guess whether or not I want you here depends on why you’re here. Are you here because you need me to try to help you win back Maggie? Are you here because you miss me? Are you here because you want to try to work out some sort of friendship?
Ridge: Would I be wrong if I answered none of the above? I don’t know why I’m here. Part of me misses you so much it hurts, while part of me wishes I never even met you to begin with. I guess today is one of the days I was hurting, so I stole Warren’s keys and forced him to give me your address. I didn’t think this through or come up with any kind of speech. I just did what my heart needed me to do, which was to see you.
His brutally honest reply melts my heart and pisses me off all at the same time.
Me: What about tomorrow? What if tomorrow is one of the days you wished you never met me? What am I supposed to do then?
The intensity in his stare is unnerving. Maybe he’s trying to gauge if that was an angry response. I’m not sure if it was or not. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that he doesn’t even know why he’s here.
He doesn’t respond to my text, and it proves one thing: he’s having the same internal conflict with himself that I’ve been having.
He wants to be with me, but he doesn’t.
He wants to love me, but he doesn’t know if he should.
He wants to see me, but he knows he shouldn’t.
He wants to kiss me, but it would hurt just as much as it did the first time he kissed me and had to walk away. I suddenly feel uncomfortable staring at him. We’re way too close together on this couch, yet my body is making it very clear to me that it doesn’t think we’re close enough at all. What it’s wishing would happen right now are all the things that aren’t.
Ridge looks away and slowly scans my apartment for a few moments, then returns his attention to his phone.
Ridge: I like your place. Good neighborhood. Seems safe.
I almost laugh at his text and the casual conversation he’s trying to make, because I know we’re no longer in a place for casual conversation. We can’t be friends at this point. We also can’t be together with so much against us. Casual conversation has no place between us right now, yet I can’t bring myself to reply any differently.
Me: I like it here. Thank you for helping me out with the hotel until I could move in.
Ridge: It was the least I could do. Absolutely the least I could do.
Me: I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my first paycheck. I got my job back at the campus library, so it should only be another week.
Ridge: Sydney, stop. I don’t even want you to offer.
I have no idea what to say in response. This whole situation is awkward and uncomfortable, because we’re both dancing around all the things we wish we had the courage to do and say.
I set my phone facedown on the couch. I want him to know that I need a break. I don’t like that we aren’t being us.
He takes the hint and lays his phone down on the armrest beside him, then sighs heavily as he drops his head against the back of the couch. The silence makes me wish I could experience the world from his perspective for once. I find it almost impossible to put myself in his shoes, though. People with the advantage of hearing take so much for granted, and I’ve never understood that to the extent that I understand it now. There’s nothing being spoken between us, yet I understand by his heavy sigh that he’s frustrated with himself. I understand how much he’s holding back by the way his breaths are being sharply pulled in.