He looks slightly batted back by my rejection but then draws breath again.
“Effie—”
He pauses, for longer than seems natural—for so long, in fact, that I stare at him.
“What?” I say at last. “What?”
“There’s— I need to say something—” He breaks off again and exhales sharply, as though he’s finding something a struggle.
“What?” I repeat warily.
There’s another massive silence, and as Joe finally looks up, his whole face seems to have changed. He looks grim and determined, but daunted, too, like someone about to climb a mountain.
“You were right,” he says swiftly, as though he’s speaking fast before he can have second thoughts. “What you said in your text earlier. I have been racking my brain on how I can make things up to you—all this time, ever since that night. I know I hurt you badly, I know I broke your heart, I think of it every day. And I’ve been…” He rubs his brow. “Desperate.”
I feel a white-hot flash of nerves. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. On the few times we’ve seen each other since the breakup, we’ve been cautious and formal. We’ve never “gone there.”
But now we are. We’re lifting up the scab on that part of our love affair that’s never quite healed. I’m already steeled for hurt but weirdly exhilarated, too, because I’ve imagined this moment about a zillion times.
“I was joking,” I say. “In my text.”
“I know you were. But I’m not. I’m not joking.” He draws breath again. “Effie, listen, I’m so—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off almost savagely and see the shock ripple over his face. “Please,” I continue, my voice calmer but still trembling. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, Joe. You’ve said it a million times. I know you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear why. Why? Did you go off me? Was there someone else?” I gaze at his face—so familiar but such an enigma—feeling suddenly desperate. “Why?”
For the longest time, neither of us speaks. I’m staring into Joe’s dark eyes, like I used to endlessly in bed. Trying to fathom their depths. Willing them to relinquish whatever it is he’s protecting. Is he going to let me into his innermost self? Finally?
“It was…” Joe begins hesitantly, his voice low. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”
My heart starts to thump. My mind is already frantically scurrying around. What don’t I know? What secret did he keep from me? Another woman? Another…man?
“So, tell me,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me, Joe.”
“Hi, you two!” Bean’s cheery greeting makes me jump so violently, I spill some of my champagne. I look up, dazed, to see her coming down the steps to the cellar.
Instantly, Joe’s face closes up and he shifts slightly away from me. “Bean,” he says. “Hi. We were just…”
“Yes,” I say inanely. I feel barely able to speak, as though wrenched from a dream.
“How are the desserts?” Bean continues, oblivious of the tension. “Wasn’t that dinner the worst? Effie, you nearly made me die. Oh, don’t leave, Joe,” she adds, as Joe gets to his feet.
“I’d better leave you to it,” he says, sounding strained. “Effie, we’ll…catch up. Will you be around tomorrow?”
“Don’t know.”
“Right. Well.” Joe rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll be here for the brunch.”
“Great.” My voice is barely working. “Well. Maybe see you.”
“Good night, Joe,” says Bean cheerfully. “Thanks for coming along. We all really appreciate it.”
As I watch him walking up the steps, I feel unreal. What was he going to say? What? Halfway up he pauses and turns back to look straight at me.
“Good luck with your mission, Effie. It was nice to…”
He hesitates, and phrases sweep silently through my mind. It was nice to not-dance. It was nice to feel your presence burning through my skin. It was nice to want you so badly it made me breathless yet at the same time hate myself. It was nice to feel I was maybe—just maybe—on the brink of understanding you.
“It was nice to remember,” Joe concludes at last.
“Yes.” I try to sound natural. “It was.”
He lifts his hand in salute and disappears through the door, and I collapse inwardly. I can’t cope with this. I need a new boyfriend. I need a new brain.