“And you couldn’t bring me into that?” Iris asked. You didn’t think about me at all, her brain said next, but she couldn’t get it out of her mouth.
“I . . . dammit,” Stevie said. “I did. I swear to god, Iris, I did think about you. But we were so new and I . . . I was scared.”
“Scared.”
“Yes, scared.”
“Of what?” Iris asked. She shocked herself by how much she wanted to know, how much she wanted to feel not alone in this terrifying space.
Stevie didn’t answer for a few seconds. They ticked by, turning into minutes, Stevie staring down at the sleek black pants she’d adorned for the fundraising dinner.
“I was scared,” she finally said, “that you’d tell me to go.”
Iris frowned, Stevie’s small tone slipping another splinter into her heart.
“Of course I would’ve told you to go,” Iris said.
Stevie’s eyes met hers, wide, shining.
“This is . . . it’s New York, Stevie,” Iris said. “And you deserve it. You belong there. I would’ve never held you back from that.”
Stevie nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. Iris curled her hands into fists, fighting the urge to wipe it away.
“But you didn’t even give me the chance,” Iris said. “You cut me out of the decision, you cut me out of being happy for you, of celebrating—”
“I didn’t want you to celebrate it,” Stevie said, her voice suddenly firmer, stronger. “I wanted you to ask me to stay. Even if I knew I couldn’t, I wanted you to want me to. Or at least . . . I don’t know. Show some emotion that I might be moving three thousand miles away. And I was fucking terrified that you wouldn’t. That you’d treat this”—she waved her hand between them—“like it was nothing.”
Iris shook her head, fresh tears welling into her eyes. God, she hated this. She hated this feeling, the empty hollow all these splinters were carving out in her heart.
“You’re the one who treated this like it was nothing, Stevie,” she said softly.
Stevie swore under her breath, shoved her hands into her hair and left them there, her shoulders undulating up and down. Iris watched her, uncertain what else there was to say.
Finally, Stevie stood up, presenting her palms. “Okay. Okay, I know I fucked up, that not telling you was the wrong move and maybe the worst thing I could’ve done. I’m so sorry. But I swear, Iris, I didn’t cut you out of this. I thought about you every second. I thought about how—”
“Stop,” Iris said, shaking her head. She stood up too, but only so she could grab her duffel, loop it over her shoulder.
“Are you fucking serious?” Stevie said, her mouth hanging open. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”
Iris felt the color drain from her face, but she didn’t flinch. “What else is there to say?”
“Are you . . .” Stevie blinked, her face just as pale as Iris’s. “There’s a shit ton to say.”
Iris sighed. “Like what?”
Stevie stared at her, jaw working. “Like the fact that I love you.”
Iris didn’t move.
“Like the fact that, yeah, I fucked up,” Stevie said. “I was scared. I’m still scared, okay, but I don’t want you to leave. I want you to forgive me and talk to me and let us figure out what the hell to do.”
Iris shook her head. “You already decided, Stevie.”
“I decided on me,” Stevie said, her voice nearly a shout. She slapped at her chest, the sound echoing through the room. “I picked me, Iris, the exact thing everyone in my life has wanted me to do for years, and you know that’s not easy for me. You know it’s not, but I did it, because yeah, I want this. I want to play Rosalind in New York. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
Iris closed her eyes, tried to let Stevie’s words break through the protective layer already sliding over her tender heart. She thought about the last two months, how every day with Stevie had felt . . .
Different.
It hadn’t felt like Grant. It hadn’t felt like Jillian. It hadn’t felt like a fling or fake or purely educational or any of the things they’d both told themselves it was for so long.
She tried to let it all in, but now, in this moment, with Stevie leaving to start a whole new life—a life she should lead, a life she deserved—Iris felt . . .
Nothing.
Her heart had already closed up, surrounded in that protective layer she’d spent the last year building back to its full strength, shoving out all the splinters, keeping her safe.
Keeping her whole.
“Stevie,” she said, “this was fun, okay? But I can’t let you break your back trying to work me into your plan, all for a relationship that will only—”
“Don’t,” Stevie said. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“What?”
“This,” Stevie said, her teeth gritting.
Good. Let her get angry. It would probably make this whole thing easier.
“The exact thing you said I was doing,” Stevie said, “trying to tell me this is nothing. You’re trying to tell me you’re not worth considering. Not worth factoring into my life. Again. Why do we always fucking come back to this?”
“Because you didn’t factor me, Stevie,” Iris yelled back. “And you know what? You shouldn’t. You were right to pick yourself. Because if you’d told me about New York a month ago, god knows what sort of mess we’d be in right now.”
“Mess? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about us, Stevie. We’d be the mess. The ticking time bomb, trying to do long distance and burning through our savings on plane tickets, driving ourselves crazy wondering how long it would last, how long before someone else came along, how long before you realized I was just—”
A sudden swell of tears cut off her voice. She swiped them away, furious at her own emotions.
“At least this way,” she finally said, “we know you and I were nothing but brain chemicals and sex.”
It was like dropping a nuclear bomb—a huge explosion followed by . . . nothing. Silence. A complete lack of air and light and life.
Stevie stared at her, tears tracking silently down her cheeks. Finally, Iris managed to turn away from her, legs shaking, hoisting her bag higher onto her shoulder. She started to move, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time that would eventually get her out of this apartment and to her car, to her own home, to her bed where she could finally fall apart.
She was nearly to the door when Stevie spoke.
“Bullshit,” she said.
Iris turned. “What?”
Stevie faced her, fists clenched by her sides, her face a ruin of tears and pain. Iris’s heart broke, right there, but she knew she couldn’t take any of it back.
She wouldn’t.
“I said bullshit,” Stevie said. “You’re lying. You’re lying to protect yourself, to protect me, and it’s bullshit, Iris.”
Iris shook her head, but Stevie was already crossing the room to her. Iris braced herself for her touch, trying to work up the courage to push her away, but Stevie didn’t even try to pull her into her arms. Instead, she dipped her hands into Iris’s open bag and brought out her iPad.