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Chapter Twenty-Five

Scarlett

D ylan barely says a word on the drive to school, almost like he’s wary of me, which hurts after the moment we shared last night. Then he’s quiet and alone in the class I share with him in the morning. Quiet and alone at lunch. And in the car. When I was kind of hoping he would at least bring up Jays . Maybe suggest we swing by on the way home. But he doesn’t say a word, and I don’t mention it. After the bed incident last night, I’m even more aware of just how carefully I need to tread around him.

I glance at him as I pull into the driveway. “I’m not going to be at dinner tonight,” I say, putting the car into park.

He turns, his hand still on the handle poised to exit, and lifts an eyebrow. A couple of weeks ago, he would have just acted like he hadn’t heard me and stepped out of the car, shutting the door in my face. So this is progress, right?

“I have a date with Gavin,” I answer his unspoken question. “It’s our one-month anniversary.”

His reaction this time doesn’t give away his thoughts. All he does is swipe his tongue along his lower lip, nudging the silver hoop as he nods. Just once. That’s it—the one nod. And before I can say anything else, he turns back, pushes open the door and gets out. He disappears into his house before I’ve even collected my purse from the back seat.

Gavin is waiting for me on the grandiose curved front steps of the Welsford—a country club to Sandy Haven locals and famed five-star luxury ocean-front hotel to tourists wealthy enough to afford the hefty minimum two-thousand-dollar a night price tag.

He looks handsome. Dapper. In his navy blazer, checkered shirt and pressed khakis. The whole scene looks like a cover for the November issue of New England magazine—Gavin looking effortlessly classy and cool, leaning against a white column with the sprawling pale yellow Victorian inn stretching out behind him along the bluffs overlooking the crashing waves.

He grins when he spots me and makes his way down the steps to greet me. “You look stunning.” He kisses me, lingering for a moment before leaning back and adding, “As always.”

It sounds like a line. Even more so when he punctuates it with a wink.

I return his smile. “You look great, too.”

He does. In a glossy magazine cover kind of way. Probably the same kind of way I look.

We sit at a secluded table in the room off the main dining area with tall windows flanking the entire back wall overlooking the ocean. We peruse our menus. Make small talk. Order our main courses—the Lobster Carbonara special for Gavin. Chicken for me.

I’m not sure what it is—the venue or the stilted conversation or a combination of everything—but it all feels kind of… silly. Like we’re playing at being a couple. Nothing about it feels real, and the more aware I become of it, the less I can remember why this whole charade felt so necessary to me in the first place. And the less I can focus on what Gavin is saying instead of thinking about other things I’d rather be doing right now.

Like reading comics with Dylan in his room, taking breaks to discuss the unfolding plot of Sleepwalker.

“What’s your favorite thing about our relationship?” I set my fork on my plate.

Gavin’s eyes widen. The question took him off guard. It took me off guard.

He rests his own fork on his plate, too, cocking his head to one side and curling his lips into a familiar grin. “My favorite part about our relationship?”

“Yes. Better yet, what are three things you like about our relationship?”

His eyes do the same dilating thing. “Okaaay,” he says, stretching the word out.

Pretty sure he’s buying time, and I’m not even annoyed at him for it. I’d be a hypocrite if I was, since I can’t come up with an answer myself. Not one that doesn’t highlight the fact that my relationship with Gavin is convenient and easy and requires zero personal vulnerability on either of our parts.

“My favorite thing about our relationship is the fact that I get to be with you,” Gavin finally croons, his grin stretching into a full-on smile that doesn’t quite conceal how pleased he is with himself for his all-encompassing answer, which really, is just another line. Good for him, though, for being quicker on the uptake than me. I’m still coming up blank.

I nod. “Do you sometimes think that maybe we’re not exactly… compatible?” I ask, and again, I can see I’ve taken him by surprise. To be fair, these are not exactly one-month anniversary date conversation starters I’m throwing at him. But I don’t think I can carry on with this charade. It feels more ridiculous now than convenient. And a waste of both of our time. I’m sure he’d be much happier out with his buddies at some party right now. And I’d be much happier… well, I already said what I’d be much happier doing. And that’s not something I want to contemplate any more while I’m sitting here with Gavin. Essentially, breaking up with him on a fancy dinner date.

“Of course we’re compatible. We’re perfect together.”

“Why?”

He laughs. One of those uncomfortable laughs. “What’s all this about, babe?” His eyebrows dip inwards. “Are you upset about something, or having second thoughts about us or…” His voice trails off.

I swallow, because I do feel bad for hitting him with this right now. I suck at these things. But I’m confident now that it’s less cruel to do this than to keep stringing him along. We’re practically adults; I don’t know why I ever felt it was right for two grown people to be in a relationship for anything other than authentic reasons. All it does is make me feel worse about myself. And although I’m not sure if this thing we’re doing makes Gavin feel bad about himself, I’m pretty confident it isn’t adding to his life in any sort of meaningful way. Other than the perks that come along with being my boyfriend, I mean.

“I guess… Yes. I guess I am having second thoughts,” I say, fumbling my words in a way I’m not used to. Because I’m not used to doing anything without meticulously planning it out beforehand. “I’m sorry… It’s crappy of me to bring this up now. But I wasn’t sure until just now that I don’t feel right doing this anymore. And I want to be honest with you.”

He doesn’t say anything, so just to be sure I’m making sense, I add, “I think we should just be friends.”

“You’re seriously fucking friend-zoning me on our one-month anniversary date?” he asks, unfortunately just as our server shows up to ask if we’d like dessert.

“No dessert, thanks,” Gavin says with a bite to his voice. “My date has apparently had her fill.”

He’s being a jerk… and kind of childish, but I can’t be mad at him for that either. He has every right to be annoyed at me for breaking up with him tonight of all nights. “I’ll take the bill,” I tell the server. “Thank you.”

That just annoys Gavin even more. “I can get the fucking bill.”

“I know,” I tell him. “But I want to.”

“Um… I’ll leave you two to settle things while I ring up your bill, then,” the server says. Poor guy looks more uncomfortable than Gavin looked when I said I wanted to break up.

Which, in itself, says a lot about how little this is really affecting him. I’m pretty sure his pride is more hurt over this than his heart. Our hearts were never part of the equation to begin with. And that, I guess, is the real reason it always seemed so appealing to me.

Yet weirdly, the same reason it’s so un-appealing to me now.

When I get to my car, I notice a text that came in , which I didn’t notice during the meal with Gavin. The breakup.

Holy crap. I broke up with Gavin.

And I feel lighter. Almost buoyant. A little more like my old self, which I assumed for the past two years would be a bad feeling. But it’s the opposite.

And I’m sure now it was the right thing to do.

I click on the text. And just like that, my mood changes. My chest feels heavy. The chicken and garlic mashed potatoes feel heavy in my stomach. Everything just suddenly feels heavy.

Carter

gonna be in Sandy Haven next wkd. c u then