Page 30 of Love Below Zero

30

DISTANCE

BECKY

MacKenzie

I managed to get you another extension, better make it count.

He sits back, staring at me, face expressionless. I push on.

“You’ve already given up your dreams for a woman once, and I won’t ask that of you again. If I lose my publishing contract, I need to move back to South Africa, and I won’t put you under that kind of pressure. We also can’t damage the integrity of this study, and you need to put everything you have into getting this position at Oxford. I need to sort out whatever is going on in my head. And honestly, I’m still not entirely convinced that our feelings aren’t a byproduct of being in the dome.”

That’s low of me, because he already made his feelings clear. But fuck it I have to be sure. My brain can’t let it go. I believe he loves me in the moment, but what about after the moment? Would the first breath of fresh air change his mind? When he goes back to London and picks up his life again, will there even be room for me in it?

“Going back to Earth changes things, you have to see that.” I need him to understand.

He looks at me for a long time, and I wish he would just verbalise his thoughts. It’s like I can see the gears turning in there, and I wonder what they might spit out.

“I disagree,” he says. “Surely it would be more productive to work things out together. We don’t have to tell the world or NASA that we’re together, but we don’t have to break up either, if that is indeed what you’re implying.”

“I’m offering you an out.”

“I don’t want an out.”

My heart soars at his words, but my brain quickly beats it back into submission.

“You say that now, but what if you change your mind in two weeks? Two months? When I lose my publishing contract and my work visa and I have to go back to South Africa? What then?”

“I’m not going to change my mind even if you turn into a worm. I’ll build you a little terrarium and feed you and water you every day. Rebecca Baxter, I love you, I want to make this work. Let’s make this work.”

I want that so badly. He’s so sincere, so earnest. I want to take him at his word, to trust in his feelings for me. Because deep down I really already know that he’ll do anything for me, and that’s what scares me the most.

“I’m not letting you put your job on the line.”

“I’m not planning on it, love.”

“I need to go back to therapy, to work on my issues.”

“So do I. I’ll drive you to your first appointment.”

“You live in London. Soon Oxford.”

“It’s an hour train ride between the two. That’ll give me plenty of time to catch up on my reading.”

“What if Jules hates me?” Yes, I’m going to play the best-friend card. Mac hates him for me on principle, but she’s not opposed to him as a person.

He snorts. “Julia has been your number one fan from the start. She doesn’t hate you. In fact, I won’t be surprised if she somehow got in on all the betting that’s been going on in here.”

“If I have to go back to South Africa?”

“I’m not afraid of flying. Or long distance.”

“I can’t ask that of you. It’s too much trouble.”

He leans forward, elbows resting on the table.

“Loving you isn’t too much trouble. Yes, we might not exactly fit into each other’s lives at the moment, but that’s not enough of a reason for me not to be with you. To love you while I have the chance.”

As I got older my framework for relationships changed. I stopped wanting to go out of my way or out of my comfort zone, and soon I just stopped looking for love all together. It also doesn’t help when you’ve spent a significant portion of your life believing you are unlovable just because of your body type. Some thoughts are hard to unlearn, no matter how much you try.

This thing between James and I feels so fragile. Like any one of our multiple incompatibilities will cause it to snap in half. And he isn’t even the problem—I am. I have a hard time believing his words, trusting that he’ll stay when things get bad. Which they will. It’s inevitable at this point.

“Four months.” I suggest.

“Four months what?”

“We get out of the dome, we go back to our lives, we spend four months apart, and then reevaluate if we want to be together.” That’s reasonable, right? We just spent four months in the dome, so four months will be a good amount of time to get all of our shit together and then commit. There will be no heartbreak if it doesn’t work out, and I’m not risking falling in love with him any more than I already am.

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs. “I’m not going to let you sit with your anxiety for four months. I know what’s going on in that brain of yours. You’re overthinking this, and you’ll think yourself into a hole you can’t get out of.”

He’s right, of course. Though I am already in the hole. It’s an unfortunate side effect of being an author. I think about shit a lot. It isn’t always good for me.

“Just think about it for a second, please? Some time apart will give both of us the perspective we need.” I’m going to have to make this sound as logical as possible, though he’s being frustratingly illogical at the moment. When did our roles become reversed? I’m supposed to be the emotional one, him the logical one.

“Three months?” I offer.

He shakes his head. “Two months, and we don’t go no contact. We text and call every day.”

“One month, no contact.”

“Rebecca, you’re trying really hard to get rid of me here. I believe in working through the problems. What are you afraid of?”

So many things. Losing him, primarily. Having him decide he doesn’t love me enough to stay.

“You’re so confident about me. I don’t get it. What if I pick up the weight I lost? What if my pre-diabetes turns into diabetes? What if I butcher the science in my next book and you decide I’m just too dumb for you?” How do I stop having all of these stupid negative thoughts about myself?

He moves to my side of the table before sitting in the seat next to mine. He reaches for me, tugging me into his lap. I never considered myself the kind of girl who easily fits into guys’ laps. I always worried about squishing them. But he seems to want me there, so I sit.

“To start, the first time I felt attracted to you was right after you threw up on my shoes. Your weight is the least of my concerns. You rescued me from a blizzard—your body is incredible. Secondly, I will take care of you if that does happen. Third, you need to actually write the book for me to have an opinion on it, and we’ve already established that you are far smarter than I can ever hope to be.” He presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “I know these are just words, but give me the chance to prove them to you after we get out of here. Please, love.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Terrified. You can just as easily decide that I’m not worth it. I get easily overwhelmed and I hate social situations. I get lost in research papers and I don’t pick up on any subtle remarks. I’ve only really been in one relationship before, so I have no idea what I’m doing. You could also just pack a bag and leave in the middle of the night without saying anything. You could decide you want someone with a higher libido, who actually likes being touched.”

I stare at him incredulously. “That will never happen. I love that you value your work so much, and that communicating with you is so straightforward. And I don’t love you because of the sex. We can stop having sex and I’ll still want to be with you. ”

“Then why is it so hard for you to believe it when I try to reassure you?”

Okay, wow. He’s got me there. He’s right. Why should he take my words at face value when I can’t do the same?

“This is going to be difficult, love, but it’s worth it. You are worth it.”

I have to fight back tears. I want to give him my best version, want to be better for him. But he already loves the less-than-perfect version. Still, I have to be accountable, to both myself and to him. And that means working through my writer’s block and dealing with my anxiety.

“Two months, calls and texts every day.”

“And one weekend visit.” He grins at me, eyes crinkling at the corners, and I fold like origami.

“Fine.”

“Don’t sound so excited, darling.” He presses another kiss to my forehead and my heart skips several beats. I was so dead-set on letting him go, on giving him an out, but he didn’t take the bait. He can still change his mind in two months’ time, but I’ll have to take the leap of faith. If he wants to work on this, work on us, then I’ll give it my best too.