Page 124 of Error Handling
Chris meets my eyes. “Right. I’m going to Puerto Rico. And you’ll be here with Christopher. How am I supposed to trust you knowing you’re both in the same city?”
Reason number forty-five why I should have been up front with Chris in the beginning about Christopher. It was more than a friendship. Was it a fling? A way to get my feet wet? A way to practice for the real deal?
I couldn’t just opt for a quiet, drama-free, two-sided relationship. I had to add a third pointy thing and turn it into a love triangle.
I’m twenty-eight years old. I can’t play the dumb card here.
“I understand,” I say, finally.
“What do you understand?”
“I understand that I screwed up and it will affect your ability to trust me. All I can say is, I made my choice, and I choose you.”
No more words come to mind. This is the part where Chris forgives me, or he gets up and walks away.
“I don’t know what to think.” Chris grabs his towel again like he’s going to head to his truck. “I think I need some time.”
“Please don’t leave.” I want him to think things through, but I’d rather he thinks in my presence. If he goes, it will be easier for him to convince himself I was just another mistake. Another cheater, like Allison.
“My dad’s girlfriend is making you a gluten-free dinner. They’re excited to meet you. My dad wants to talk shop. He’s pretty good with the power tools too.”
I can’t read Chris’s expression. It’s neutral, which I know doesn’t reflect his thoughts. I’d rather he express his anger than be emotionally distant.
We sit quietly watching the waves hit the shore. The beach is mostly empty now. The boy who was playing in the water earlier is gone. Hopefully, he didn’t get carted off to the hospital with hypothermia.
“I guess I can stay,” Chris says. “I’m hungry.”
I’m relieved. I wish he said he forgives me, but maybe that will come later this evening.
Chris stands and walks to the shoreline. He sits where the waves meet the sand, letting the water swirl around him. I know better than to bother him now.
He stays there for a while before getting up and taking a walk. He doesn’t go far. I never lose sight of him, which is good. We have to head in for dinner.
When he returns, he doesn’t look at me.
“It’s time to eat,” I say.
His eyes flick to my face, and then he bends over slowly like a man three times his age and pulls the umbrella from the sand. He grabs his towel with his other hand, allowing the terry cloth to flutter in the wind.
I fold the blanket—it’s a special fabric that allows the sand to easily skate off—tuck it under my arm and grab my tote bag.Just hours ago, Chris was joking with me about this bag. Now his expression is serious, and his demeanor indicates he doesn’t want to talk.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to stay.
“Ready?” he asks.
He meets my eyes, and it gives me a moment of relief. At least he’s not giving me the silent treatment. Almost, but not entirely.
An afternoon wind has picked up. I see dark clouds on the horizon. A cold front is coming. The palm fronds whip erratically, their sharp edges cutting against each other as the wind orchestrates their frantic movements.
We enter through the first floor and drop our things in the rec room.
I’ve never brought a guy home to meet my dad. Kinda sucks that the first guy I’m bringing home is angry with me. It adds another depth to my anxiety symptoms. My stomach is churning. I don’t know if I can eat.
I think about telling Chris to leave. Just go. All I did was kiss another guybeforeChris and I were a thing. Sure, I made my share of mistakes, but...
Forget it. I’m committed.
“Are you up for this?” I ask.