“No, but you’re right. I do have a tendency to be too careful. To some extent, I have to because otherwise it could be dangerous to my health, but I’m almost twenty-two. I’m graduating in a year. There’s going to be failure in my future and heartbreak, whether it’s from a job lost or a person lost. Part of being an adult is learning how to deal with that.” I reach over and take a sip of the tea I brewed for breakfast. “Matty makes me feel really wonderful.”
Ace’s expression grows sickly. I wave my hand downward. “Oh, stop with the disgusted expression. I’m not talking about physical stuff.”
Although, privately, I grin to myself, because Matty has made me feel physically more wonderful than I thought was possible. “I’m talking about the fact that he makes me laugh, that he makes me feel good inside. He’s interesting to talk to. He reads. Taking a risk on Matty makes me think I can take other risks.”
Ace’s eyes run over my face. “You’re changing.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Not for the better,” he says.
My hackles rise. “I thought you came over to apologize, not to say shitty things to me.”
“The truth isn’t a shitty thing to say to you, Luce.”
The nickname Matty uses sounds weird and strange coming out of Ace’s mouth, as if he’s trying to claim a connection that doesn’t belong to him.
“Yes, it kind of is.”
He presses his lips together. “All these years you said you wouldn’t go out with a jock. That the type didn’t interest you.”
“They didn’t,” I insist. “Matty’s different. We talk about a lot of different stuff. Books he’s read, movies, stuff that’s going on in the world.”
“We talk about stuff like that.” Ace directs those words to the floor where he’s currently staring a hole into the tile.
An uncomfortable feeling sets in.
Ace has feelings for you, I can hear Sutton’s voice in the background.
Slowly, Ace raises his eyes off the floor, and there is so much anguish, all the moisture in my mouth dries up. My hand flies to my lips. “Oh, Ace,” I say through my fingers. Oh Ace, don’t open your mouth. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, please, I beg silently. Our relationship will change irrevocably.
But he doesn’t heed the warning in my eyes.
“Lucy, I’ve always thought it was going to be you and me. Always,” he says hoarsely, his eyes penny-bright.
His statement makes me angry. Angry because he’s changing the dynamic of our relationship into a form I’m not prepared to deal with. I want to clap my hands over my ears and say I can’t hear him, but I just told him I was growing up. So I have to act like the adult I claim to be.
“You’ve never acted like that. You’ve had so many girlfriends. And when you don’t have girlfriends, you’re constantly sleeping with someone else.” Not to mention the times where there’s considerable overlap. “You practically screwed girls right in front of me. Those aren’t the actions of a guy who thinks I’m his one and only.”
“I know.” He thrusts a hand into his short hair. “I wanted to enjoy being young and playing the field while I could. Kind of get all that shit out of my system so when I settled down, I wouldn’t have the urge. But I always knew you and I would end up together.”
He says it again, as if by mere repetition it will become true. It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard, and I tell him that. “That’s crazypants. You can’t do that and expect me to look at you in anything but a friendship light. In fact, you’re lucky I’ve known you so long. I overlook a lot of really crappy things that you’ve done because we’ve been friends since third grade, but I…I could never love you.” It hurts me to say those words to him, but he’s forcing them out of me.
Ace rears back as if I’ve slapped him. He looks at me with wounded eyes that flood me with guilt. “But, Lucy, we have been friends forever. I know everything there is to know about you.”
“I’m sorry, Ace, but you don’t.” This is so hard. I wish I wasn’t an adult. I wish I could run from this room and stick my head under my pillow and pretend this was not happening. But I force myself to gut it out, knowing it’ll be over. I’ll mourn this relationship but, in the back of my mind, I must’ve known it was coming because I’m not surprised. Frustrated, resigned, angry. But not surprised. I’ve just never wanted to acknowledge it.
“If you truly knew everything there was to know about me, you wouldn’t have treated me this way. If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t treat me this way. Or if this is how you treat people you love, well,” I swallow before delivering another painful truth, “that’s not going to be good enough for any girl.”