What was she to do with him if not believe?
Both Sloan and Austin came from families with money, but the fact that Sloan’s stepfather was in the construction trade placed him in a lower order than Austin’s dad, who was a high-priced attorney. Austin’s mother was also an attorney, as were his two brothers, all of them sharp-witted and blunt. She and Austin hadn’t dated that long and he was already eager for her to get to know his family. On the occasions when she had dinner at his house, she was intimidated by the lot of them. In their company, she receded, not wanting to draw attention to herself, anxious to avoid their intrusive curiosity and quickness to judge. They didn’t have conversations. They had disputes and skirmishes, intellectual warfare, wherein each of them tried to outdo the others. Any tactic was acceptable in these verbal jousts. The point was to be fast, to unseat your opponent at the first opportunity. The point was to be right, and if not right, then to win by fair means or foul. Austin put up a good fight, but he couldn’t prevail. His parents and his brothers were merciless, cutting him no slack. Sloan couldn’t bear watching him shrink as the battles went on. The others seemed challenged and invigorated where Austin’s wounds went unnoticed or, if noticed, were subject to scorn.
Over the next two months, the relationship proceeded full steam ahead. What she hadn’t anticipated was Austin’s hunger to be close. They talked on the phone for hours, studied together, played tennis, hiked, and watched television. He looked for her before and after school. At first, she reveled in his devotion and then gradually felt herself longing for air. She’d never had a boyfriend and therefore had no sense of what was “normal” and what was not. She was used to spending time on her own, doing as she pleased. Now she was attuned to him, protective of his self-esteem, which she realized was fragile. Given his family dynamic, it didn’t surprise her that much of the time he was guarded, quick to find fault with others before anyone found fault with him.
He craved physical contact. He liked keeping an arm slung across her shoulders. The gesture was possessive and Sloan liked the public demonstration of his claim on her. He was forever kissing and nibbling her, smelling her hair, murmuring in her ear. As their romance progressed, so did his demands, which were always couched in coaxing and adoration. There were only so many ways she could evade the force of his neediness, which became suffocating as the relationship went on.
Her stepfather was the one who finally took her aside and spelled out his concern. “Look, Sloan, I don’t mean to butt in. I can see Austin’s crazy about you, but there’s something about the kid that seems off to me.”
“Off?”
“He’s too intense. He’s all over you, everywhere.”
Sloan laughed. “Well, he is. Sort of.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Not really. I mean, not all the time, but I can’t tell him that because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“His feelings aren’t your responsibility. I’m not saying you should end the relationship, but you might want to slow down. Take a break now and then; have some time apart. Otherwise, you’re going to paint yourself into a corner you can’t get out of.”
“What am I supposed to say to him? You have no idea how sensitive he is. I don’t want him to think I’m rejecting him.”
“Sensitive? Are you kidding? I’ve heard how he treats his so-called friends.”
“Who told you that?”
“You did before you first started dating him. He’s vicious and snide. He’s a bully. You said so yourself.”
“Well, he’s not. That’s a show he puts on in public. With me, he couldn’t be sweeter.”
“Because he’s getting what he wants. Just wait until you raise your hand and decline and you’ll see what he’s really like.”
“You think so?”
“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this talk. Ask me, I’d say he’s an emotional cripple looking to you to hold him up.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sorry. That last bit was out of line. Anyway, it’s your call. I just want you to know you have my support. Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean you don’t care for him.”
He gave her a hug and that was the end of the discussion as far as she was concerned. It was odd, though, afterward, how his observations affected her. At the time, she dismissed his comments. He didn’t know Austin. He didn’t understand that under that tough exterior, he was insecure. She could see how the relationship must look to Paul, but it wasn’t like that. She didn’t disagree entirely. She just wasn’t sure what to do. Austin behaved like he was starved for love. Given the way he was treated at home, who wouldn’t be? She didn’t see how she could keep him at bay without injuring him. She adored him. She really did, and she didn’t want him to feel slighted. She was new at this and there wasn’t anyone she could talk to about how to handle the situation. There was a time she would have confided in Poppy, but those days were gone. Poppy was all about Iris now and Sloan was on her own.
In some ways, she saw herself as stronger than Austin, so maybe it was up to her to set aside her feelings in deference to his. His own mother was hard as nails and she’d seen the way the woman treated him. In an argument—and every conversation in that family was an argument—she rode roughshod over him, belittled him, and scoffed. Sloan had to be careful that nothing she said could be misconstrued.
The problem was his persistence, his pushing, his tendency to prevail in any contest of wills. She didn’t even like to think of it that way, but sometimes she felt any conflict between them acted on him like a stimulant. If they disagreed, he’d mount a campaign to prove his point of view was better, that his desires should take precedence. This was behavior he’d learned at home and he had no control over the impulses that drove him to be victorious. Over time, she could feel herself losing ground. Her natural ebullience had been tempered by his needs. In her desire to please him, she’d surrendered most of her preferences, acceding to his own.
One afternoon, she was lying on her bed, propped against the pillows, putting pink polish on her toenails. The bed was unmade and the floor was littered with clothes. Sloan’s desk was barely visible under a layer of books, papers, and sports paraphernalia she’d tossed on top. The closet door stood open and the rod was jammed with hangers. Folded sweaters had toppled together in a pile, hanging over the edges of the shelves.
Austin was circling the room, examining the various knickknacks she had on display. He picked up a small ceramic angel. “What’s this?”
“An angel. What’s it look like? Poppy gave me that when we were in second grade.”
“And this?” He was holding up a photograph.
“My fake dad. I told you about him,” she said.