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I got up, I told her it was over, and I drove home. I blocked her number, and we never spoke again.
I kept my relationships casual after that, until Anna and Greg, and with them I stayed past the point I should have. I could smell the declaration of love from a mile away. In Anna’s not-yet-unpacked apartment, after the whole summer apart, she spoke first over a glass of boxed wine. She told Greg she loved him, and then time slowed as she turned to me and said it too. Greg enthusiastically said it back, and they kissed, and by the time they broke apart, I was standing, setting my glass in the sink, ready to walk out the door. Their faces sank as I told them I did not feel the same, and I hoped they would be happy.
I still haven’t spoken a word to them.
The instinct to run is there even now. My legs buzz with the desire to take me elsewhere, except I don’t have anywhere to go. This is my home, and it’s Ian’s car that would take me anywhere. My stomach churns, a mixture of fear and dread and worse: the tiniest glimmer of recognition.
Because even as I broke my own heart leaving Melanie, Greg, and Anna, even as I crushed whatever future they dreamed up for us, I knew how I felt about them. I cared deeply about them. Maybe it was love, maybe it wasn’t, but I knew how all thoserelationships were going to end, and I did all of us a favor by getting out when I did. Maybe we were all hurt for a little while, but it saved us a lot more hurt in the long run.
And here I am again, facing down another declaration of love, heart hammering in my chest because I know why I want to run. It’s the same reason I’ve wanted to run in the past.
It’s not that I can’t love or that I’ve never felt love the way I like to brag about. It’s that I’ve never chosen to be an active participant.
I knew even at a young age that a lasting, committed love was for an elite few, and the rest of us would end up with broken hearts. As if it were genetic, I knew I wouldn’t be in that elite group. I knew if I fell in love, I’d get my heart smashed to bits. So I decided I would never let myself get to that point.
It was in this bed, in fact, that eleven-year-old Jade vowed she’d never end up like her mother, because she wouldn’t let anyone hurt her like they’d hurt her mom. I decided then I was never going to fall in love. And if I got too close to it, I would run first. I’d get out before they could.
I don’t know if I loved Melanie or Greg or Anna, but I know Ian’s words have struck too deep a chord in my own soul not to be true. Maybe that’s why the sex felt so different; why it felt more like a colliding of souls than just a couple horny young adults. It’s why I can barely think of anything but him when he’s not around, and when he is, why the world feels a little brighter. Maybe it’s why, when I think about how Anastasia has a crush on him, I feel a little nauseated. Why I didn’t kick him out immediately yesterday when he appeared in the bathroom doorway?
Was it desperation, or was it because I knew deep down inside that Ian is safe? That Ian can be trusted. That Ian will not break my heart.
But it doesn’t matter if I can trust Ian or not.
It’s love I don’t trust. Look where it’s gotten my mother.
And I am nothing if not loyal to myself, so it doesn’t matter how Ian feels, and it doesn’t matter how I feel.
I will not end up like my mother.
I will not fall in love.
21
JADE
“The story shall be changed . . .”Act II, Scene I
“He said what?” Jessie asks, her eyes wide, mouth agape. Both she and Mac stop mid-bite to look at me like deer in the headlights.
“Yeah . . .” I say, picking through my fries for the smallest, crunchiest one. It’s my night for Roommate Night, and I chose takeout from our favorite Greek restaurant and a night in at the apartment. After half a week at home with my mom and having to jump right into rehearsals and homework catchup when I got back to school, I needed an evening of doing nothing with my best friend. And her tagalong.
“And you said . . .?” Mac prompts.
“I didn’t say anything,” I say, picking through my fries, avoiding eye contact.
“Hold on a second—did you fake being asleep?” Jessie asks.
I grimace, letting my silence answer the question.
“Jade!” Jessie slaps my hand.
“What was I supposed to do? Say ‘thank you’? Obviously not. It’s better that he thinks I didn’t hear him.”
There’s a brief silence while we all chew our food. Mac and Jessie exchange a very readable glance.
“Oh my god, just say it,” I say.
“Did you start avoiding him after he said that?” Jessie asks, but less like she’s curious and more like she knows the answer already, and there’s only one right answer.
