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“No.”

“Because I asked about the painting?”

“No. Stop making it about individual things.”

“Then tell me what it’s about.”

I wait. Whatever she says next is going to hurt. I need her to say it anyway.

Her voice drops. “Maybe I’ve been confusing attraction with affection.”

For one second I think I must have misunderstood her. I didn’t.

“You don’t feel affection for me?”

Laura answers too quickly. “I care about you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

I wait for her to correct herself. She does not.

For the first time, I’m not confused. I understand exactly what she means. I would give anything to misunderstand her.

“You liked me before.”

“I do like you.”

“No.”

Laura’s head comes up at the certainty in my voice.

“Not the way you did before.”

I don’t need to argue with her about it. I know what liking me felt like. It was Laura taking something ridiculous I said and turning it into a joke that lasted twice as long. It was her coming into a room because I was there, touching me when she didn’t need anything, asking questions because she wanted the answers.

“What you’re doing now is different.”

“I’m trying not to make this harder.”

“For who, Laura?”

She doesn’t answer. I think about telling her I love her.

The words are true whether I say them or not. But I don’t want to give them to her now, after she’s told me she may have mistaken wanting me for affection. I don’t want kindness because I love her, and I don’t want pity.

So I say nothing.

Laura looks down at the floor. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.”

I believe her. It doesn’t help.

I step back. “I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

She blinks. “What?”