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Mentally, I calculate my odds. Sadie already mentioned being freaked out once. Was that yesterday? This morning? The passage of time has been both fast and slow since we left Oakley.
And probably because of the nature of our situation—being trapped on this boat and around each other twenty-four-seven—thingsaremoving quickly with us. Then again, I’ve had feelings for a while. A good, long while.
My interest was instantaneous—from that first video chat. Every time Sadie has been in Oakley, that interest has grown and grown. Maybe I didn’t realize the depth of my feelings before now, or maybe they’ve been slowly inching into deeper water this whole time. Without much to compare this to, I’m at a little bit of a loss.
But we’re too old for games, and the only kind I’m really interested in playing with Sadie are the fun kind, like our verbal sparring. When it comes to this, I’d rather lay it all out there and be honest.
“I’m just wondering what happens next,” I say, taking the leap. “Not tonight, in the storm. I mean, when we get the all-clear and head back to Oakley. Full disclosure: I’ve never wantedthisbefore.”
I realize I’m still being a coward, avoiding saying the actual terms. “A relationship,” I clarify. “Something real, with the potential for a future.”
There. I said it. And whether it’s the seafood plus the storm or just my nerves, the rolling of my stomach matches the churning ocean outside.
“I’ve never wanted it either,” Sadie says. “Well—sort of. I’ve hadalong-term relationship before. But it was a while ago. Didn’t end well or make me eager for another.”
Why does this fill me with a hot and frenzied sense of jealousy? I swallow, trying to force it back down. The last thing Sadie needs right now is me getting all alpha male possessive over a guy from the past.
“And I haven’t wanted or looked for anything serious since,” she adds.
Those words—and the tone of finality in her voice—they hit me like the slap of an icy wave.
My instinct is to lighten the mood, make some kind of joke, but I think that’s more of a coping mechanism. A way to escape talking about hard things. And while this conversation is making me super uncomfortable, I know it’s important. It feels like some sort of test.
If I want to have a big boy, grownup relationship, I need to be able to talk about difficult subjects. I’m a thirty-four-year-old grown man who has often taken pride in my ability to talk about my emotions. This shouldn’t even be a challenge. But then, talking to Jake abouthisrelationship is very different than talking about things when my own heart is on the line.
“Do you … want to talk about it?” I ask, torn between wanting every detail and not wanting to have to imagine Sadie with someone—anyone—else. Ever.
“I just … think I’m maybe a little bit broken.”
Sadie is anything but broken. If anything, she’s one of the strongest people I know. But I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid saying this out loud. The last thing I want is to dismiss or diminish her concerns. Even if I happen to disagree.
So, I listen. I wait. And though I can’t see her face in the darkness, I offer what reassurance I can through touch, lightly sliding my hand up and down her back.
“Dr. Justin Treemont,” she says, her tone acidic.
I already hate the guy.
“He taught in the mathematics department at MIT when I was getting my PhD, and he was everyone’s favorite. Technically, the department frowned on teacher-student relationships, but I was never in any of his classes, so he wasn’tmyprofessor, which stupidly made it easier for me to fudge the rules. Justin also had this air about him—like he just…I don’t know, special enough to do whatever he wanted. He was much too old for me, but either way, we were both adults and he was the darling of the department. If the dean cared, he turned his head whenever he saw us together.”
My skin suddenly feels hot. It’s not just jealousy I feel, but a surge of protectiveness. Sadie may have been an adult, but I am also very aware of power imbalances in relationships. And a fresh out of college student and a professor really toes that line.
I’m also suddenly very aware of the seven years between Sadie and me.
She continues, “Looking back, I see things differently. But Justin was brilliant and funny and thoughtful. It was very easy to get swept up in his charm. I honestly couldn’t believe he found me interesting at all.”
I ache to tell Sadie how interesting I find her. I want to fold time in half so I step through the wrinkle just to tellthatSadie she didn’t need some older, fascinating douche to see her as interesting.
Again, I stay quiet. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.
“At first, he made me feel seen.Reallyseen. But then, the longer we were together, the more he…” Sadie trails off, and I swear, I feel her tremble the tiniest bit.
I pull her closer, pressing a quick kiss to her temple, longing to do more.
“He wasn’tmeanto me.Not directly, anyway. But eventually, he started making little comments about the kinds of clothes I should buy. About how I should wear my hair—straight, never wavy. He paid for me to get regular manicures and to shop in the nicest stores in Boston. Don’t get me wrong—the pampering was nice on the surface. It made me feel … important. At least at first. But eventually, it started to feel like he was molding me into this very specific kind of woman. A woman who was not me.”
Now I just want to punch the guy. I want to find him, tell him he should have known better than to try to manipulate a student—even a PhD student—when he was a professor, and then sock him right in the jaw.
“Justin’s entire family was wealthy. Very Boston elite. They sailed every weekend, attended the fancy charity events where everyone just stood around and talked about how much money they had. It was important to him that I also fit the image.”
