“Says hundreds of ruined photographs,” I said. “Says me not knowing what I’d do with them even if they weren’t. Says this travel column, my spending so much time on the road, all of it being the only life I’ve ever known.”
He looked at me, not as if this was completely unclear, but as if this type of clarity wasn’t of much use to him. It made me feel lonely, especially after feeling understood again just a few hours before by someone who shouldn’t be understanding me at all anymore.
&
nbsp; “I can’t just become someone else, Griffin,” I said, trying again.
“Who’s talking about you becoming someone else?” he said. “I’m talking about you becoming more like yourself.”
I leaned back, away from him. More like myself. This was the worst part. I didn’t know why I couldn’t get there.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “That’s why I started thinking about the Pop Rocks story. I used to be so frustrated that Jesse knew exactly what he wanted. That he could just be happy with it . . . really content. I never thought I’d be built that way. And then it changed.”
“When?” I asked.
He gave me a smile. “When did we meet, again?”
I smiled back, and then looked down. “That’s not true,” I said.
“No, not exactly,” Griffin said. “But that’s not what I’m saying anyway. I’m saying it took a long time to figure out it wasn’t about me finding my version of Pop Rocks.”
“What was it about?”
He stood up, taking his mug with him. “It was about learning to leave the store before time was up,” he said.
Then he leaned down, for one more second, to kiss me on the cheek. Like that was something we did.
“Take the job, Annie,” he said, into my ear. “Go to London.”
I looked up as he pulled back, moving away from me.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Didn’t you just say that I shouldn’t go? Didn’t you just get finished saying that?”
He tilted his head, met my eyes. “I just keep wondering, what made Nick think he could just show up here?” he said. “Was that about him, or was it about you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, which seemed to be the only answer Griffin needed.
Part of me wanted to scream out, It isn’t about Nick. But the words wouldn’t come. Because there was another part of me that looked at that antique ring a second too long—that listened to Nick ’s offer a second too long—to know that Nick wasn’t factoring into my confusion. And then, there was the biggest part of me: the part that didn’t think this was about wanting Nick again, at all. But that couldn’t ignore what seeing him made abundantly clear. That I was no closer to being present here. That part of me still craving an exit strategy.
“I don’t know how to explain it, Griffin. I woke up one day and it’s like I’d ended up in a completely new life. I know I chose that, but it doesn’t feel that simple,” I said. “None of it feels simple to me.”
He was already on his way toward the door, he was already on his way away from me. And this wasn’t enough to keep him.
“I can’t fix that for you, Annie,” he said. “I don’t want to spend my life trying to.”
He looked at me for one last second. He didn’t look angry, or upset. He looked clear, certain.
Then he was gone.
30
The next morning I called Peter.
“I think I may have screwed everything up . . .” I said.
I was standing in the kitchen, the house quiet—perfectly peaceful—the first bit of sun hovering over the backyard, over the forest, making the trees shine.
I turned away from the window.