“Fuck you,” I tell him. “Fuck you for making me trust you. Fuck you for breaking my heart! I loved you! I loved you and you threw it away!”
“Shay,” he says, making a move for me, but I rip out of his way.
“Don’t!” I scream, the tears now spilling down my cheeks, breakdown imminent. “Don’t you dare try to touch me. It’s over. We’re through. I never ever want to see you again.”
I whirl around and march to the gate at the side of the house, Everly running behind me.
“Don’t worry, you won’t,” I hear Anders say quietly.
I believe him, too.
My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.
14
Shay Now
The surest way to turn a good situation into an awkward one is to let your ex-boyfriend kiss you in a barn whilst milking a cow, and then proceed to get caught by his disapproving uncle.
This was exactly the kind of thing that I was trying to avoid.
And believe me, I was trying to avoid it.
It’s just hard when…well, fuck. It’s hard when it’s Anders. I know we have all this tumultuous history between us, that we never got the closure we needed from each other, or at least I never did, but even if I didn’t have all that with him, I’d be in over my head.
I mean, look at him. He’s built like a Nordic god, gorgeous from head to toe, and would definitely rack up all the views if he ever put out a Tik Tok with him chopping wood or doing other manly mountain stuff or whatever. And then there’s his soul. So damaged and soft and he doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s got the artist’s heart beating underneath a laborer’s body and sometimes there’s such purity to him that it catches me off guard. Any woman worth her salt would feel revered, respected, and adored in his presence.
And yet, I can’t seem to forget what he did to me. And I know it was so long ago, I know I shouldn’t care anymore, but it’s become this big steel wall that slams shut every time I think about giving in to him. Every time I think, maybe this can work? And even if it can’t, maybe it can work for now? What’s so wrong with hooking up with your ex for a few weeks before you part ways? Isn’t that what most people do, especially if there is unfinished business between them? Maybe I’m the one who’s being the problem here.
Actually, I know I am. Because for that brief moment when he caught me before the walls could come down, when he kissed me, I felt something inside me break open, something I’d been trying to hide.
It scared me to death, to have that feeling again, to feel that alive, even if it only lasted for as long as his lips were on mine, for his hands to coast over my body, feeling so much more than it ever did.
And now, well, everything is awkward. Per caught us in a compromising situation and immediately needed my help with the sheep. Thankfully he didn’t bring it up again (and if he did, I didn’t notice—score one for not understanding much Norwegian) and by the time I was done and headed back in the barn to change out of my oversized jumpsuit, Anders had taken off on his motorbike.
He’s been gone most of the day.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I hung around the house for a bit, tried to make small talk with Per, but it’s not easy when neither of you speak the same language, so I just sat down in the living room with him, on the floral-covered couch, and watched some reruns of MASH, subtitled in Norwegian, then made us both cut up pears with local goat cheese and crackers, which I think Per begrudgingly enjoyed (despite having his own orchard, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a piece of fruit cross his lips).
Now, well, I figured there’s no sense in stewing in my bedroom. I decide to grab the old camera that Anders gave me and go for a long walk down the road, hoping to hit up some of the really photogenic houses. There’s still film in the camera, and I have no idea how old it is, but I figure it’s worth a shot. At the very least, it gives me time to stew over what happened and over-analyze the shit out of it. You know, what I do best.
I walk down the lane, taking in a deep breath through my nose, smelling the fresh air. At the edge of the property, there’s a hint of the ocean, which is as calm as a lake. A few sheep walk along the water’s edge, nibbling at flowers. On the other side of me the mountains rise up and up, their peaks disappearing behind puffs of cloud. At first the mountains made me feel grounded, being so enclosed in this valley, but now I have a sense of vertigo, like if I look up too high the mountain will crush me.
But that’s just a metaphor, isn’t it?
Because I’m scared.
Scared that being with Anders, physically, intimately, will somehow undo all my resolve. He ruined me so badly that it took so much time and emotional energy to learn to be the person who would never make that mistake again. Yes, things with Danny went south, but I never felt like my heart, like the soul of me, was on the line.
Now, it feels like it is. It shouldn’t. But knowing that doesn’t make the feeling go away. If I give in to Anders, if we make things even more complicated than they already are, am I strong enough to walk away unscathed this time?
I keep walking and taking photos until I’ve run out of film. I don’t know how much time has passed, it’s hard
