Good. I flip on a light, making sure my most frustrated expression is plastered on.
“Thank you. You look good.”
“Liz, what did you need? It’s late,” I bark. I fight the urge to return the compliment. She looks amazing. Tanned, smooth skin, hair pulled back to expose that long neck… frustrating.
“Um, well, I… I mean, I don’t really know where to start.” She shifts nervously. “Matt is at this work thing, and I was just here alone so I decided to clean.”
I feel the anger spike. They’re living together? I say nothing.
“I was cleaning—like closets and stuff. I, um, I found something. I just didn’t know what to do.” She reaches beside her for a box I hadn’t noticed and holds its contents up to the camera.
“Does a diamond ring mean the same thing—”
“Yes.” She lowers it, face filling the screen again.
Matt is going to propose. And I realize how much hope I still held onto. I plaster a smile. “Then congratulations.”
Liz pales. “No. No, Ben, see, I’m… I’m freaking out. I’m not ready.”
“Why? Don’t you love him?” The words slip out, sharper than intended. I immediately regret it.
“I think so,” she whispers.
“Think?” Why am I still in this conversation?
“Yeah. Ben, shouldn’t I know?”
I let it all sink in. Liz is living with Matt. Matt is going to propose. She’s not sure she wants to marry him. She called me. At 2 a.m. After ten months. To ask me for an opinion.
My anger boils over. “Liz, I have to be honest here. I have no fucking clue what you expect me to say. I don’t know why you aren’t happy to find your live-in bloody boyfriend—” Her eyes slam shut. “—wants to marry you.”
I wait her out. I am not giving in. I will not shoulder her pain.
“I have no one else to talk to.” Her whisper chips at me, but I don’t flinch.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s been about a year since we last spoke. I’m not sure I still qualify to give you advice.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I just…” She pauses, breathes. “I just needed a second opinion.”
“Why would you need someone else to tell you whether you should marry anyone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t know either.”
“I guess I should let you go.”
“That would be nice.” Fighting every instinct to keep her on the line, I reach for the escape button.
“Ben?” She pauses me mid-reach. “I didn’t need anyone’s opinion. Just yours.”
I hit the button. Screen goes dark.
I explode. Laptop thrown, covers ripped back. “Fuck.” I pace, stomping, “Fuck.” Louder, harder. I punch the wall. Pain calms me. Blood oozes from my knuckles. I sink to the floor. Whisper it this time. “Fuck.” Head in hands. More defeated than I’ve been in a year.
But somewhere beneath that rage, something has shifted. Liz’s desperation, her fear of herself, it’s all out there on the screen. And for the first time in months, I realize — I still matter to her.
Chapter 45