But whether or not I can feel sympathy or tenderness or true, genuine love, I can pretend. It’s not difficult even for normal people to manipulate their way into a longer relationship, after all. I just have to tell him what he wants to hear. Easy as pie.
He might want to break it off now, but I can keep it going for months longer. Maybe even years. Guilt is a powerful drug for people like Luke. But I now know this is the beginning of the end, at least.
“I think it’s been great?” Luke ventures. That means he is expecting me to chime in with something.
I stare at him and wait. Does he think I’ll actually help him along? Make it easier for him to toss me out of his life? If so, he doesn’t know me at all, and that means I’m not responsible for this breakdown in our relationship. He is.
Luke finally swallows and soldiers on without my encouragement. “For the past few months, I’ve been thinking of making some changes.”
I can’t let him go easily. I can’t, and I certainly won’t. He’s my one person. My connection. My only entrée into the flow and pulse of humanity.
I had an enjoyable life with men before Luke, of course, but it was cool and distant. The only moments of connection were manipulations at work and meaningless sex. I never had this before. His hand warm around my ankle the way it always is when we sit and read together. Thoughtful texts to make sure I’m happy. Cozy heat at night that I actually want to snuggle close to.
The common belief is that people like me don’t feel love at all, but I do feel something. We’re not robots. We crave the connections we can’t make.
The silence between us swells, ticking like a clock as he waits for me to blink or cry or gasp in panic. I don’t.
“I think we should move in together,” he finally blurts out.
That shocks me into yelling, “What the hell?”
Luke nods. “I told you I’ve been thinking of a bigger place.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe something a little closer to Holly.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And I’d like to share that place with you.”
“Me,” I say dully, briefly confused by the shift. I’ve read him incorrectly, and I like that almost as little as I like this surprise he’s presenting.
“You,” Luke confirms, his hand now clutching nervously at my ankle instead of caressing. “Absolutely. I think we should get a place together. A little house. White picket fence.”
I pull my foot away and set my book down. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Well, the white picket fence part was a joke.”
“I don’t want a husband, Luke.”
“I know that. I respect that you don’t want to get married.”
“It’s weird!” I say too loudly. “All it does is mix up your finances without giving any kind of security, because you can just get divorced at any time. It doesn’t even make any sense! What’s wrong with people?”
Luke’s mouth twitches into a nervous smile. “I get what you’re saying, but that’s not what I’m asking. We’ve been dating a year. One of us is usually at the other’s house, which gets a little inconvenient. We don’t even have to buy a place together if that’s not what you want. I’d like to be closer to my niece, and I’d love it if you moved in with me.”
I’m just staring at him again. I really wasn’t expecting this. Though now that he’s asked, I see that there were hints I ignored. Clues he’s been dropping that I just stepped over because I didn’t want to acknowledge them.
Luke’s brother got married a couple of years ago, and last year he and his husband adopted a newborn girl. Luke fell head over heels in love with his baby niece, and he lights up like the sun when he spends time with her. Even I can see the pink hearts floating over his head.
And now he imagines a white picket fence of his own. Of course.
He wants that, and I don’t. I like my solitary space. I like my condo and my cat and my views of the city. But I like Luke too.
I shake my head. “I don’t know about any of this.”
“You need to think about it. That’s only fair. I’ve been thinking about it for months, so you need time.”
I study him for a long moment. “You want kids,” I say flatly.
His eyes widen. He blinks. He doesn’t say no. Goddamn it.
“Luke!” I snap in horror.
“I’ve never wanted kids,” he says carefully.
“You know, I’m an attorney, and I can tell pretty easily when someone isn’t addressing the implied question at hand. You never wanted kids before. I know that. We’ve talked about it plenty of times. But now? After Holly?”
Another blink and he finally looks away, guilt tightening his face. Something frantic rises in my chest, confusing me. It’s unpleasant and I don’t like it at all, and Luke is the one doing this to me. My Luke. “I don’t like this,” I mutter, pushing out of his clingy, cushiony leather couch to look for my shoes. “I’m going home.”
I should be the one to break up with him. I should be the one to leave, and this may be the right moment to end this so I don’t have to endure any more unpleasant surprises in the future.
“Jane, come on. Let’s talk.”
“No, I need to feed my cat. And you want to change everything.”
“Not everything. It’ll be just like this, every night. Just the same, but in a bigger place, together.”
“No, it won’t. The same won’t be enough.”
“Enough of what?”
“Enough of what you want. You want”—I wave a hand—“something else. Someone else. I’m not going to stick around and watch you yearn for a wife and a baby when what you have is me. That’s stupid.”
I stalk off and he follows me to the table where I left my purse. “I want you, Jane. You know that.”
“I know you want me, but you want more than me too. I won’t give you that. I’m not . . .” I growl, unable to find the right word. I don’t even want to find the right word. None of this is fair. “You know I’m not!” I yell as I yank open the door.
“Not what?”
That scratching, swelling mess of anger inside me gets bigger and climbs into my throat as I lurch through the door. “I’m not a real person!” I scream.
My voice echoes off the ten-foot ceilings of his hallway, banging around on the doors of the other five loft condos up here. I don’t care. I’ll yell it in their faces if they stick their heads out. He doesn’t know I’m a sociopath, but he knows I’m different. He said he liked that, so what the hell does he think he’s pulling here?
“Jane,” Luke calls from behind me as I rush for the stairwell.
“Don’t follow me,” I warn. And he doesn’t. He never pushes me. Or he never did before today.
I race down the metal stairs, clanking my fury out in rapid steps. It doesn’t help.
Why would he do this? Everything has been going fine. Luke and I had a routine, a relationship, and for the first time in my life I’ve been . . . comfortable.
No, that isn’t the right word. I’ve always been satisfied with the life I lead. I’ve always made myself happy, doing exactly what I want to do. Every creature comfort I’ve ever wanted as an adult, I’ve given myself.