Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [102]
“But he’s happy here—this is his home. He’s got his friends, his soccer…”
“He can have all that in Wilmington.”
“You don’t know that. It’s easy for you to say that he will, but you don’t know that for sure.”
“Didn’t you see how well we got along?”
She let go of his hand, growing frustrated. “That has nothing to do with it, don’t you see? I know you two got along, but you weren’t asking him to change his life. I wasn’t asking him to change his life.” She paused. “And besides, this isn’t all about him. What about me, Garrett? You were there tonight—you know what happened. I just got some wonderful news about my column and now you want me to give that up, too?”
“I don’t want to give us up. There’s a big difference.”
“Then why can’t you move to Boston?”
“And do what?”
“The same thing you do in Wilmington. Teach diving, go sailing, whatever. It’s a lot easier for you to leave than it would be for me.”
“I can’t do that. Like I said, this”—he motioned around the room and toward the windows—“isn’t me. I’d be lost up here.”
Theresa stood up and walked across the room, agitated. She ran her hand through her hair. “That isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t fair?”
She faced him. “This whole thing. Asking me to move, asking me to change my whole life. It’s like you’ve put a condition on it—‘We can be together, but it’s got to be my way.’ Well, what about my feelings? Aren’t they important, too?”
“Of course they’re important. You’re important—we’re important.”
“Well—you don’t make it sound that way. It’s like you’re only thinking about yourself. You want me to give up everything I’ve worked for, but you’re not willing to give up anything.” Her eyes never left his.
Garrett rose from the couch and moved toward her. When he got close, she pulled back, raising her arms like a barrier.
“Look, Garrett—I don’t want you to touch me right now, okay?”
He dropped his hands to his sides. For a long moment neither of them said anything. Theresa crossed her arms and glanced away.
“Then I guess your answer is that you’re not coming,” he finally said, sounding angry.
She spoke carefully. “No. My answer is that we’re going to have to talk this out.”
“So you can try to convince me that I’m wrong?”
His comment didn’t deserve a response. Shaking her head, she walked to the dining room table, picked up her purse, and started toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get some wine. I need a drink.”
“But it’s late.”
“There’s a store at the end of the block. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
“Why can’t we talk about it now?”
“Because,” she said quickly, “I need a few minutes alone so I can think.”
“You’re running out?” It sounded like an accusation.
She opened the door, holding it as she spoke. “No, Garrett, I’m not running out. I’ll be back in a few minutes. And I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that. It’s not fair of you to make me feel guilty about this. You’ve just asked me to change my entire life, and I’m taking a few minutes to think about it.”
She left the apartment. Garrett stared at the door for a couple of seconds, waiting to see if she would come back. When she didn’t, he cursed himself silently. Nothing had turned out as he thought it would. One minute he asked her to move to Wilmington, the next she’s out the door, needing to be alone. How had it gotten away from him?
Not knowing what else to do, he paced around the apartment. He glanced in the kitchen, then Kevin’s room, and kept moving. When he reached her bedroom, he paused for a moment before entering. After walking over to her bed, he sat down, putting his head into his hands.
Was it fair of him to ask her to leave? Granted, she had a life here—a good life—but he felt sure that she could have that in Wilmington. No matter how he looked at it, it would probably be much better than their life together up here. Looking around, he knew there was no way he could live in an apartment. But even if they moved to a house—would it have a view? Or would they live in a suburb, surrounded by a dozen houses that looked exactly the same?