“Owen?” Her voice is soft, afraid, and her head starts to shake from side to side, like she knows what’s coming.
“I think I should take you home, Amy.”
13. Keep Holding On
I still can’t believe what’s happening. Okay, it’s not that I don’t believe it; I guess I’m just stuck in a state of denial over the entire thing.
Home. He wants to take me home.
I had seen his decision before he even voiced it, but that doesn’t make his words sting any less. It shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, given we had just come so incredibly close to being caught by my dad, but it does. I guess I’ve just been so caught up in how amazing it is to be with Owen that the reality of our situation just sort of evaporated slowly throughout the week.
I can see how much my father’s comments have upset Owen, though, and I can’t just pretend like everything is okay. Because it isn’t. They can be, sure, but in this moment, it’s obvious that we have to figure things out sooner rather than later.
“Owen, we should talk about this,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, pushing himself away from the door. “We will, but…I need to process everything first.”
“Okay,” I reply, dragging the word out and following him through his apartment as he searches for…something. “Well, don’t you think we should try and process this together? Maybe try to figure out what to tell him?”
Owen stops searching, fisting his car keys from the end table in his living room, and my stomach drops. He’s taking me home, whether I want to go or not.
“How could we possibly spin this into something he’d even remotely approve of, Amy?” he asks, his voice growing a little louder. The use of my nickname isn’t missed, either. One little word, and I no longer feel like his equal.
He’s upset, and while I know his anger isn’t directed at me, I can’t help but keep my distance and wrap my arms around myself.
“I get that he’s going to have a hard time accepting this.” My eyes catch his, and I swear I see his urge to blurt out “yeah, right,” but I keep talking, not giving him the chance. “I do. But don’t you think that once he understands how happy we are together, he’ll come around?”
Owen is silent, contemplative for a moment, before he rakes his fingers through his hair roughly and shakes his head again. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes when he brought up the fact that you were seeing a man twice your age.”
“Okay,” I quickly agree, interjecting as he lets his sentence hang there, unfinished. “Well, that’s because, right now, he thinks I’m just dating some random fifty-year-old.” The second I see his guard drop, I let my arms fall from around my body and take a step forward, placing my hands on his hips and smiling up at him. “And let’s be realistic, here,” I add on slyly, “I would never date a fifty-year-old…I have standards. Forty-three is kind of my limit.”
While I’d hoped to gain a bigger smile and a laugh, I’m forced to settle for a weaker version of his crooked grin. “Come on,” he says, nodding his head for the door. “I’ll take you home.”
There’s no arguing with him, so, defeated, I force a smile to my face, grab my things, and follow him out of his place and to his car. The entire drive back to my apartment is quiet, save for the soft jazz music pouring from the Lexus’ speakers. It confuses me at first when Owen slows down and starts scoping out the cars along the street outside my apartment, but then I realize he’s probably looking for Dad’s vehicle. When he doesn’t find it, he pulls up in front of my building and puts the car in park.
We sit there for a few minutes in near-silence, and I’m looking at my fidgeting hands, not wanting to get out of the car and trying to find a way to tell him this. Before I can say anything, he gets out and comes around to open my door. I sigh, dejected, and take his offered hand. We stand by the car, looking anywhere but at each other, and I’m trying so hard to ignore the burning in my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Owen breathes softly, his thumb moving softly over the back of my hand; I hadn’t realized he was still holding it.
“I know,” I reply, my voice breaking. This is starting to feel an awful lot like a breakup…which is ridiculous since we haven’t even defined whatever our relationship is. “It’s fine,” I tell him, even though nothing about this feels fine. Pretending to scratch an itch on my cheek, I discreetly wipe the tear that escapes and look up at him. He looks devastated and tells me he’ll call me when he figures things out.