Love in the Time of Serial Killers(62)

He frowned, as if he wasn’t quite sure why I was bringing her up again. A part of me felt like I was testing him, poking at a wound to see if it still hurt. It was a horrible thing to do, probably. I didn’t even know what result I wanted. If he was obviously still hung up on her, it would give me an out in a way—I’d be able to tell myself that that was the reason why it never would’ve worked between us, not because of anything to do with me. But if he was obviously still hung up on her, it also made me feel jealous and sad.

“Amanda was . . .” He’d pulled more grass and was braiding it now, without looking. I didn’t even know if he knew he was doing it. There was going to be a bald patch by this blanket when we left. “Well, I’ve already told you. It was always a lot of effort with her. Like I could feel that she wanted me to be a certain way, and I could feel all the ways that I was constantly letting her down. But it kept me busy, keeping up with it, and so when she broke up with me it came as a surprise even though it shouldn’t have. I’d known it wasn’t right almost the whole time. It was like getting off a treadmill and your head is spinning and your feet on solid ground just feel wrong, but then you’re like, wait, I didn’t want to be on that treadmill in the first place. I should’ve stopped it a long time ago.”

“That is a very relatable example,” I said. “Fuck treadmills. If I’m running it better be because the Sunrise Slayer is after me.”

“I thought you said he died in prison.”

“And you didn’t actually date a treadmill,” I said. “I thought we understood we were being metaphorical here.”

Sam smiled at that. “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

“I’ve given you a full dossier on my last relationship,” he said. “I want to hear about yours.”

“Isn’t this a bad idea?” I asked. “Trading stories about exes?”

He shrugged. “Just two friends talking.”

“Okay, okay.” I mentally sorted through the last few guys I’d been with, discarding all of them as not really a relationship. I knew if I asked Sam to define exactly what that word even meant I’d only be opening myself up to more questions, so I finally settled on a boyfriend I’d had after college, which meant it was . . . six years ago. Yikes.

“His name was Brandon,” I said. “He actually worked part-time at the vitamin supplement place in a nearby mall, so he was way into fitness. I think he would’ve dated a treadmill for real. We met through mutual friends who seemed to think we’d hit it off, although I can’t think why because it turned out we had very little in common. He was generally a pretty sweet guy, but I think he was looking for a girlfriend who would be more . . .”

I shrugged, not totally sure how to finish that sentence. But of course I should’ve known that Sam wasn’t going to let me off the hook.

“More what?”

“Demonstrative, I guess?” I said. “Affectionate? I didn’t laugh much at his jokes, because I didn’t know he was making any, and I didn’t randomly massage his shoulders when it seemed like he’d had a rough day. Meanwhile he was always trying to massage me, and that shit hurt. He’d really dig in there and put some torque in it. Dude would eat protein powder without even mixing it into a shake first. That’s just not right.”

Sam laughed a little, leaning back on his hands in the grass, our pinkie fingers almost touching.

“We were just total opposites,” I said. “He even said it himself when we broke up. He had a hard body and a soft heart, whereas I . . . well. You know.”

I could feel Sam’s gaze on my face now, but I squinted and looked away, scanning the water for any sign of Conner and Shani like it was the most important thing I had to do. I actually did spot them, walking hand in hand, starting to make their way back up the grass. Conner seemed a lot more relaxed, smiling and saying something to Shani, even though the sky only looked more likely to open up at any minute. I tried to figure out if maybe he had proposed to her on their walk, but somehow I didn’t think so. They looked happy, but not like taking-selfies-with-the-ring happy.

“That’s such bullshit,” Sam said.

“This body is pretty soft,” I said, poking myself in my not-flat stomach.

“Your body is bangin’,” Sam said, “and to the extent Benchpress Brandon meant any insult with that comment, I hope he chokes on his protein powder. But I meant the heart thing, too. You don’t have a hard heart.”

I shrugged. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I know you’re here,” he said. “Providing moral support because your brother asked you to, even though you hate fireworks. I know you let him call you Pheebs even though it gets under your skin. I know you took in that cat because you hated to think of her not having a home. I know you’re here, back in town in a house that makes you sad, because you didn’t want to leave it for your brother to handle by himself.”

A raindrop hit my arm with a splatter, and then another, but I was barely conscious of the weather or the fact that people around us were starting to pack up and leave in earnest. Sam’s outburst had left me speechless. How did he know I hated the nickname Pheebs, except when my brother used it?

“Sorry,” Sam said, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “We should probably—”