On Rotation(74)

But clearly, I was an idiot. How much of what we had was in my imagination? Here I was, tossing around the concept of being in love with him, and Ricky wasn’t even sure if I was deserving of a label that didn’t require that.

“Say something,” I demanded, feeling like I was about to break.

Ricky ducked his head, and the queasiness I’d felt before became outright nausea.

“I . . . ,” he said. “I don’t know.”

I should have known. How many times did I have to get hurt before I would finally learn? True love, the kind that Ricky’s grandparents had for each other, that my dad had for my mom, that Tabatha had for Chris—wasn’t in my cards. I was the Angela Appiah Experience, a nice ride, a fun time. The girl who taught you something about yourself, who you looked back on fondly while you cuddled up with the woman you decided to actually love in the end.

I stepped back onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t look at Ricky, so I stared past him, watching a group of laughing twenty-somethings exit a restaurant across the street.

“I think I should go,” I said. I reached into my purse for my phone.

“Wait,” Ricky said, placing a hand on my arm to stop me. “No. Don’t run off. Let’s talk about this, yeah?”

I shrugged his hand off. The tears I had successfully bit back stung my eyes.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, punching my address into the rideshare app. “I hear you loud and clear. You’re not ready to be my boyfriend, or whatever. Fine. I don’t plan on sticking around to change your mind.”

Ricky staggered back like he’d been slapped.

“What do you mean, you don’t plan on sticking around?” he said. “Are you trying to dump me?”

“How can I dump you if we’re not together?” I asked, amazed. “We’ve been doing this . . . thing for months, Ricky. I introduced you to my sister.” I closed my eyes. Be careful, Tabatha had said. Wise beyond her years, that one. “None of this has been casual for me. And if it is for you, then there’s no point keeping up this charade, is there?”

“None of this has been casual for me either, Angie, and you know that,” Ricky said seriously. He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring out onto the street. “I really like you. I just . . . I was someone’s boyfriend for three years. I don’t know if I’m ready to be that again just yet.”

The breeze blew by, cooler than I expected, and I shuddered. It was already late September. To think that Ricky had occupied a space in my mind for an entire season.

“You can’t do relationship shit with me and then tell me you’re not ready for a relationship. If you aren’t ready now . . .” I swallowed, thinking about how, for someone else, for everyone else, he had been ready. And how for me, this meant he would never be. “I’m sure about you,” I choked, surprised by how hard it was to admit that out loud. “It really sucks that you don’t feel the same about me.”

“That isn’t fair, Angie,” Ricky said, his voice low. “It’s just too early for me to be sure. That doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He pushed his hand through his hair, looking away from me. “It just means I need a little more time.”

Time. I thought about Nia, and how she and Shae had jumped in headfirst within weeks of meeting. Of Michelle, who could get a man to practically pledge fealty to her after a day. And then of Ricky, of how countless hours of laughter and discussion and kisses and what had felt like deep, true regard had still come up short.

“You can’t just put me on indefinite layaway, Ricky,” I said simply. “I don’t have time to give.”

Ricky didn’t say anything, and so I let myself look at him. It felt like this might be my last chance, and so I tried to catalog the parts of him I would miss the most. His strong jaw, locked tight with tension. His hands, curling and stretching at his sides. His smooth, nearly hairless golden skin.

The Ford Focus I had requested pulled up in front of us. The driver rolled down her window.

“Angela?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said, taking a step toward the car. I opened the door, preparing to step in.

Ricky grabbed the handle, stopping me from closing it.

“Wait. Wait. We’re talking about this,” he said definitively. “This isn’t over, okay, Angie?”

Talk about what? I thought. His initial reaction had been enough; even if Ricky changed his mind tomorrow and told me that actually, he did want to commit, I wouldn’t believe him. You’re just saying this because you don’t want to lose me, not because you actually want it, I would think, and that would make me feel even more pathetic than I already did.

“Promise me, Angie,” he said beseechingly. “I’m going to call you tomorrow. Promise me that you’ll pick up.”

My driver sank deeper into her seat with impatience, and I finally let myself look Ricky in the eye again. I’d never seen him look like this, like he was about to fall apart. Panic stretched his voice thin, and his grip on the car door was tight, pulling his skin taut over his knuckles. Maybe at another time, I would have thought that his reaction meant something. Now . . . I wasn’t so sure. I’d thought I could read him. Look at how he looks at you, I had thought, so sure that he was the one instead of one of many.