AMELIA

“Luke.”

He looked up at her, as expectant as a puppy, and she felt her stomach begin to tie itself into hard, angry knots. This was so unfair. She hated to hurt him, of course, she’d never wanted to hurt him, but even as she pitied him, a cold wall of irritation rose up and enveloped her heart.

“Just say yes,” he begged. The skin around his eyes had drawn back and his mouth was curving into something between a smile and a grimace. Already, this wasn’t going as he’d hoped.

“Luke, please stand up. Let’s talk, okay? Let’s talk about it.”

They had never talked about it, she thought, as her anger began to grow teeth and she asked him again to stand up, dammit. They had barely even discussed moving in together—it was all Luke, Luke maneuvering, Luke deciding, Luke just assuming that whatever he wanted, she wanted, because that was how it worked. The future businessman, ruled by logic, pressed and polished and always knowing just how things ought to be.

All the happiness—the relaxed confidence of only a few hours before, the easy smile and gentle teasing—left his face. His features turned rigid, stony. He stood up, straightening his clothes, angrily smoothing away wrinkles and adjusting his glasses. His lips pressed together once, then closed hard and tight.

“Please,” she said, “let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. He brushed past her, brushed against her harder than he needed to, and began to crunch his way back toward the car.

She turned and cried after him, exasperated. “Don’t I get to have any say in this?”

He whirled around. “Yeah, you get a say. You can say yes, or you can say no. And obviously, you’re saying no. So, fine, let’s just go.”

He turned again and began to walk away. Anger flooded through her so quickly that red spots bloomed suddenly in her peripheral vision, then faded as she strode forward and grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Luke, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at her. His mouth trembled and she thought, This. This is how he looks when he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Come on,” she said, working hard to keep her voice level. She walked the last few steps to the car and perched on the hood, patting the spot next to her, inviting him to come sit. He didn’t move.

“Have it your way,” she sighed. “Just listen, okay? I love you.” He scoffed at this, but she ignored it and pushed on. “I love you, but I can’t marry you. I mean, not just you, anyone. I’m not ready to get married.”

He looked down at the ring in his hand, then back at her. The lost-puppy look was back.

“I just want to get engaged,” he said. “We don’t have to get married right away.”

She shook her head, firmly. “It’s too much, Luke. I’m flattered that you asked, I really am, but my life—” She broke off, realizing that she still had no idea how to tell him the truth.

His voice cut into her thoughts. “Oh, here we go. I was wondering when you’d do it.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“You think I didn’t see the way you looked at me before?” he snapped. “I’m not stupid, you know. You’ve been biding your time, waiting to break up with me—right? Well, here you go. Perfect timing!”

He whirled and stalked back to the driver’s-side door, yanking it open and then staring at her over the top of the car. She sighed, turning back to look at the small lights, far away, warm and friendly. That sweet smell was still creeping around in the air, brushing up against her cheek and teasing her nose, disappearing and then reappearing stronger than before.

A memory came flooding back to her, sudden and surprising—her mother, stepping in from the garden with dirt on her knees and a flush in her cheeks, beaming with pride as she showed her oldest daughter the bounty she held in her hands, a spray of pink and white flowers with sunny, yellow centers and a fragrance so powerfully sweet that it nearly knocked her flat. Thoughts of her mom had always made her smile, but this one was different; tears pricked her eyes and her heart ached with longing. That smell . . .

“Wild roses,” she said, looking back at Luke with surprised eyes, as though he’d asked a question.

“What?” he said, bitterly.

She shook her head, but the scent lingered. It seemed to have worked its way into her clothes, had braided itself into her hair.

“Nothing. Look, Luke,” she called after him as be began to duck into the car, “I’m not breaking up with you.”

His head reappeared, the bitterness on his face replaced by a confused look.

“What? Then why—”

She patted the spot next to her again.

“Just let me talk, all right? Please?”

Reluctantly, he settled next to her, leaving two feet of angry space between them and then finally, unhappily, moving a few inches toward her when he began to slide off the hood.

She took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve been accepted to an MFA program. In Boston.”

He stared at her. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s graduate school.” She paused. “For acting.”

He kept staring. Encouraged by his silence, she rushed forward, allowing herself to get caught up once more in the excitement, the possibilities, the feeling of joy and accomplishment she’d had ever since she realized what her future might hold.

“It’s one of the most prestigious programs in the country, Luke,” she said, her eyes shining. “I never would have even thought to try, but Jacob said I should think about applying—that I’m really gifted, that I could have an incredible career. So I did, I applied. And after I auditioned, and I found out that they were going to take me . . . I mean, God, I was just so excited and I didn’t know how to tell you, you know? I wasn’t sure what you’d say, and it never seemed like the right time. And then things got so strange at the end of the year—”

She broke off, abruptly. Luke’s eyes had grown narrower while she spoke, his face morphing into a mask of disgust. His lip curled up in a sneer.

“Luke, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Acting,” he said flatly. He stared at her.

“Yes,” she said, her voice faltering. The excitement of the previous moment seemed to evaporate from her body and disappear on the wind. She shifted uncomfortably and winced as her skin caught against the hood.

He stood, and to her utter shock, he spat into the dirt.

“Acting,” he said again, and shook his head. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The car door slammed. She sat, stunned, as she heard the ignition click, felt the engine turn over. Looking back, she saw Luke, sitting behind the wheel. In the spacious interior of the car, he looked very small and mean.

So this is how he looks, she thought again, when he doesn’t get his way.

This time, the thought made her shudder.