He nods. “We are, or were, that mystical couple who never fights. We bicker constantly, don’t get me wrong, but never fight, really. We’re always happy when we’re together.”

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sharp crackling of the burning wood.

“And then, what, I decide this isn’t the right life for me, and I break up with you?”

“You get unhappy. Start getting restless. It’s like you’re embarrassed about your own life. You once told me that you feel like there’s an audience watching somewhere, and your ratings are dipping. Suddenly you’ll do anything to save the show.”

I’ve used that analogy before.

My gaze locks on to the flames. “So, I try to burn it all down.”

“I want you to be happy, Meggie. But I want to be happy too, is the thing. And you’re what makes me happy. So we’re constantly pushing and pulling in opposite directions. I’ve offered to come with you, wherever you want to go. But you always end up saying it would never work, even though sometimes you seem like you do want me to come. I guess the part that’s most upsetting is that you always end things with me, but you never actually end up leaving. So it feels more like you actually don’t want a life with me. Like I’m the thing you want to escape.”

I think about all the pictures in my phone that I’ve saved of him. The snippets and notes and tickets in that box I found in the closet, things I have a feeling are related to times with Cillian.

“My mom said I borrowed money from her for a ticket. A plane ticket to LA.”

He looks at me as the blood leaves his face. “When?”

“It was for last Thursday. Which is the same night I arrived here. I think whatever happened … I think it happened because I was coming here and then your Meg … I think she was going there.”

He gives a small shake of the head. “That’s a mindfuck.”

“Tell me about it. Why do you think your Meg finally tried to leave?” I ask.

Something passes across his face but he says nothing.

“What is it?” I say.

Finally, he says, “I think it’ll be because of the proposal.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“The—what?” I prompt.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

There’s a long silence between us as my mind reels.

“You … proposed to me?” I feel like I’m falling at top speed down a water slide.

“Yes,” he says.

“Did…” I nonverbally communicate the question.

“You said a lot of nonsense words, turned as scarlet as a radish, and then said you had to think.”

My mouth hangs open. “When was this?”

“Meg.” He gives me a look.

“What?”

“If you really don’t remember, then you should really be in hospital.”