She had convinced herself, that she could do this. She was certain that she could do all of it on her own. She thought she could keep her life, private. Nobody had to know.
She's sitting on the tarmac, his hand holds hers. She looks over at him. He's a sweet, and seemingly genuine guy. The other passengers are still boarding, and her intestines tie into a knot. It only takes a second for the look to crawl across her face. He looks over at her.
"Olivia, are you ok?" he asks, sweetly.
"No," she shakes her head. Her first vacation, in years, she tries to remind herself, "I can't do this."
"Do what?"
"I can't go," she tells him, sliding her hand out of his. He scoots back, to let her out. She gets to the aisle, and pulls her bag out of the rack, above their seats.
"Olivia! Come on."
"Look, I know you don't understand. I am sorry. I just can't do this."
"Olivia..."
"Look, maybe one day, if you stick around, long enough, you'll understand."
He says nothing, as she fights her way off the plane. The guilt hits her. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't turn around. She wheels her bag away from the plane. She hears footsteps behind her. She doesn't look back.
A hand slides into hers. She looks over, stopping. She finds him standing there, next to her, with his luggage by his side. She stares at him, with a puzzled look on her face.
"What are you doing."
"If you're not going why would I want to."
"You should go. I just can't."
"Olivia, I don't know why you can't go. I don't know what it is, that you're not telling me. All I know, is that I don't scare easily. I am not running, anywhere."
She sits across the table from him. He stares at her, with a smile on his face. She doesn't say anything.
"Olivia?"
"Hm?"
"Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," she lies.
"Is there something on your mind?"
"No," she lies, again. For over three months, they have been seeing each other, and he's never even seen the inside of her apartment. She's never seen the inside of his, either. In fact, she isn't entirely sure why he's still interested.
"You don't have to lie to me, you know. You can just tell me you don't want to talk about it."
"I am sorry. I..." she hesitates.
"You don't trust me?"
"That isn't it."
"Really?" he raises an eyebrow.
"You are a very patient, very sweet guy."
"But?"
"It's not you."
"Are we breaking up?"
"No," she shakes her head.
"Then why are you telling me that it's not me? This kind of seems like the it's not you, it's me, speech."
"No, it's not."
"So, what is it?"
"It isn't that I don't trust you, per say."
"What does that mean?" he cocks an eyebrow.
She smiles, at how handsome he is, "It means, that, I don't have the best track record, with relationships. They usually end badly. I just don't want to repeat my mistakes. I really like you."
"Do you always take things this slowly?"
"No, and I am sorry. I just have a lot at stake."
"I am patient."
"Nobody is this patient."
"I found someone that I am willing to wait for, because she's not ready."
"I don't deserve you."
"I don't know where your heart has been before, but I have the feeling that it has been trampled on before. I am not going to do that, to you."
"That's not what I am worried about."
"You are a very guarded person."
"I have my reasons."
"Are you ever going to let me in?" he wonders.
She sips her drink. "Maybe," she admits, after swallowing.
"You know, we spend a lot of time talking."
"Yes, we do."
"And, we always seem to talk about things that aren't important at all."
"For example?"
"Baseball. Last time we talked about baseball. It's not even baseball season."
She traces the rim of her glass, "What would you rather talk about?"
"The important stuff."
"We have talked about our jobs, and our parents. We covered our education, and..."
He cuts her off, "We never talk about the future. Why is that? Can you not see a future with me?"
"I can," she admits.
"Then we should talk about that."
"Ok," she agrees.
"Would you ever get married?"
"Are you asking," she jokes.
"Would you?" he smiles, his neck turning red, in embarrassment.
"Maybe."
"When you were a little girl how did you dream your life would turn out?"
"Honestly, not like this."
"So tell me, what were your dreams?"
"I don't know," she shrugs.
"I always wanted a family," he admits, "a big one."
"Yeah?"
"You don't?"
"I always thought I would get married, young."
"And?"
"Have a bunch of babies."
"How many is a bunch?"
"Four," she admits.
"Four? That's a good, even number. I like even numbers."
"A girl can dream, right?"
"It's never too late."
She looks at her watch, "It's getting late. I should go."