One month earlier
It was a slow news day so MacKenzie thought she'd take a chance and ask Will out for lunch. She'd caught him staring at her the day before with a look in his eyes she hadn't seen in years (well, except in her dreams). That led to a drunken night out with Sloan in which she wondered aloud if maybe the permafrost covering the landscape of their relationship had begun to thaw. But evidently she'd miscalculated because Will barely looked at her when she extended the invitation. 'Nina's coming by – we're eating upstairs,' he'd answered, shrugging.
'Oh,' MacKenzie said. Stupid me, she thought dejectedly. She didn't answer right away, unable to think of anything even remotely appropriate to say as she rocked back on her heels. She'd gotten used to responding the way friends were supposed to respond in these situations - 'Oh, that's nice. Have a good time' - but for some reason that skill eluded her today. Maybe she should just walk away – no, that would be too obvious and besides, he didn't need to know how wounded she was - she still had her pride (a bit of it anyway). What she needed was a quick-witted comeback. Yes, that was it: something to throw him off the track and keep the rising tide of bitterness in her stomach where it belonged. But nothing came. Maybe it was because she'd been having trouble sleeping. Maybe it was because she'd had both her ex-boyfriends looking over her shoulder for the last few days. Or maybe it was because she'd spent the last four years forcing her feelings into a corset, never once loosening the stays. More likely it was because she'd recently allowed her fevered imagination to convince herself that she and Will had turned a corner. They were more civil to one another these days – they'd even shared a few nice moments. She hadn't seen Nina recently and she'd actually convinced herself they must have broken up.
To find out they hadn't – well, her resolution to behave collegially crumbled and she felt her shoulders sag. It was all too much. It wasn't just that Nina had threatened to write a career-ending article about MacKenzie, though that was certainly part of it. It was the death of hope: if Nina and Will were still together, he must have developed actual feelings for her. Which meant she herself was now condemned to a life of torment watching the man she loved get farther and farther away from her. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe.
She kept her head down as the tears threatened to spill over. She was just so tired of the whole charade – of having to muzzle that huge part of herself that just wanted him, the part that was bereft and in so much pain from being ignored and shoved to the side that it had grown to enormous proportions and clamoured for release every time she spoke to Will on any subject: the weather, natural disasters, which tie he should wear with his shirt. Imagine how good their show would be if 50% of her energy wasn't tied up in trying to mask her feelings? And now she couldn't remember what she was supposed to say - couldn't find an appropriate response in her well-worn mental copy of the 'Coping with Unrequited Love' playbook. Where the fuck was the entry for 'When the man you love has a date with another woman' when you needed it? She couldn't find the words – not when what she was supposed to say was the polar opposite of what she wanted to say, which was, 'Why the fuck are you with her when you belong with me?'.
God, this hurts. I'm so tired of this, she said to herself, and then clapped her hand over her mouth when she realized she'd said it aloud.
Will's eyes narrowed and he looked at her curiously.
'What hurts? Are you okay? What are you tired of? '
'Nothing,' she said quickly, not looking at him. 'Everything. It doesn't matter. Enjoy your lunch.' Ah, there it was. She turned to walk away, but he put a hand on each shoulder and gently turned her to face him. She couldn't help thinking this was the closest he'd been to her in months. It made her dizzy and it took everything she had not to bury her face in his chest. She could smell his soap, the faint smell of cigarettes.
'It matters, MacKenzie,' he said softly. Despite his steadfast commitment to blowing her off he did care and he did want to know. 'What are you tired of?'
She could feel the pulse in her temple. His eyes were so blue and when he looked at her like that she thought she could almost see what she wanted to see. Why does he have to be so goddamned beautiful? For so long she had steeled herself against any thought of them having a relationship outside the office but recently she'd caught herself daydreaming about what it would be like to touch him again, how his lips used to feel pressed against hers, the way he'd nuzzle her ear as he whispered he loved her and only her. The truth was, she'd spent every moment of the last four years missing him, even when he was only 30 feet away. Knowing she could never have him again was so fucking painful. Why couldn't her heart let him go?
'I can't – I - just – '
'Tell me,' he insisted. 'What hurts? What are you tired of?'
She sighed and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. How were they having this conversation? She should have kept her mouth shut. But he was standing there, looking at her with concern, and he did ask. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell him – just a little. Maybe if he knew – no. What good would it do for him to know?
She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, obviously thinking better of it.
'Tell me,' he said fiercely, staring into her eyes.
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at her feet.
'The incongruity, I guess – the dissonance,' she whispered. 'Between what I feel and what I'm supposed to feel.'
She swung her eyes up to gauge his reaction. His expression registered surprise, but he remained silent, wanting to hear what else she had to say. Emboldened, she went on. 'Between what I'm supposed to say and what I want to say. Look, it's nothing you can help me with,' she said quickly, looking away again. 'I don't have any right to these feelings…but they're there,' she said, so softly he could barely hear her, 'and sometimes it feels like they weigh about a thousand pounds.' She shook her head, embarrassed, and turned away before he could respond. 'I'll see you at the rundown meeting,' she said, and walked away.
Still absorbing the weight of her words, he watched her go. Could she possibly mean what he thought she meant? No – otherwise, she would have returned his call. What the fuck is she talking about? He didn't know so he tried to put it out of his mind. Maybe he was better off not knowing.
