She was just saying a true thing in a clear voice. My feelings have been changing, Malcolm. Not suddenly, gradually over months. And I didn't say anything because I knew your life was already difficult. I knew you were managing Ava and the custody schedule and the job and everything else.
And the last thing I wanted was to put something else on your plate that you didn't ask for. She paused. But last night happened, and I'm not willing to pretend it didn't. That's not who I am. Malcolm put his hands flat on the table.
He could feel his own heartbeat in an unpleasant, emphatic way. Clare, I I don't know what to say to you right now. I'm not asking you to say anything yet. "What does that mean?" "It means I don't want a reaction from you.
I want an honest answer." Dela came back with their food: eggs and toast for Malcolm, oatmeal and fruit for Clare. She set the plates down with practiced efficiency. Refilled their coffee and disappeared again. Neither of them moved to eat.
"Tell me something," Clare said. "And I need you to be honest with me, even if it's uncomfortable." "Okay, when you caught me last night," and that happened. She paused. When we separated in that first half second before you started apologizing, what did you feel?
The question sat in the air between them. Malcolm looked at his coffee. He looked at the table. He looked at the window at Campbell Road passing by outside at the ordinary Friday morning going on in the world beyond the glass. He had spent the entire previous night constructing a version of the answer to this question that was clean and uncomplicated and would put them safely back on familiar ground.
He had it rehearsed. He knew how to say it. But Clare was looking at him the way she always looked at him when she needed the truth quietly, steadily, without judgment. And nine years of being known by this person made it very difficult to lie to her face. "I don't know," he said finally, which was not entirely honest, but it was as close as he could get right now.
Clare studied him for a moment. Then she nodded as if the half answer had still told her something. "Okay," she said. "Here's what I want to propose." He looked up.
"I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend," she said. "I'm not asking you to make me any promises. I'm not asking you to change your life. She picked up her spoon and turned it over in her fingers. Not nervous, just methodical, like she was arranging her thoughts in the same order as her words.
"I'm asking for six weeks." Malcolm blinked. "Six weeks?" "Six weeks where we stop pretending we're only friends. 6 weeks where we spend intentional time together, not hiding from what might be there, but not forcing anything either.