“When it’s just us talking or hanging out, I know you’re not Lucas.”
Ellis didn’t react to the name.
“But then something happens that feels familiar, and I don’t know. I guess I go back to what I know.”
“Like trying to clean my kitchen?”
A small laugh escaped me.
“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
“I didn’t say it was stupid.”
“I know.”
I set the remote on the coffee table and considered leaving it there for a moment. We didn’t have to have this conversation tonight, and Ellis wasn’t asking me to.
That was probably why I kept going.
“Lucas used to keep score.”
Ellis shifted slightly beside me.
“Score?”
I nodded.
“It wasn’t like that in the beginning.”
Even then, I felt the need to say that first. Maybe because five years was a long time to spend with somebody if every memory was terrible.
Mine weren’t.
“There were good years,” I said. “Really good ones.”
Ellis didn’t interrupt.
“I loved him.”
“I know.”
The answer came so easily that I looked at him.
There was nothing strange in his expression. No discomfort because I said I loved somebody before him. No need to make what I had with Lucas smaller so whatever this was with Ellis could feel bigger.
I looked down at my hands.
“Somewhere along the way, everything started having a price.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he did something for me, I needed to remember it. If I asked for too much, eventually I’d hear about everything he’d already done. If he showed up for something, I was supposed to be grateful that he made the time.”
I paused.
“And I was.”
That was the part that was difficult to explain.