Middle Ground by Katie Kacvinsky Read Free Book Online

arms.
    “I’ve been thinking about what you said before you moved to L.A. You told me you loved me.”
    My heart started to race, but I wasn’t embarrassed he brought it up. I was proud I had the courage to admit it. “I do love you.”
    He looked more confused than happy to hear this. “That took some guts to say.”
    I shook my head. “It was a relief to say. It was a lot harder trying to hold it in.”
    “No one’s ever said it to me before.”
    I stopped walking and he kept on but looked back at me over his shoulder. His face held no emotion, like it didn’t matter to him either way, like love was just a place, just a location on a map that you either visit or pass by. If you don’t experience it then you won’t ever know what you’re missing.
    “What about your parents? Don’t they say it?”
    His forehead creased as he thought about this. “Maybe when I was little. We just don’t say it. I think it’s more assumed.”
    “Assumed?”
    “It’s how we operate.”
    “Operate?” I repeated. “You’re a family, not a business plan.”
    He grinned at me and we started walking again. I was quiet while my mind tried to assimilate this foreign idea. “I have a question for you,” he said. “How do you know when you love somebody?”
    I felt something inside of me shrink when the words left his mouth. It sounded like a rejection.
    “You don’t have to ask yourself. You just know it. It’s like religion; it’s like believing in a god. You can’t explain it. No one can tell you you’re wrong. It just is.”
    “Do you think it’s temporary?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “Not if it’s real. Do people stop believing in God because they miss church for a few weeks? You’ll always believe.” I cocked my head to the side. “Haven’t you ever told someone you love them?”
    “No,” he said. “Never.”
    I gaped at him. “What?” I asked.
    He laughed at my response. “What?”
    “That’s unbelievable.”
    “Why? I’ve never felt it before. Some emotions you just don’t feel. And I’m not going to say it if I don’t feel it.”
    “You think you’re immune to feeling love?” I asked him.
    “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have that emotion. Some people never get jealous. Some people never get angry. I used to think love was ownership, like it weighs people down. It makes people dependent. I guess that’s what keeps me from feeling it.”
    I felt a heavy thought hovering between us. It finally registered what he was trying to say. I’d let my sappy mouth go on a love crusade only to have it drive me off a cliff. Because he didn’t feel that way about me.
    A row of ZipShuttles hissed by, crammed full of people leaving the club. I wanted to be inside one of them, to be anywhere but trapped in my skin. I wanted to escape this moment. I wanted to log off, press Delete, fast-forward out of this.
    “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “That’s why I stopped by. I don’t want to drag out this distance thing any longer than necessary.”
    I nodded but I couldn’t look at him. My face burned hot with anger and humiliation and went cold at the same time. It was all starting to make sense. That’s why he hadn’t called the past few weeks. He’d realized this could never work. He never told me he loved me because he didn’t. Maybe he was right; he wasn’t capable of feeling it. But he’d wanted to put some distance between us first. And he had the decency to break things off in person even though I wished he’d just done it over a message.
    I took longer strides. There had to be a train stop coming up. I focused on signs ahead of me, not on my thoughts, not on something tightening inside of me. I focused on the fastest way to escape.
    “I’m looking for an apartment down here,” he said, and the words didn’t make sense. “What do you think about that?” he asked.
    I looked up at a digital billboard advertising a diet plan. It showed a couple