21. Olivia

CHAPTER 21

OLIVIA

I lead us away from the beach path to take him to a little restaurant that's hidden down an alley. It's one of those places most people wouldn't even believe exists, but if you do believe it exists, you go there all the time because it's great. They do the best sushi I've ever had and their noodles are to die for.

Miles is resisting me as we turn into the alley, and I turn and frown at him. He was the one who wanted to come out to start with. What's gotten into him today that's making him act so strange?

We pause outside the restaurant, and Miles stares uncertainly up at the sign. "This is interesting."

"You do like Japanese food, don't you?" Suddenly, I'm doubting if this was a good idea at all. I've never seen him refuse a meal, but maybe I should have checked in with him first.

"I'll eat anything." He shrugs. I can't tell if he's being serious or not but I'm hungry and I like it here, so if he's not disagreeing with me, I'm not going to change my mind.

I think his weird mood must be reality setting in at last, like he's finally realized that he's going to be going home very soon, back to gray skies and brick houses and people in a permanent bad temper. Soon he'll be back with all his old friends, going down to the pub and drinking beers until three in the morning, or whatever it is that British people do. He must be excited. I guess he must have wanted to come out with me out of some feeling of obligation, like he owes me something.

He doesn't. I wish he'd either act like this is what it is or be real with me and tell me he's bored. I can't cope with this act of niceness, like that's how he can get what he wants out of me. If it doesn't mean anything to him, I don't want him to pretend.

We get seated at a little table in the corner and order drinks from the waiter, an older Japanese guy with a severe face yet warm smile. It must be a slow kind of day, because I think this guy is one of the managers or owners or something. I've never seen him do actual service work in here.

A sudden shot of bravery hits me, and I lean over to Miles. "What's it like in London?" I ask.

I've been trying to avoid asking personal questions, not wanting to feel like I'm getting attached to him or to make him feel like I'm being invasive. But he's seen me naked so many times now, and I barely know anything about him or his life at all beyond soccer. It only seems fair that, with only a few weeks left with him, I get to know at least something about him while we're both sober and not in bed.

He frowns hard, his face drawing in. "It's a city. Traffic sucks. Tube's cool. There's shops. There's old shit. There's weird buildings and tourist crap. What do you want to know?"

He's brushing me off again, falling back into that flippancy he gives people when he needs to provide an answer but doesn't actually want to say anything. But I'm in the mood to dig. "You know, I've always wanted to visit London."

Miles scoffs, his face scrunching in disbelief. "Why? You live here ."

"Yeah, but still. And I thought you missed it there."

"It's not the place it used to be," he mutters. A dark frown settles over his features like a storm cloud, thundering and ominous.

But emboldened by the vulnerability I've had out of him so far, I keep pushing. "Why do you act like you hate everything all the time?"

"I don't hate everything," he throws back without thinking, an automatic response to be contrary.

"Yeah? Name one thing you like."

"Soccer," he replies immediately. "And also…" He cuts himself off suddenly, like he was about to reveal a secret that he isn't supposed to share.

"And?" I ask again, desperate to crack him, to try and find the real Miles underneath this shell. I know he exists. I've seen him before, and I want to see him again.

But whatever the second item on his list was, it looks like I'm not going to find out today as he closes back up like a clam and just shrugs again. "I don't know."

"Tell me about London," I say again. "Please. What was it like to grow up there?"

He doesn't say anything, the stormy expression staying firmly on his face, his eyes so sad and turbulent that it makes me feel like I'm about to jump off a cliff into a raging ocean if I keep pushing. And though I want to jump, I'm not sure if the waters I'm diving into are going to catch me or leave me to fall on the rocks. Either way. I know there's no going back for me now. Miles is inside my head and I can't shake him out.

I'm about to ask again when the server comes back over, bringing us noodles and takoyaki. I thank him with a big smile. Miles just grunts in affirmation.

Carefully, I pick up the chopsticks, noting how Miles goes for a fork, and start eating, hoping that the food will help dissipate the atmosphere between us. It doesn't. Instead, we eat in silence, Miles's mood seeming to get worse by the second.

"How's the food?" I try as he shoves a third takoyaki in his mouth.

"Good," he says with his mouth full. "What's in this?"

"Octopus," I say simply.

He gives a little start, then swallows his mouthful whole. "Octopus?"

I nod, trying not to find his reaction amusing, and failing. "It's good, isn't it?"

With narrowed eyes, he stabs another ball and carefully puts it in his mouth. He makes the whole thing into a show, and I can't tell if he's doing it just to entertain me. Either way, I'm falling hook, line, and sinker because his comic timing is impeccable. "Yeah," he says finally. "Not what I'd have imagined, but yeah. Good."

And with that, the silence takes over us again, like there's a thousand things bubbling under the surface that we could say but neither of us are quite brave enough to vocalize any of it. We've entered a kind of awkward bubble, a kind we haven't been in for months, and I don't know how to break it.

I know what I want to say to him. I just can't bear for him to break my heart by telling me the truth — that when he goes, that's the end of us.