I'm Thinking of Ending Things Read Online Free Page B

revolution of his jaw and his swallow.
    He’d wait for a bit and then dig out another overflowing spoonful from his bowl, holding it up absentmindedly. I thought he might drip milk onto his chin; each spoon was so full. But he didn’t. He got it all into his mouth without a single drip. He rested the spoon in the bowl and wiped at his chin, even though there was nothing on it. It was all done distractedly.
    His jaw is very taut and muscular. Even now. Even while sitting, driving.
    How can I stop myself from thinking about eating breakfast with him twenty or thirty years from now? Would he still get that white residue every day? Would it be worse? Does everyone in a relationship think about this stuff? I watched him swallow—that prominent Adam’s apple, more a gnarled peach pit stuck in his throat.
    Sometimes post-eating, usually after a large meal, his body makes sounds like a cooling car after a long drive. I can hear liquids shifting through small spaces. This doesn’t happen so much at breakfast, more often after supper.
    I hate to dwell on these things. They’re unimportant and banal, but now’s the time to think about them before this relationship gets any more serious. This makes me crazy, though, right? I’m crazy for thinking about this stuff?
    Jake is smart. He’ll be a full professor before long. Full tenure and all that. This stuff’s appealing. It makes a good life. He’s tall.He has his clumsy physical appeal. He’s attractively misanthropic. All things I would have wanted in a husband when I was younger. Checks in all the boxes. I’m just not sure what any of this means now that I’m watching him eat cereal and hearing his body make hydraulic noises.
    â€œDo you think your parents have secrets?” I ask.
    â€œAbsolutely. I’m sure they do. They’d have to.”
    The weirdest part—and it’s some pretty unalloyed irony, as Jake would say—is that I can’t say anything to him about my doubts. They have everything to do with him, and he’s the one person I’m not comfortable talking to about them. I won’t say anything until I’m sure it’s over. I can’t. What I’m questioning involves both of us, affects both of us, yet I can only decide alone. What does that say about relationships? Another in the long line of early-relationship contradictions.
    â€œWhy all the questions about secrets?”
    â€œNo reason,” I say. “Just thinking.”

M aybe I should simply enjoy this trip. Not overthink it. Get out of my own head. Have fun; let things happen naturally.
    I don’t know what this means—“let things happen naturally”—but I’ve heard it over and over. People say it to me a lot about relationships. Isn’t that what we’re doing? I’m letting myself consider these thoughts. It’s natural. I’m not going to prevent doubts from blooming. Wouldn’t that be more unnatural?
    I ask myself what my reasons are for ending things and have trouble coming up with anything substantial. But how can you not ask this question in a relationship? What’s here to keep it going? To make it worthwhile? Mostly, I just think I’d be better off without Jake, that it makes more sense than going on. I’m not certain, though. How can I be certain? I’ve never broken up with a boyfriend before.
    Most relationships I’ve been in were like a carton of milk reaching its expiration date. It gets to a certain point and just sours, not inducing sickness but enough to notice a change in flavor. Maybe instead of wondering about Jake, I should be questioning my ability to experience passion. This could all be my fault.
    â€œEven when it’s cold like this, if it’s clear,” Jake’s saying, “I don’t mind. You can always bundle up. There’s something about the deep cold that’s refreshing.”
    â€œSummer’s