Eleanor flinched. She had seen Gaspard angry a very few times, but never had that anger been directed at her. Part of her wanted to apologise for having been stupid, but another, louder, part of her held on to the fact, that she was entitled to her own feelings, and not obliged to lie about them.
“What?” she asked. “That your entire life is something you can’t change, but now that it has, you turn your back on it? I know how your life has changed, Gaspard,” she said, her voice firm though quiet to keep their talk private. “I was there. I did my best to be supportive all the way through. I’ve kept my own concerns to myself, because this was about you. And yes, I made the mistake of letting you know, just now, that you leaving actually hurt me. It surprised me, too. But there it is, so make of it what you want, it doesn’t change the fact, that yes, you leaving without a word hurt me, even if it wasn’t meant to.”
She gave a despondent shrug. “What do you want, Gaspard? You ran out of whiskey. Obviously you found more. So what do you want now?”