“That’s all I want to do.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I say, reading the manual of his game before he has time to hit play.
A grin spreads over his lips, lighting up his whole face. “I already told you not to take advantage of me.”
A small laugh rumbles out of me and I count the four freckles on his cheek to settle my nerves. It’s unusual for me to feel this desperate to be near someone—to hear their voice and touch their skin. Which is exactly why I need to walk away. I need to find space to breathe and overanalyze this. I wonder if we’re just turned on by the happenstance of it all.
“When does your flight leave tomorrow?” I ask.
“Two p.m.,” he says.
I scoff out a breath of a laugh.
“What? Same flight again?”
I shake my head. “I leave at four-thirty.”
His mouth twists. “Damn. I thought for sure we’d be on the same flight.”
“It can’t all be perfect. I guess you’ll have to work for it,” I say with a shrug. My rideshare glides up to the curve, and I go up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips one last time. “Bye,” I whisper.
My hand glides down his arm until it reaches his hand as I step away. We hold onto each other as long as we can, and when our fingers finally separate, the tips of my fingers tingle with electricity.
“Wait,” he says, halting my footsteps as I get into the car. “Can I get your number?”
A beat passes and I almost relent, then I smile and respond, “Like I said, I guess you’ll have to work for it.”
As soon as the door closes, the car slips away and I close my eyes for a full sixty seconds so I don’t turn to see what JP is doing. I breathe deeply knowing this may be the last time I ever see him and I will myself to be okay with that. Because if he wants to, he will. He’ll find a way to contact me. And if he doesn’t, my heart will be better off.
Gramma Elle
“Always find the humor in everything. And get yourself some good perfume.”
“HEY, GRAMMA,” I SAY, climbing the steps of the porch. I collapse into the rocking chair.
“Oh, look at you. You look nice,” she says, smiling.
I look down, I’m wearing the dress from the party yesterday. “Thanks,” I say, my voice sounding tired even to my dreamlike mind.
“How was the party?”
I shrug.
“You’re always hopeful it will be different when you see her. But sometimes your mom can be mean.” She doesn’t look at me, just keeps her eyes trained on the old oak tree in the front yard.
I nod.
“You don’t have to let her get to you,” Gramma adds.
“I don’t let her. She just does. She cuts through all of my boundaries and walls of protection with knives and I just...” I let out a groan of frustration and bury my face in my hands. “I just want it to be different. Every time I see her, I’m convinced that this will be the visit where we get along.”
“Some people just won’t change, Julia. You have to stop expecting that she will.”
My gaze follows the shift of her rocking chair.Creak-creak. Creak-creak.The slow cadence of the movement slowly hypnotizing me. “I’m a freaking therapist and I can’t even manage the relationship with my mother.”
“Well, those that can’t do, teach.”
I smile. “I’m not a teacher, Gramma.”
