“Okay,” Elliot replies, propping himself up on one elbow to look me in the eye. “That’s the second time you’ve called me ‘nice’ now. I’m going to have to beg you to stop.”
He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips, to show me he’s not being entirely serious.
“Why? What’s wrong with being nice?” I ask, after the kiss has gone on for much longer than he probably intended. “Don’t you want to be nice?”
“Nope,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. ‘Nice’ is one of the most insipid words in the English language. I’d rather be almost anything else. I want to be… brave. Stupid. Crazy. Magnificent. But not ‘nice’. No one ever remembers ‘nice’. And, anyway, the nice guy is never the one that gets the girl, is he?”
“I don’t know about that,” I reply, grinning. “You seem to be doing okay so far. But I get what you mean. For me it’s ‘sensible’. Or ‘hard worker’. People are always telling me I ‘try really hard’ or I’m ‘such a hard worker’. Which isfine, but… well, it’s not the same as saying I’mgoodat whatever it is I’m ‘trying hard’ at, is it? And no one ever remembers the person whotried hard, either — they just remember the one who succeeded. Or who failed spectacularly.No one remembers ordinary.”
“You’re anything but ‘ordinary’, Holly Hart,” Elliot says softly, tracing the contours of my lips softly with his finger. “I know I’ll remember you.”
And there it is: the subject we’ve yet to broach. The one we’ve been carefully avoiding ever since we met. The one where he goes back to America — soon, maybe? — and all of this becomes just another memory.
Until now, we’ve avoided talking about it at all. But now he’s put it out there; which means there’s no point continuing to pretend we’re at the start of something when we’re already at the end.
“I’ll remember you too,” I reply, swallowing down the lump that’s risen in my throat. “When you go home. Whendoyou go home?”
“My flight leaves the day before Christmas,” he says, not looking at me. “My Mom made me promise I’d be back for Christmas Day.”
I nod, mentally adding another reason to hate Christmas to my already long list.
“But look,” he says, brushing the hair back from my face so he can look into my eyes. “Let’s not think about that for now, okay? Let’s just enjoy each other’s company. Let’s just … well, live for the moment, I suppose.” He grins. “What d’you say?”
I hesitate.
I should say no to this. I should get up and leave, with my heart still intact. Because I know beyond doubt now that this isn’t going anywhere. No matter how much I like him, there’s no future for me and Elliot Sinclair; and the knowledge of that already hurts more than it should, given the short time we’ve known each other. If I spend more time with him, though, it’s only going to make it worse.
I should protect myself from the hurt I know is in store if I let this go on. I should say goodbye now, and let the last 24 hours just be a beautiful memory that will fade with time, until I’m not totally sure it even happened, or if I just dreamed it.
But then I think of Mum.
I think about how you never really know when it’s going to be the last time you do something — or say something, or see someone. You don’t know until it’s too late, and there’s no timeleft to do all the things you planned when you thought you still had time.
But with Elliot, Idoknow. I know exactly how much time we’re going to have. I know exactly when it will end. And the fact that this … whatever this is … between us now has an end date — December 24th, to be exact — makes it feel all the more important that we try to make the most of what little time we have.
The thought is an oddly exciting one. Because, the fact is, I’m not the kind of person to seize the day, or take risks. No, I’m the kind of person who reads the ends of books before the start, to make sure they’re not going to hurt her. The kind of person who recently started arranging the books on the shelves in the store by color, rather than alphabetically, after seeing someone do it like that online. Dad says it’s “an absolute nonsense” which makes it impossible to find anything, but something about it makes me feel calm and in control, as if I really am making order out of chaos. And if I can do that; if I can just control the chaos, and make everything around me feelperfect, then maybe I can finally feel safe.
But I’mnotsafe, am I?
Losing Mum showed me that.
And although I’ve never been the type to take risks, I’m starting to think maybe I should take a risk with Elliot Sinclair. That maybe it would be worth it. That I’m 24 years old, and have spent my entire life standing still; and maybe it’s time to change that? To do exactly as Elliot says, and ‘live for the moment’ for once, as cheesy as that sounds.
Ever since Mum died, I’ve always dreaded winter; the season we lost her. But maybe this winter could be different. Better. Warmer. Maybe things could change. MaybeIcould change; or I couldtry, anyway. And if I fail, I could at least fail spectacularly.
“Christmas Eve,” I say thoughtfully, snuggling back into Elliot’s arms. “That gives us almost 23 days. It’s not a lot of time, really.”
“Oh, you can do a lot in 23 days,” Elliot assures me, dropping a kiss on top of my head. “Trust me.”
I tilt my head back to look up and into those beautiful blue eyes of his.
“Okay,” I tell him, a sudden rush of adrenaline making me feel like this might just be the best idea I’ve ever had. “Okay, I trust you. “
And I did.
But I really shouldn’t have, should I?
9
