Jake’s arms surround me, and I hug him back. His lips sink into the top of my baseball cap. “I’m not him, baby.”
“I know. But I need you to be sure,” I repeat through my tears, squeezing him before stepping back.
He lowers his eyes to my level, worry in his expression. “Can’t we date? Things were intense this summer, but don’t throw us away.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I’m giving you the space to be sure of what you want. If we’re still together all the time, it’ll get confusing.”
“I want you. I choose you.” He says it slowly, carefully. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek. “If it’s meant to be, I’ll see you again.”
“Please,” he whispers.
I give him one last kiss. “I love you. And I want you to make the best decision for you.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my hand before I walk away. When I’m almost out of the auditorium, he calls my name. I turn back. “Congratulations on the farm. I’m really happy for you.”
My tears spill anew and I wipe them away with a wry smile. “Thank you. Good luck with your robot.”
He nods. “I can’t watch you go, so I’m going to,” he points to the whiteboard behind him and turns his back to me.
I leave.
FIFTY-THREE
JAKE
The final partfor my robot came in.
I should be happy. Once this project is cleared, all I have to do is finish out this semester and I’ll have my Master’s in Robotics. It’s been years in the making, giving me much greater earning potential than I’d had with just my engineering degree.
But all I can think about as I slide in the final gear is that Darcy wanted to be here for this.
She changed her mind, though.
My professor constantly has country radio on. It’s been a steady stream of songs that remind me of Darcy, but it gets worse. “Strawberry Wine” comes on right when I flip the switch to test my robot, and I have to bite my knuckle to stave off my emotions.
A hand claps my shoulder as the machine detects and picks one of the fake fruits from the tree. “It works!”
I nod, drawing in a breath to try to feel as excited as my professor. “It works.”
“Really great work, Jake,” she says. “Now we’ll just have to test it in the field and we’re all set.”
Testing it in the field means one thing: going home to Virginia.
* * *
I pullinto my mom’s driveway just before dark on Saturday. It’s Labor Day weekend and still hot as hell, both when I left Huntington after Little League and here in Floyd.
I knock once on the sage-colored front door and enter, the familiar scent of mulberry potpourri and stale coffee on the burner filling my nose. I bend to pet Reggie, our ancient sheepdog. Well, her ancient sheepdog. I can’t claim to live here anymore.
“Mom!” I call out, and she rounds the corner from the kitchen into the front hall, arms extended.
She looks older. I know these things happen. We age constantly, and when you don’t see someone for a while it adds up. But the crow’s feet next to her eyes are more defined, her hair a little grayer, and she almost seems smaller somehow.
I wrap her up in a tight hug and it hits me that the last person I hugged was Darcy. The space behind my nose stings.
“Welcome home, honey,” she says, cupping the back of my head just like she did when I was little with a skinned knee. Now I’m really fighting that urge to get emotional. Nothing like seeing Mom again to make me want to let out everything that’s hurt me since I saw her last.
