He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Or rather, Icanread it—the sharp flash of disappointment, the impulse to argue, the deep swell of regret—but I can’t do anything to fix it.
I meant what I said. This opportunity is too big.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I mean, itisn’tokay.” He lets out a funny, strangled laugh. “But... okay.”
I blink quickly, fighting back sudden tears. I almost wish we could snap at each other again. This—this polite, quiet acceptance—is a hundred times more painful.
“I’m going to miss you,” I say. “So much.”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “Me too.”
We stare at each other for another moment, then he clears his throat. “Okay, well. I’d better go.”
I swipe a hand over my cheeks. “Right. Yeah.”
“Good luck. I hope it’s... yeah. Everything you want.” He leans down to kiss me—my cheek, I think—but I shift to catch his lips with mine. It lasts just a second, not nearly enough.
“Night,” he says, pulling away.
“Night,” I echo. I rub my arms again. The evening air feels twice as cold now that he’s stepped away.
He’s halfway down the driveway when I hear myself speak again.
“Want to stay?”
He turns. “What?”
“Want to stay,” I repeat. “I know we’re—y’know. Broken up. But I just thought...” I trail off for a moment. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t you rather end things on a good note?”
He stares at me again, and for a minute, I think he’s going to tell me no. But then he lets out a long, heavy breath, and the lines of his face relax a bit. “Yeah, all right.”
I lick my lips, and nod a bit shakily. “Well... good.” I try to summon up a brighter tone. “We can watch a movie or something. Plus, the people who own this place asked me to clear out all the cupboards for them, and I found a ninety-dollar bottle of wine that they’ve clearly forgotten about. I’d say it’s our duty to drink it, don’t you?”
With obvious effort, John puts on a smile.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess so.”
I put on a movie—Anne of Green Gables,one last time—and we sip on wine and eat the rest of the pizza I ordered. It’s a bit awkward at first. (Really awkward, if I’m being honest.) We’re not together anymore—but we don’t feel quite as broken up anymore either. For the first half of the movie, there’s a stiffness in both of our shoulders, and when our hands brush reaching for a slice of pizza, we flinch apart like strangers.
But as Anne and Diana cry onscreen over the end of their friendship, something shifts in the air between us.Farewell, mybeloved friend,Anne says.Henceforth, we must be strangers living side by side.
John exhales heavily and reaches his arm out to me, and I curl up in it without saying a word. I don’t think about New York, or Waldon, or the fissure-like pain spreading through my heart. Tomorrow will come, whether I’m miserable about it or not. For now, I just want to breathe in the smoky scent of John’s skin and sink into the warmth of his arms.
When Matthew dies at the end, I cry, but then John says, “Wait, who was that guy again?,” which makes me laugh a little through my tears. He swipes the tears away with his thumb, and before I know it, we’re kissing, as if nothing bad has ever happened between us. The real world is out there, threatening to swallow us up, but if anything, it only makes every moment with him sweeter, an undercurrent of pain that throws our time together into sharper focus.
His mouth moves over my fingertips, my wrists; his fingers dig into my thighs as I shift into his lap, letting my head fall back as his lips find my neck. The sound of his breathing is loud in my ears; the urgent heat in my veins is growing stronger. His hand shifts between us, two strong fingers slipping beneath layers of cloth to send widening rings of pleasure through my body. As we stumble to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in the hall, I give myself over to the feel of his mouth and his hands, and I try not to think of it as a goodbye.
In the morning, I wake up five minutes before my alarm goes off. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the half-bottle of wine I drank, or maybe it’s some internal alarm warning me I only have five minutes left with John.
It’s too dark to see his face, but I can hear the soft, deep sounds of his breath. I shift closer to him and feel him stir as I lay my head on his chest.
“’Larm go off?” he mumbles.
“Not yet,” I whisper. “Five more minutes.”
His warm arms wrap around me and I feel his breathing even out again. I must fall asleep again, too, because I’m woken up by my alarm blaring angrily. I turn it off as quickly as I can, but it’s too late. The moment is broken.
It’s time to go.
