“My mother and father.”
“And you don’t want to disappoint them?”
“I really don’t. Or my ancestors. My grandfather and his father before him and then his before him. I come from a line of men who worked hard to give me the opportunities I’ve been afforded. Now I have an obligation to pay it forward and make sure future generations of my family have those same opportunities.”
She raises her eyebrows. She must think I sound like a spoiled brat. “That’s quite the burden.”
She’s not being sarcastic. Her tone is comforting and soft. There are plenty of people who would be eager to tell me how spoiled I sound. It’s a first-world problem and I know it is. I feel ungrateful for being so miserable about my situation because I know most of America would love to be in my position.
“But you feel guilty for letting it feel like a burden.”
I huff out a half laugh. I wasn’t expecting her to say that. “That’s exactly how I feel. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that.”
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to share it. You don’t want to appear ungrateful. But my dad has a saying that if you don’t allow yourself to feel sad, just because there are people who are worse off than you, then you can never be happy if there are people in the world happier than you.”
I chuckle. “Wow. That’s…”
“It makes perfect sense, right? If you feel a lack of freedom because you haven’t chosen your path, then that’s entirely understandable.” She slides her hand into mine, and it’s as if she’s connected me to an electrical charge. I feel her warmthacross my entire body. She hasn’t touched me since I pulled her away from my mother, and I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be the guy holding her hand.
Telling her things is oddly comforting. It’s as if we’re reconnecting after years apart. It’s like I’ve known this woman a thousand years and I’ll know her a thousand more.
We wander in silence for a few minutes. Her thumb strokes my wrist, my fingers wrapped around hers. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more perfect evening.
“How long are you staying in town for?” I ask eventually. I want tonight to last forever, and then I want to see her again tomorrow and do it all over again.
“I leave the day after tomorrow,” she says.
It’s like someone’s punched me in the stomach, and I fight for breath.
“Really?” I ask, hoping I misheard her. “The day after tomorrow?”
“Three thirty out of Newark.”
“Say you’ll have breakfast with me tomorrow morning,” I say. “I’ll pick you up from your hotel. Where are you staying?”
She focuses on the path right in front of us. “I can meet you back here. Maybe that restaurant where we just got our beverages.”
“Sure. But I can pick you up,” I say. “Are you in Manhattan?”
The air shifts. I’ve said something wrong, and I’m not quite sure what.
“Yeah, just in Times Square, but I can meet you at that place back there,” she says.
I stop and turn so I’m facing her. I want to see in her eyes what I’ve done.
She searches my face. “I’m not some girl with a family legacy, Jack. I’m staying at a pretty gross hotel in Times Square. You don’t need to see it.”
I close my eyes as realization dawns. She doesn’t want me to see where she’s staying. Does she think that I’m such a snob that I wouldn’t want to spend time with her if I knew she was staying in a shitty hotel?
Her palm on my face makes me open my eyes. “I think maybe I want to stay in this fantasy a little longer,” she says, her chocolate-brown eyes gazing into mine. “My accommodation doesn’t meet the criteria for any kind of fantasy that I want to indulge.”
I smile, becauseshe’ssmiling and I can’t not. But inside me, sadness swirls.
She’s thinking ahead and has condemned tonight to being the beginning and the end. To being a fantasy that will be over before it’s even begun. When I look at her, I can’t think of anything but this moment, right now, between us. It doesn’t feel like a fantasy. She feels more real to me than any woman ever has.
But I’ll do whatever she asks me.
“Okay,” I say. “Tavern on the Green. But the night’s not over. Not yet. Tell me the name of your first crush.”
