I could lie. I could tell him I'm fine, that nothing's wrong, that I'm just thinking about breakfast. But we promised to be honest with each other. We promised not to pretend everything is okay when it isn't.
"I'm anxious," I admit, the words coming out tight. "About you leaving. About today."
"Jay..."
"I know it's stupid. I know it's irrational." I press my hand against my chest, feeling my heart pound against my palm. "I know you're coming back. I know we have a plan. But I can't control it. My body thinks something terrible is about to happen and I can't make it stop."
"That's not stupid. That's not irrational." Ivan sits up, concern wiping the last traces of sleep from his face. "That's trauma. That's your body remembering every time someone left and didn't come back."
"It's irrational. I can know something logically and still feel this way."
"Trauma usually is irrational. That's the whole problem with it." He takes my hand, pressing it between both of his, his thumbs rubbing circles on the back of my hand. "What do you need? What can I do to help?"
"I don't know. Just talk to me. Distract me from my own brain."
He's quiet for a moment, his thumbs still moving in those soothing circles. "I've been thinking about the future. About us." He shifts, sitting cross-legged on the bed facing me, still holding my hand. "About how we make this work. Long-term, I mean. Not just weekend visits forever."
My stomach tightens further. I knew this conversation was coming eventually. I've been dreading it since Friday night.
"We can't keep doing this forever," Ivan continues. "Hours apart, only seeing each other two days a week. It's not sustainable. It's not fair to either of us. At some point, we need to be together. Really together. Living in the same place, seeing each other every day."
I nod.
"I've been thinking about it all weekend. Really thinking it through." He takes a breath, and I can see the hope in his eyes, the excitement. "Youcould come to me. Move to my area, get a place nearby. My company is always hiring. They're constantly looking for people. I could put in a word for you, get you an interview. Not as an electrician, but something. Entry level, working your way up. You're smart, you're good with your hands, you could learn. And you'd be close to Rosalyn and Mitchell, close to the whole family. We could see each other every day. We could actually build a life together instead of just stealing weekends."
He says it like it's simple. Like logistics are the only obstacle.
"Ivan, stop."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Just stop and think about what you're saying. Really think about it. Think about the reality of what you're proposing."
"I am thinking about it. I've been thinking about it constantly. I've been planning it all weekend."
"No, you're thinking about the fantasy version of this." I pull my hand back, scrubbing it over my face, trying to order my thoughts. The anxiety is worse now, mixing with something else. Shame, maybe. Or fear. Or just the crushing weight of reality. "You're not thinking about the actual reality of bringing me into your life. Into Rosalyn's life."
"Why not? Why can't we do this?"
"Because she has foster kids, Ivan." I force myself to meet his eyes, to watch the realization dawn. "She has a license from the state. She has responsibilities. She has vulnerable children in her home. Children that she needs to protect."
His face goes pale. I can see it hitting him, the reality he hadn't considered, the detail he overlooked in his fantasy of a perfect life.
"Did you forget I was arrested? What do you think happens if she lets someone with an arrest record hang around her house? Around those kids?" I continue, each word feeling like I'm pulling it from somewhere deep and painful. "What do you think the state does when they find out she's letting her son's boyfriend, who has a recent arrest for assault and disorderly conduct, spend time around foster children?"
"But you don't have a criminal record. It was one arrest. The charges might not even stick."
"I have an arrest for assault and disorderly conduct. While drunk." I shake my head. "It doesn't matter that the charges might get dropped or reduced. It doesn't matter that I was defending myself. It doesn't matter that those guys started it and I was just trying to get away. On paper, I'm a risk. I'm a liability. And Rosalyn can't afford that kind of risk. Not with kids in her house who have already been through hell."
Ivan opens his mouth, closes it. I can see him struggling to argue, struggling to find a way around it.
"And that's just one problem," I say, because if we're doing this, if we're having this conversation, we might as well lay it all out. "You want me to move two hours away? How? I don't even own a car. I have a motorcycle. What happens when it's pouring rain and I need to get to work? I can't ride the Shadow in a Georgia thunderstorm. Especially on the interstate."
"We could figure that out. You could get a car."
"With what money? I make less than minimum wage. Cash under the table, no benefits, no security, no insurance. And I already owe Mick for the bail money he put up after my arrest. I haven't even started paying him back yet because I barely make enough to cover my rent and food."
Ivan's quiet. The enthusiasm is draining from his face, replaced by frustration.
