I kept replaying the last time I left him. It had been for the better. I knew that. I had known it then, and I knew it now. I didn’t regret our high school breakup, choosing my future over my boyfriend. I didn’t regret choosing to stay friends with him rather than attempting a long-distance relationship that was doomed to fail, but it had hurt. Kissing him goodbye at the airport had hurt, even if I’d known it was the right thing to do.
I knew this wasn’t the same thing. I knew that this wasn’t the end for us, just because we would no longer be living together. But knowing something and feeling it were two entirely different things. It felt the same, walking away from him, going back to my life.
Noah had noticed it, too. He kept trying to pull me out of my thoughts, kept prodding me to talk about whatever was going on in my head. I didn’t know how to word it to him. I didn’t know how to tell it to him in a way that might make sense to anyone who didn’t live in my head. Unfortunately, I’d never been great at translating my thoughts into words. I hated that I felt like I was wasting the time we had left by being so deep in my head, too. It was just another thing that I couldn’t explain.
That feeling of wasting time grew, and time kept moving by. Faster and faster, until it was the Wednesday before I was set to leave. It was our last night with just us. I had my time with the boys the next night, and then it was moving day.
Instead of cooking, Noah brought home takeout. We ate while a movie we’d chosen together played in the background, and then we spent the rest of the movie curled up together. I could hear the sound of his heartbeat in my ear, feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and I wished I could pause time. I wished I could freeze it and stay in this moment forever.
“How much longer’s your lease?” Noah asked when the credits rolled. His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer to him. He pulled me so close that it felt like he was trying to merge us together into one entity.
“Three or four months, I think,” I answered. “Why?”
“Then in two or three months, we can talk about you moving in here full time. Just a few more months, right?”
I looked up at him. His eyes were as soft as his voice, and my heart swelled. Two or three months wasn’t long. It might have been too fast to be talking about moving in together, but I didn’t care. I’d had a taste of it now, and I wanted to hold onto it with both hands. I wanted this future with him, and if we could put a clear timeline to it? Then that was all the better.
“And until then, we can have sleepovers.”
“So many sleepovers,” he agreed, kissing me on the top of my head. “Because I’m a man of creature comforts, and this is the best creature comfort there is.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think I like being called a creature comfort.”
Noah’s laugh sounded loud in my ear. “Baby, I called you thebestcreature comfort.”
I reached for the remote and found the sequel to the movie we just watched. The movie hadn’t been the greatest, but it was the perfect excuse to extend this. To stay laying with him. To keep being his best creature comfort, whatever the hell that actually meant.
It was the best way to hide the fact that I kept slipping and sliding back into my head.
Two or three months. A lot could change in that time. What if, once we weren’t living together, he realized that this wasn’t what he wanted? What if I stopped being what he wanted? And there were other things that could happen in that time. He could get bored with me. The shine of the new relationship could wear off, and we could figure out that there wasn’t a lot going on underneath.
No.
No, I knew that wasn’t the case.
When he held me, I felt like I was home. I felt like I was exactly where I belonged, and I didn’t think that was going to fade in two or three months. Every minute that passed, I only felt it stronger. Every day that he smiled at me, I felt more certain. Every time I heard his laugh or kissed him or talked to him, I knew that there was more going on than some honeymoon period in our rekindled relationship.
I felt Noah’s hand on my face, cupping my cheek. He nudged my face gently until I was looking at him and not the characters on the television screen, characters I didn’t even recognize. “You’re thinking really loud. Still in your head about leaving?”
I nodded.
Noah gave me the world’s gentlest kiss. “Thinking that hard cannot be good for you, and this movies sucks. C’mon.”
“Hm?”
“We’re going to see what we can do about turning off your brain for a while.”
16
Theproblemwithmyboyfriend was that he was a chronic over thinker.
His brain was going nonstop, and I wanted to help him shut it up. It was our last full night together. We still had Thursday night, but he had plans with his friends, and I had a long video call scheduled with Moira. We’d end the night together, but it wouldn’t be the same. And then, Friday, he would be gone.
So maybe wanting to slow down his brain wasn’t entirely altruistic. I was going to get something from it too.
I stopped the movie and turned off the TV. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t fuss over the fact that our carry out containers were still on the table, along with his half-full root beer. I caught the way Matt looked at the mess and grabbed his hand, stopping him from getting distracted cleaning up. I appreciated that he didn’t want to leave my living room messy, because he knew how much I loathed when my living room was left messy. Or, well, any room in my home. I liked things a certain way. I saw nothing wrong with that.
But tonight, I wasn’t thinking about messes.
