I search her face. There's something there—something she's not saying. But I can't quite name it.
"I don't know," I finally say. "You just seem—distant. Like you're somewhere else even when you're here."
"I'm just tired. Between work and studying and everything else—" She gestures vaguely. "I'm running on fumes."
I want to push. Want to ask what's really going on. But she looks exhausted.
"When's your last final?" I ask instead.
"Thursday afternoon. Organic chemistry."
"And then you're going to your dad's?"
"Yeah. Leaving Friday morning."
"Three weeks." I pull her closer. "That's a long time."
"It'll go fast."
"I'm going to miss you."
"I'll miss you, too."
The words feel hollow somehow. But I tell myself I'm imagining things. The last couple of weeks have been good.
“We’re going to do something fun for spring break,” I say. "We should go somewhere. Just us. Maybe back to Miami? Or somewhere new?"
"I can’t afford Miami."
“Sutton, we’ve discussed this. I’m your boyfriend. I can pay for things. That’s normal. You’re not taking advantage.”
"Maybe. We'll see."
Maybe. We'll see.
It isn’t a yes. It isn’t even a “that sounds great.” It is just a deflection.
"You don't sound enthusiastic."
"I'm just—I'm thinking about finals right now. Can we plan this later? I feel like my brain is overloaded. I can’t possibly fit anything else in my head."
"Yeah, of course." The hurt must be showing on my face because she immediately looks guilty. "Sorry. I know you're stressed. We don’t need to make plans right now."
"It's not that." She pulls away. "I need to study. This pathology final is going to kill me."
She's shutting me out. I can feel it happening. But I don't know how to stop it.
"Okay," I say. "I'll let you focus. But Sutton?"
"Yeah?"
"We're okay, right?"
The question hangs between us. She's quiet for too long.
"We're okay," she finally says. "I promise."
I don't believe her.
