“And there’s more, isn’t there?”
“There is.”
I don’t say anything for a minute. “They’re sleeping together, aren’t they?”
“Oh, I have no idea. But, Blythe…” He starts to say something else and then stops.
“What are you talking about?” And then I know. The horrible understanding falls into place for me. He doesn’t have to tell me because I know. I can feel it. “Oh God, Sabin, no.” I shut my eyes and let the tears fall. I hold on tightly. It’s worse than I thought. “Please tell me no. He can’t do this.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“When?”
“Not until next June.”
Chris is getting married.
The phrase repeats in my head until it seems like I’m shouting it at myself. I feel numb. How is this possible? I thought he was just like me.
I thought the only marriage proposal he’d ever make would be a drunk one, on a rooftop, holding a wedge of lime.
I thought neither of us would ever chase after tradition for the sake of tradition.
I thought our being together would be a slow build.
I thought we would find our way into a love with no return.
I thought that we were an absolute.
I was horribly, horribly wrong.
Sabin rubs my back and lets my tears fall over his jacket. “Maybe you can stop him.”
“No, I can’t. Even if I could, I don’t want to have to stop him.”
I am numb as we wrap up the evening. By the time I’m back in my dorm room, I’ve decided that I want away from Matthews, away from Chris, and away from all the pain that’s here. If I can just get through the next thirty-six hours, I’ll be fine. I will. I can do this.
It’s just fucking heartbreak, that’s all.
Determined to avoid acting pitiful, I take my dirty clothes down to the laundry room in the dorm basement and load them into the machines. I sit on the hard counter and stare at the wash cycle.Spin.Yeah, I am definitely spinning. The room is empty except for me, and it’s probably the quietest place on campus, since everyone else is out partying before graduation tomorrow. One in the morning is not a popular time to go stain-free apparently, but that’s good because I don’t want to see anyone. That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t give a shit about going home with dirty laundry, but sitting in my room with all its packed-up boxes is depressing. I already miss Neon Jesus.
Of all the people who I do not want to see, Chris tops the list. So when he walks into the laundry room, I immediately white-knuckle the edge of the countertop.
He sets his laundry on top of a washer. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Chris leans against the machine. As much as I don’t want to look at him, I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s only been a few months that we’ve been distant, but it seems an eternity since I’ve had the opportunity, forced or not, to see how painfully intoxicating he is. It perplexes me that he isn’t hounded by women at every turn, because he’s that intensely attractive to me. I don’t notice anyone else. Even the resentment and bitterness at the forefront of my thinking cannot put a dent in how desirable he is to me in every way.
This is one of the last times that I’ll see him, I realize. I won’t get to see him brush his black hair away from those green eyes, I won’t get to see how his shirts always cling so perfectly to his body, and I won’t be on the receiving end of that half smile that infuses my world with so much.
We sit there for a long time; the background noise from the machines is the only thing protecting us at all from the paralyzing tension between us.
Finally he breaks the silence. “I talked to Sabin.” He blows the hair from his eyes. “He told you.”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Blythe…”
