He lets go. Steps back. The distance between us might as well be an ocean. And that’s it. That’s our goodbye. No fanfare, no dramatic declarations. Just two people pretending this doesn’t hurt as much as it does.
I turn and walk away before I do something stupid. Like cry. Or scream. Or ask him what the hell last night was if this is how it ends. My feet carry me toward the door on autopilot while my heart stays behind, scattered in pieces on the floor.
CeCe intercepts me at the door, her timing impeccable as always. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” The sarcasm drips from my voice like poison.
“That bad?”
“He told me tobe careful.” The words come out as an accusation, as if CeCe is somehow responsible for his emotional cowardice.
“Oh honey.” Her voice is soft with understanding.
“Like I’m his elderly aunt going on a cruise. Or his niece who’s staying in a shady hostel.” The comparison would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much.
“Maybe he just—”
“Don’t.” I grab her arm, probably harder than necessary. “Just. Can we go? Please?”
She nods, understanding written all over her face. We head for the exit together, and I don’t look back. Can’t look back. Because if I do, if I see him standing there watching me leave, I might not have the strength to keep walking.
Because if I do, if I see him standing there with that stupid jaw thing and those stupid sad eyes, I might—
“Poppy!”
Gloria appears like a sequined guardian angel, blocking our escape. Of course she does. My aunt has impeccable timing when it comes to emotional interventions.
“Aunt Gloria. Hi.” My voice comes out smaller than intended.
She studies my face with those all-seeing eyes of hers. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Liar.” She cups my cheek with one perfectly manicured hand. “But that’s okay. Sometimes we need to lie until it becomes true.”
“I don’t—”
“Italy’s going to be good for you,” she says firmly, cutting off my weak protest. “A little distance. And perspective, pasta, and prosecco.”
I nod, feeling numb. The attempt at humor comes automatically. “The three P’s of healing.”
“Exactly.” She pulls me into a hug that smells like patchouli and possibilities. The familiar scent threatens to undo all my carefully constructed walls. “But Poppy?”
“Yeah?”
“When you’re ready? Don’t let fear make your choices.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. You both are.” She pulls back, gives me that look that sees too much, knows too much, understands things I haven’t even admitted to myself. “Pride’s a cold bedfellow, darling.”
“Gloria—”
“Go. Catch your flight. Eat gelato. Find your joy.” She kisses my forehead like she used to when I was small and the world was simpler. “But remember—running toward something and running away from something feel the same until you stop.”
Cryptic aunt wisdom. My favorite. Just what I need when my heart is already in pieces.
CeCe tugs my arm. “Come on. Traffic’s gonna be a bitch.”
