“So,” he says.
“So,” I echo, and I hate how awkward this feels.
“I can help you bring your stuff up. If you want.”
He hops out before I can stop him, grabs both suitcases from the trunk like they weigh nothing and I follow him inside, up the elevator to my third floor. Down the hall that suddenly feels narrower than I remember.
I unlock my door. He sets the bags inside, then shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels: Romeo, unsure for maybe the first time ever.
I actually hate it.
“I should let you crash,” he says. “Long day.”
“Yeah. Long day.”
Neither of us moves.
This is it. This is where he leaves and I unpack and we figure out what happens next.
Except I don’t want him to leave.
But I don’t know how to ask him to stay and neither of us moves.
The silence stretches between us. This isn’t how we were in Toronto. In Toronto we couldn’t stop touching each other. Now we’re standing three feet apart and I hate it.
“I’ll text you?” he says. “Later?”
“Yeah. Text me.”
He steps in for a kiss. It’s careful, polite, nothing like the greedy, laughing, can’t-get-enough kisses from this morning. It feels like the credits rolling.
“Night, JuJu.”
“Night.”
The door clicks shut behind him and I stand there counting his footsteps, the ding of the elevator, the soft whoosh as it carries him away.
My apartment is exactly as I left it: tidy, quiet, lonely as hell.
It feels so wrong.
I unpack on autopilot.
Dirty clothes in the hamper. Toiletries back in their spots. The bridesmaid dress hung in the closet. My hands move through the motions but my brain is stuck on the sound of Romeo’s footsteps walking away.
My phone buzzes and I grab it too fast.
Romeo
Home safe.
We saw each other twenty minutes ago. This is insane.
But I miss him too.
Good. Sleep well.
Romeo
