I blink, shake it off, and focus again.
The next line swims in front of me. I rub my eyes. My mind won’t quiet. It keeps replaying the look on Henry’s face right before I left, like he wanted to say something and couldn’t.
Fuck this. I’ve done enough studying this weekend. Blake be damned.
I shove the iPad away, stand, and grab the wine bottle I left on the kitchen counter. The cork resists and then gives with a soft pop. I pour half a glass and carry it to the window. Outside, campus lights glimmer across the hills. Life goes on. People laugh, eat, fall in and out of love. The world doesn’t stop for my miniscule problems.
I sip slowly. It’s not very good.
The phone stays silent.
You know what? The sun hasn’t quite set yet, so I’ll just go to the bar early. Pregame my drink with Lance. Maybe a little extra booze in my system will loosen me up, make me a little more fun. Lance saved my freaking life. He doesn’t deserve to have me completely bum him out tonight.
But just one early drink at the bar, and then one drink once Lance gets there. I don’t want him to think he can take advantage of me.
Not that he would. He’s a nice guy.
I grab a light jacket and am about to head out the door…
Ugh. Maybe I’ll flake out on Lance again. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now.
I stretch out on the couch, still wearing my jacket. The pizza box sits open on the coffee table like evidence. I pull a blanket over my legs, turn on the ceiling fan, and stare at the faint cracks in the plaster above me.
I trace one with my eyes until it blurs.
My mind drifts back to Henry’s hand sliding against my jaw, the way he said my name like a secret. I feel the ache of it in my chest, sharp and dull all at once.
My body remembers the warmth of his, the quiet after the fire, the sound of his heartbeat against my back.
I tell myself I’ll forget. I tell myself this is what moving on looks like.
And then I dream of him anyway.
Until I awake with a jerk.
My phone.
It’s buzzing again.
And this time it’s him.
Forty
Henry
“Hello,” Tabitha says into the phone.
“Hi, Tabs.”
“Hi, Henry.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to call. I meant to call sooner, but?—”
“You were talking to Francine,” she finishes for me.
I pause. I can almost hear her thinking, going through all the different options of who Francine might be.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I was. For a while anyway. Then I had some thinking to do.”
