Perhaps we were too exhausted, wrung out from last night, but neither of us reached for pleasure in this moment.
There was only comfort. Ease.
And care.
And as Jacob’s eyes meet mine in the foggy mirror, shining and bright and tender, I feel all the lines I’ve tried to draw grow cloudy and hazy, flickering out of sight until they completely disappear.
—
I think I’m falling in love with Jacob.
It’s the only thought running through my mind as I hug Maggie and my father, as we say goodbye. My father asks me to text him when I rebook the flight and to call before I leave, and part of me acknowledges it. A brief flash ofthat’s nice,but then my brain returns to a buzzing hum.
I don’t remember ever thinking this about my ex. The wordlovenever flitted across my mind with Bruce. We met at some industry party. We dated for a year. His lease was up, so he moved in with me. And when he left, it barely hurt, because I had never expected it to last.
Because the leaving—whether it’s my father or a friend or an ex—isn’t what hurts. It’s the hope. The hope that this time might be different, that this person might stay. That I’ve finally found someone who thinks I’m worth sticking around for.
“What’s going on?” Jacob asks, and I blink.
We left the hotel twenty minutes ago, and I’ve been driving on autopilot. The road is straight and simple, the scenery a blur.
“Nothing.” The word comes out high and pitchy.
“Uh-huh.”
I don’t look over at him. His disbelief is palpable, something that radiates off him, floating in the air between us.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“About whatever’s on your mind? The reason you’ve been so quiet?”
“Uhh.” I enter a roundabout, following the lilting, robotic voice of the GPS. I’m still not used to these. I’m already on edge, sure I’m going to miss the correct exit, and now Jacob’s questions have my anxiety through the roof.
My hands clutch the steering wheel, my fingers starting to tingle. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.
Jacob’s quiet for a long moment, and his voice is soft when he finally says, “Okay.”
Minutes pass by, both of us silent, and Jacob shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “It’s not—I’m just in a weird headspace right now.” Which is true, and I don’t want him thinking it’s his fault. That I’m upset with him or something.
The only person I’m upset with is myself, because how could I let this happen? How could I have developed feelings for him? When I knew this couldn’t go anywhere? When I knew I had to leave?
“All right,” he says. We fall back into silence, one that’s slightly more comfortable than before.
“So, this wasn’t so bad,” Jacob says, his voice deliberately casual.
“What wasn’t?”
“Leaving Aberdeen.” My eyes flit over to him, catching a glimpse of his careful expression before returning to focus on the road. “I think I told you,” he continues. “But it’s been a long time since I left.”
“Two years,” I say.
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “You, uh, remember that?”
I remember everything you tell me. I remember everything about that night.
