“I’m here, Jacob.” I clutch at his arms, his shoulders. We’re as close as two people can be, but I need him closer. “I’m right here.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, they’re shining.
“It’s never—I’ve never—” He stops speaking, releasing a noise of satisfaction and deep pleasure, and moments later I follow.
And when he lowers his weight onto me, parting my mouth with his, I taste the salt of his tears.
“Jacob,” I murmur, but he shakes his head. He pulls my body against his, and I want to stay awake. I want to push, make sure he’s okay, but before I know it, I fall into a dreamless sleep.
—
When I wake up, I reach across the bed out of reflex, only to find it empty.
On the nightstand, Jacob’s left a cup of tea for me and a scribbled note. It’s the first time I’ve seen his handwriting. Cursive, old-school, with slanted loops.Working on campus today. Be back for lunch.
Steam floats up, and the mug is still hot to the touch. He must have just left.
I take a sip and settle back into my usual spot on the couch, popping in my earbuds and pulling up the footage from last night. I listen to it, cutting and splicing, editing it down.
I try not to think too hard about Jacob’s absence, about the fact he didn’t wake me before leaving. I’m sure he had to go, something must have come up, but no matter what I tell myself, there’s an empty sort of sensation in my stomach.
On my computer screen, my father’s brows furrow, and when he speaks, I hear different words. Ones he said before we began recording.
I didn’t know what the distance would be like.
A door slams shut behind me, and I startle, twisting around. My laptop slides off my knees, onto the couch, and I pull my AirPods out.
Jacob’s in the doorway. His hair soaked, dripping across his forehead. He’s wearing a rain jacket, but the hood isn’t up, and his eyes are wild.
“What happened?” I ask. I get up, moving toward him. “Is everything okay?”
His jaw works, and then he swallows, the movement rough. “Were you going to tell me?” he asks. “About the flight?”
I stop in my tracks. We’re several feet apart, his back still pressed flat against the front door. He’s made no move to come farther inside.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
He shakes his head, drops of water falling to the floor. “I know you’re leaving. And I knew when, but”—his brows draw tight—“I thought you’d tell me. I thought we were going to talk about it.”
“We agreed to wait,” I finally say. “We agreed to wait to talk about…to talk about all of it.”
“Wait until when? You’re leaving the day after tomorrow!” His hands hang loose at his sides, curling into fists, then releasing. “I haven’t wanted to push you, but you won’t—I told you I wanted to visit you. And I thought you wanted that too, but you won’t bring it up. And I…What happens next, Neelu? What do you want to happen next?”
“I…” I take a step back, leaning against the couch. “So, we’re…we’re going to talk about this now?”
A rough, humorless laugh escapes him. “You still don’t want to talk about it. We’re out of time, and you still don’t want to—”
“No, it’s just…they’re doing the wedding tomorrow.” I swallow. “Maybe we should just focus on that, and then—”
“And then you’re flying out. You’re leaving. And I’m not sure you would have even told me.”
“I would have.”
“Really?” He watches me for a long moment, and then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m saying all of this wrong—I’ve been walking around for hours, thinking, trying to understand—” He looks up at me, his face softer, vulnerable. “Why do you keep wanting to put this off?” he asks. “What’s going on?”
My heart beats faster. “I don’t know. I think…” My mouth feels dry. I lick my lips and continue. “I’m scared that this…I don’t know how this can work. With me there, and you here. With the distance.”
And with that, his entire body relaxes, his shoulders falling, relief coming off him in waves.
