Relief that I don’t feel.
“I’m scared too,” he says. He walks toward me. “I’m scared of traveling again, of what might happen. I’m scared of all the things I can’t control, but I—I’d do it.” He lifts a hand, slowly, cupping my face, his thumb tracing a slow, gentle arc across my cheek. “Ask me,” he says. “Ask me to come to L.A., ask me to visit you anywhere. Ask me to leave Aberdeen and come see you and I’ll do it.”
I inhale a shaky breath, all of me rattled.
Because he doesn’t know. We can plan a trip for him to come see me, for me to come see him, but it isn’t the same. It won’t be the same. I’ve done this, I’ve tried. I’ve hung on to scraps of affection across an ocean, and it didn’t work. It left a scar that still hasn’t healed. And I’m not sure it ever will. My father’s apologized, tried to make amends, and I believe that things will be better than they used to be, but I have to live with the effects of that wound.
I don’t know if I can take another one.
I don’t know if I can go through it again.
I don’t know if I can live with this…this hope that it would be different this time. That Jacob and I would be different. Only for it all to crumble around me.
How many big moments will we miss in each other’s lives before we grow bitter? How long before we begin blaming each other for circumstances beyond our control? How long before the distance breaks us?
And it’s not exactly the same. It’s not like it was with my father. It’s worse. Because this time, I won’t simply be the one who’s left. I’ll also be the one who chose this, the one who did the leaving.
I think of my father, all the regret he still carries.
Leaving Jacob, returning to my life, and trying to make this work with him…It would be a different sort of wound. A new scar.
Wouldn’t it be better to never allow it to form at all?
“I don’t—I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Why?” His voice breaks on the word, and I close my eyes. I can’t look at him, I can’t watch myself hurt him. He doesn’t know yet, but this is going to prevent more pain for him, for both of us, in the long run. I just have to say it. To get the words out.
“Long-distance doesn’t work,” I say. “We can try it, but it won’t—We started out as…you know, something fun, but it got complicated. And…” I open my eyes back up, bracing myself for his hurt, his sadness, but he only watches me, quiet, his expression gentle. “And it’s been an emotional time. For both of us. So, it makes sense that we…that things got away from us, but it’s probably best if we just end things. Now. Instead of trying to prolong it…”
“You’re scared,” he says, his voice low, a whisper. “I get that. You want to go home and pretend this didn’t happen, but itdidhappen, Neelu.” He leans down, his forehead touching mine. “I’m falling in love with you. And it terrifies me.”
Pain slices through me, and my fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt.
“You’re scared, and I’m scared, but you don’t have to feel that alone.” He pulls back, his eyes misty, pleading. “Let’s be scared together.”
And I’m tempted. He’s willing to work through his fears, but mine…They feel less like fears and more like certainty. A fact set in stone. We won’t survive the distance. We won’t.
“No,” I say softly. My hands flatten against his chest, and I straighten my arms, giving us space, not pushing him away so much as taking a step back. “I can’t. I need—I need a second. I need to think. I need more time.”
“We don’t have it,” he says, not unkindly. There’s something like sorrow in his voice. Something resigned. “You’re leaving.”
“Then no,” I say. Our eyes connect, latch, neither of us looking away. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
His throat bobs, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks. “All right,” he says. “All right.”
He moves away, rubbing a hand over his arm, and my chest aches.
“I’ll go back to the office,” he says. “Work from there. And you can—I’ll find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
“No,” I say. “It’s your place. I’ll go.” I clear my throat. “My suitcase is already packed anyway.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Right.”
He turns around, walking back to the door.
“Jacob,” I call after him.
He stops in place, still facing the door.
