Page 60 of 32 Days in May

I come to a sudden, total stop. “Rome? Italy?”

“That’s the one. What do you say, Fabs? Wanna come on a Roman holiday with me?”

“I’d . . . love to. I just . . . I’m not sure . . .” I’m stuttering, a thousand thoughts coming together and dissipating. I can’t travel. Travel requires togetherness—constant togetherness. No sneaking away to take medicine, to recover, to cry in the shower or nurse a migraine.

If we travel, he’ll absolutely figure out I’m sick.

Maybe he won’t. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe I’m not even really sick. Maybe if I just keep—

“You have a passport, right?”

I frown down at my phone. “Yeah. I do.”

“Perfect. I’ll take care of the rest, I swear. Hotel, plane ticket. I really want you there, Nadia.”

Fuck. He sounds so excited. “Can I let you know by tonight?”

“Of course.” His voice lilts with a tinge of disappointment. “Take your time. But . . . not too much time. I have to leave tonight, so your ticket would be for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I repeat, barely containing my shock. He really meant it when he said it’s happening soon. “Marco, I can’t just abandon Soph and my job and—I know it doesn’t seem like much, but . . .”

The line falls completely silent. For the first time ever, I’ve stunned Marco.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, that’s totally fair. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly. But it’s not. I know what I have to do. I know that the only way I can have Marco is if we stay here in Evergreen.

Soph is grinning at me across the church lawn as I secure my bike and make my way over. “There she is!”

In all the months I’ve known Soph, I’ve never heard them sound this excited.

I duck my head, because I know my face is red. “You and your lover look like fucking Cheshire cats.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back.” Soph pulls me into an awkward sideways hug as I slip my apron over my head. We never really touch, so I take this as a sign that they really missed me, and that alone is enough prompting for me to pull Soph into a real hug, to show them that I did, too.

“Duh, I came back. New York’s nice and all, but I missed this.”

“Is Marco back, too? Is he gonna stop by?”

“No idea.” I turn so Soph can help tie the strings of my apron while I pull on my gloves. Knots can be a bitch when my hands feel swollen and achy. “I’m trying not to make him my life. Therein lies disaster.” I busy myself rearranging the display of chamomile and rosemary, which we have an absolute deluge of. I should probably update the chalkboard sign to include directions for drying the flowers to make tea.

“Or.” Soph shrugs a shoulder, fiddling with the quart-size green cartons of shishitos and jalapeños. “You two could really date? Like, you know, just make it a thing.”

I press my lips together and shake my head. “Not an option. He’s made it extremely clear he won’t be in Evergreen after the end of this month—and he definitely won’t be moving to Philly, which is where I would end up. And also . . . I read an article.”

Soph looks at me like I’m insane. “Like a newspaper article?”

“Well, it’s not 1960 so the article was on the internet—but yes.” I suck down a breath as I prepare to make my confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have googled. I tell Soph about Sage Liu’s article—Marco’s cageyness about romance that read like a very-well-media-trained way of saying I don’t do relationships. For extra evidence, I throw in the casual comment he made about having sex with a twenty-five-year-old.

“So, he’s a commitment-phobe that has basically locked you into a temporary sex contract?”

I swallow roughly. “When you say it like that, it sounds way worse.”

“I mean, but that’s what you guys are doing. It’s just a no-strings sex thing.”

No, no, no, I want to say. We’re like the same person; we completely get each other. He loves being sad and watching old movies and picnics! We’re friends.