Page 34 of Until We Come Home

“I am a model of self-control,” I say, tipping my chin up.

“Right. Your move is to schedule a six a.m. start, send a frantic text ten minutes before claiming you’re behind, and then stroll up at nine with an iced latte,” he says, tipping his bottle toward me. “When I called you out on it last time, your exact words were, and I quote, ‘I’m on a strict clock for rehearsals all week, so there is zero chance I’m setting an alarm on my day off.’”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That is a gross exaggeration of what happened. Do you really have to store every single thing I say in your vault?”

“It helps build my case,” he says, looking very pleased with himself.

I toss my head back with an exaggerated sigh. “You are the absolute worst.”

He laughs at that, right as my phone buzzes against the coffee table. I reach over to snag it off the wood, and my stomach gives a small lurch when I see the name on the screen.

Derek.

Mateo cranes his neck to see. “I thought you two were on a split? Or officially done?”

“We are, on both counts.” I tap the notification open, and Mateo shifts closer, leaning over my shoulder to skim the message.

Derek: Just wanted to say you've been on my mind. Hope you're loving Seattle so far. Any chance you have time for a quick chat? Nothing heavy, I just really miss our talks. Would be so great to catch up for a few minutes.

I read it twice, thumb hovering over the screen, not typing anything. There’s a small pang in my chest at the sight of his name. It’s been weird not talking to him these last few weeks. Normally, even on our breaks, we’d have started texting again by now, a meme, a song, some dumb thing one of us saw that the other would get.

Mateo watches me not answer it. “Are you thinking about giving him another chance?”

“Would that really be so terrible?” I let my head fall back against the cushions. “Derek’s always been good to me. And don’t start about him being unreliable, because I’m just as bad. I’m the one who called it off two out of the last three times we took a break.”

“I don’t know if he’s been that good to you, but it’s your life. You know how I feel about him and the whole on-and-off thing. But at the end of the day I just want you to be happy.”

“He does make me happy, though. We both get to focus on our careers, and he isn’t possessive at all. I get such a massive ick when men act like they own you. ‘You belong to me.’ God, no. I belong to myself. I can’t stand that stuff. Hell, most guys would have a complete meltdown over me being so close with you.”

“Yeah, well, guess that’s one perk for Derek.”

“Exactly,” I say, laughing a little, and then I look out toward the open window, turning that over, before I turn back to him.

He stretches, arms over his head, and pushes up off the couch. “I should probably get going, since we apparently have a six a.m. hike tomorrow that one of us is actually going to be awake for. Good luck with Derek.”

“Yeah, get out of here,” I say. “See you in the morning.”

He smiles at me, grabs his keys off the counter, and lets himself out. The apartment goes quiet, just the heat and the glow of my phone and Derek’s message waiting on the screen. I really do miss him. The ease of it, how familiar we are together, the lack of expectations.

And yet I don’t type anything. Something about it sits wrong tonight, and I can’t tell what. I set the phone face down on the coffee table and leave it there, and for some reason my mind drifts to Mateo and the way he loves people. All or nothing.

He definitely is that. Not right now, obviously, with the casual hookups here and there, but that’s just his way of getting back on his feet after losing Lindsey, and nobody could blame him for that.

At his core, though, that man is built for forever. Once he’s in, he’s all in. He’s devoted down to the bone, and he loves with everything he’s got.

It’s the kind of intensity and commitment I’ve never really wanted or understood for myself, though I love it for other people. Romeo and Juliet, obsessed. The Notebook? Cry every time. But I always figured myself for more of a Samantha Jones, having fun until the very end and never once apologizing for it.

Sitting here in the half-dark, though, I catch myself wondering what that kind of devotion would actually feel like. I flip the phone back over, tap out a response, and hit send before I can overthink it.

Me: I’m free now, I’d love to catch up for a bit.

Then I set it down again and sit there with it, not quite sure why it felt like a mistake.

The kids tear across the floor in groups of three while the music plays, a fast electronic track with a heavy beat that makes it impossible to stand still. The bright morning light streams in through the tall arched windows and sets the wood floor glowing. I watch their reflections in the mirror wall, thoroughly charmed by the sheer energy they bring to the room.

“Yes, beautiful placement!” I say, laughing as they transition into the next phrase with total focus.

Twenty of them, the youth company’s youngest level at around eleven or so, mostly girls with five boys mixed in, and I love seeing the old norms shift. We had almost no male dancers when I was coming up through classical ballet, which made partnering work a nightmare to coordinate. They all pile up at the far wall when they reach it, breathless and giddy, and jog back around the edge of the room to line up again, elbowing each other for the front spot.