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So I clear my throat instead and it snaps Parks out of it.
She pulls back reflexively, moves away like I slapped her, takes a weird, staggered breath.
“I’ve got to go,” she says, standing suddenly, brushing her face with both her hands.
“Go where?” I frown.
She looks around frantically like she’s lost something, but she hasn’t — just me, maybe. “To the airport.”
I frown more. “I thought you were here til next week?”
I nod my head towards nothing but we both know what I mean.
“Um.” She shakes her head. “In Europe. Not here. Til then. Leaving here now — soon. Soon, now—” She’s panicking. “I’ve got to pack. For where I’m going. Are you p— you’re not coming—” She shakes her head once.
I stand, reach for her. She shakes her head at my touch.
I sigh. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, yeah—” She’s shaking her head, pushing her hand through her hair. “No. Yeah. This is fine. I’m fine. This doesn’t change… anything. We are... we’re good.” She nods. “Are you good?”
I nod cautiously. “Yeah.”
“Perfect. Then—” She presses a shaking hand into her mouth. “This is—”
“Parks...” I reach for her again.
My chest feels tight.
She pulls away from me, jerking back like my touch burns her.
Fuck. I should have kissed her.
“No, I’m good — I’m fine. And who gives a fuck if I’m fine?” She laughs glibly. “None of this is about me. I’m fine. I’m so fine, Beej — I’m just so—” She sighs, stops in her tracks, her chest still heaving. “I just… wish you would have told me.”
I breathe out once, shrugging. “I didn’t know how.”
She nods. She’s crying again.
I stare over at her, shove my hands in my pockets, and ask her the question I know I shouldn’t, ask her the question that might undo all the shit I’ve done trying to move forward.
“Would it have changed anything?” I clear my throat. “If you knew?”
She stares back at me; her breathing is ragged. I think she’s crying more than she realises. New York’s undone her a bit. Unrefined her or something — or maybe not?
Maybe it’s me. Me undoing her, because we do that to each other.
I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but she’s all raw emotion.
She says nothing. Her eyes don’t move from me. It’s just me and her alone in the universe, how it used to be, how it’s supposed to be in all the lifetimes. Maybe even this one.
Yes, is the answer.
She doesn’t say it with her mouth, but it’s written all over her, everywhere else.
And then she turns and leaves.
