AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“So getting stuck in Atlanta traffic at the right time will double the commute.” He frowns, then cuts his eyes over to me. “Yeah, that was a joke. I guess lightening the moment isn’t going to work. Definitely doesn’t change the facts.”
I wait, but he’s silent for the moment and so am I. He stands up as he rubs the back of his neck.
“Okay. It makes sense that a big time coaching job won’t be here. When?”
“In a couple of weeks, probably…”
“Wow. That’s fast. So, what about us?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“No. No, I don’t want to break up.” But I can understand why he might jump to that conclusion.
“Is this a temporary deal? Are you coming back?”
I don’t think so, but I can’t say it out loud. I’d only come back here if I fail at the college level. And only then if my current job would still be available. It’s dawning on me that making this decision means suffering some extremely hefty consequences.
“Maybe we can…” I begin, but my sentence fades to nothing. If I’m not coming back, we’ll seldom see one another. “I mean, I know your business is here. Your life is here.”
“And yours will be there.”
“We don’t have to end things, though,” I say hopefully, but I can tell by his face that he doesn’t agree. A deep crease has dug itself into his forehead and his lips have formed into a flat, bleak line.
I’ve never seen such sorrow in his features. Such hurt. And all at once, this is far worse than I any reaction I might’ve constructed in my mind. This is excruciating. Tears crest in my eyes and slide down my cheeks.
“Why did you say that you love me,” he asks, “only to follow it up with this?”
“I…” But I can’t answer his question. From his vantage, this probably seems cruel. Like I set him up or something, even though I would never do that. My voice croaks out of me. “Because I do love you. With all my heart.”
The tears are falling nonstop now. I honestly don’t know how I’m able to get those words out.
“I’m gonna go,” he mutters, almost under his breath. He does an about-face, and I panic.
“But Sam…”
“I want you to have your dream, and doing long distance would be too hard. But I get it and I’d never stand in your way.” He marches toward my door.
“Don’t leave. Please, Sam. We’ll figure something out.” But I know how coaching at higher levels work and the hours are insane. That’s just how it is.
“Look… We’ve only been together a little while. Like a fling. It was great while it lasted, but you have your life, and I have mine.” He nods to himself, not looking at me. Still, he steps closer and pecks me on the cheek. “Take care, Amanda.”
I close my eyes, inhaling in his spicy scent. But he arrows toward the door, pausing to glance at the cat and dog painting he gave me after we first met, his stiff posture seeming to deflate. But then, a second later, Sam rushes out, jetting from my house as if it’s ablaze.
He’s gone. Just gone.
And as I pivot in place and see the untouched cake, I fall to my knees and sob.
Eight
Sam
I find myself at the entry door of my gallery with no real recollection as to how I arrived here. A peek behind me reveals my SUV, but I don’t remember any part of the drive I must’ve taken to Main Street. I don’t remember any of the familiar avenues or roads, if I encountered any pedestrians, stop signs, or anything else. All I know is that muscle memory has brought me to my workplace, and right now, work feels like all I have.
I sprint straight upstairs and into my studio. On autopilot, I cross to the cabinet that holds all my tubes of paint, brushes, and supplies. I grab a few colors and randomly squirt some onto one of my palettes. At first, I dip a fan brush into some crimson and go to a fresh white canvas, but it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right. I slash the brush across the midpoint, smearing it like it’s blood. I know this canvas will be lost, but creating a meaningful piece isn’t my goal. All I want is to get the emotions out the only way I can in this moment.
Knowing I need more—more paint and more canvas—I go the closet, seeking out the pails of latex paint I sometimes use for large experimental abstracts. I pry off one of the lids when I’m reminded that Amanda didn’t like my abstracts. She once sneered at my seasonal project, the reason we ever spoke to one another in the first place. The memory of that festers in my mind, digging in like a tick, and fury ignites in me like some gasoline-fueled dumpster fire.
