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“I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad day. I miss you too, Em, so much.”
“I’m sorry I’m unloading on you. I know you’re going to get annoyed that your much-younger girlfriend, or whatever I am to you, can’t handle the pressure of being away from you and our adult—whatever this is, but a girl is only so strong, and everything piled up on me today, and then it’s your birthday this weekend, and I won’t be there to hug you or kiss you or wish you a happy birthday in person, and it just sucks.”
“It’s just another day, Emerson. How about when you’re home for Thanksgiving, we do something special to celebrate? We’ll pretend it’s my birthday?” I’m scrambling for anything and everything I can think of that will make her feel better.
“Yeah,” she says, but I can still hear the sadness in her voice.
“Don’t cry, baby. I hate that you’re upset and I’m not there.”
“I’ll be fine. Just hit me all at once and I wanted to hear your voice.” I hear rustling. “I have a study group in an hour. Can I call you after?”
“You better. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I dumped all of this on you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, baby girl. Let me carry some of this for you, and you’re mine. I don’t care what you label it or how you say it. What matters is that you’re mine, I’m yours, and we’ll get through this together. I hate that I’m not there, and I wish more than anything that I could hold you right now.”
She sniffles, and fuck, I thought my words would ease some of her worry and make her feel better. “I need to get ready. My hair is still wet, and I need to stop crying so my face isn’t all blotchy. If this study group wasn’t for the class of the test we all bombed, I’d skip it.”
“Call me when you get home. We’ll watch a movie together.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I love her, but I won’t do that over the phone.
“Thanks, Rome. I’ll call you later.”
The call ends, but my racing heart is still thumping wildly in my chest. I hate that she’s so upset, and her age has nothing to do with missing me. I miss her too.
I finish drying off, then slip into a pair of gray sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt. I pace back and forth in my room, worried about her. Lifting my phone, my thumb hovers over Monroe’s name, to text her and have her give me her own status report when an idea hits. I’m off work until Wednesday. The guys think I’m busy helping Dad. It’s three o’clock, and she’s three and a half hours away. I can be to her place by seven. Her study groups are always a couple of hours long.
Fuck it.
I grab some socks, slip my feet into a pair of tennis shoes, and lock up the house. I’m going to see my girl. It’s been too fucking long.
It’s six thirty when I pull up outside of her apartment. I even stopped for gas and to take a piss. My foot was heavy on the gas the entire way here, both from excitement and the need to be that person for her. The one to show up for her when she needs me.
Grabbing my keys, phone, and the bag of her favorite snacks I picked up at the gas station, I head inside. When I reach her apartment, I rap my knuckles against the door, and take a step back. My chest is tight, and my hands are clammy. I hope this is a good surprise. I’m well aware that just showing up at her place might not have been the best idea, but I have the time off tomorrow, and well, she needs me, and if I’m being honest. I need her too.
“I’ll get it.” I hear Monroe call out. When she pulls open the door, her mouth falls open in shock. “Hey, Em, it’s for you.”
“I’m not here,” she calls back.
“For real, it's for you.”
“I’m not expecting anyone. I have a phone call to make,” she grumbles.
I can hear her footsteps as they grow near, and my chest does this funny squeezing thing when I hear her say she has a phone call to make. She’s eager to call me. She appears in the doorway and blinks a few times before she bursts into tears and launches herself at me. I catch her easily, handing the bag of snacks to Monroe, and walking us both into the apartment. I move to the couch and sit with her in my arms. She’s sobbing and her fingers dig into the back of my shirt as if she’s worried I might disappear.
I hear the door close and footsteps carry down the hall, which I assume is Monroe going to her room to give us some time. I don’t know how long we sit huddled together while her tears soak my shirt, but eventually, she lifts her head. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and tears are still flowing freely.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dad and I finished early, which you know, and I’m off tomorrow. When you called, I knew I had to get to you.” I wipe her tears with my thumbs. “You needed me, baby girl. Where else would I be?”
“Where do they think that you are?”
“I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. The guys know I took off tomorrow to help Dad. They don’t know we finished today because my uncles came over to help him yesterday. I’ll think of something if it comes up.”
