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For a while, I debated telling her the truth. Living this lie makes our relationship feel wrong, and it’s anything but.
Nolan talked me out of it.
He said he loves things exactly how they are, and he didn’t want to chance her getting upset.
“If I do, she might call my work and try to talk my old manager into giving me the time off.” I keep my voice low.
“You really think she’d do that?”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Maybe? I don’t want to risk it.”
He’s quiet. My stomach sinks. Gone is the excitement that normally colors his tone when he tells me what time to be ready each weekend.
Usually I Uber to a restaurant of his choosing and we kick off our date night with a fancy dinner before holing up in our favorite hotel suite.
Tonight we were supposed to see a movie, and I spent all of eight period today daydreaming about cuddling into his arms in a cool, dark theatre, munching on popcorn and Red Vines—normal boyfriend and girlfriend stuff.
“Please don’t be mad,” I say.
Nolan says nothing.
“I can text you,” I add. “All weekend. As much as you want. I’ll keep my phone on me the whole time.”
“It’s not the same.” His voice is monotone.
“Soph, you ready?” Mom calls from the next room. She’s finished packing for Emmeline.
“I have to go,” I tell him. “I’ll text you, okay?”
He’s silent, not giving me a single goodbye. When I glance down at my phone, I realize he hung up.
Tears sting my eyes, hot and sharp.
“Sophie …” Mom calls for me again.
“Coming,” I yell back, praying she doesn’t hear the break in my voice. I shove my phone in my back pocket, splash cold water on my face, and dab it dry with a hand towel. When I emerge, I hurry to my bedroom, grab my Nike duffel bag, and slide a pair of sunglasses on before Mom has a chance to notice the red splotches on my skin.
Ten minutes later, the three of us are loaded up in the van, headed west to my grandmother’s house for the weekend.
“Why are you so quiet today?” Mom asks when we merge onto the interstate a few minutes later. “Everything okay? I feel like you never talk to me anymore.”
I force a smile, hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two. “What are you talking about? I’m totally fine.”
But I’m lying.
I’m not totally fine.
I’m confused.
The next two hours are tortuous as they are endless since I can’t text him. And when we arrive at my grandmother’s, she has dinner on the table. Three times I sneak off to check my phone, but Nolan hasn’t sent a thing.
Is this a fight?
Or are we over?
Nineteen
Trey
Present
I drop her off shortly after one AM. We spent nearly twelve full hours together and I still feel as if I hardly know her. I know things about her, yes. But I don’t know what makes her tick. What gets her excited. What she wants out of this lifetime.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” I say, parked outside the awning of her apartment building.
“It was definitely a night to remember.” With heavy-lidded eyes, she offers a sleepy smile. I offered to put her up in a guestroom but in true Sophie fashion, she refused. Drawing in a slow breath, she sighs. “Thank you for sharing your home with me tonight. I liked seeing this other side of you. Makes you more … human.”
“I wasn’t before?”
“You’re kind of … super human.” She winks. “You accomplish more in one day than most people will accomplish in their lifetime.”
“It’s called prioritizing.”
And taking time to get out of my head. An hour in the gym six days a week. A handful of nootropics every morning. It’s amazing what someone can achieve if they eliminate their excuses and commit to a lifestyle of self-discipline.
“The average person prioritizes going to kickboxing class. Sticking to their diet. Calling their grandma once a week,” she says. “That’s not you. You’re about a hundred notches above that.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She laughs; soft, drowsy. “Anyway …”
The dash clock shows we’ve been sitting here six minutes now. I’d hoped to get a few more minutes out of her, but I’m content to end this evening on a playful note.
“See you tomorrow, Sophie,” I say as she climbs out.
She gives a wave and closes the door of my SUV with a gentle click. I could have called my driver, but he’s set to wake in four hours to take me to work, and I’d rather he get his sleep. Besides, there’s something intimate about a man and a woman sharing a late-night drive, confined to the front seat of a car with nothing but each other to fill the void.
I wait for her to disappear inside before pulling away.
