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“What kind of tea?” I call out. Is it just sex for her? I know we hadn’t defined it well at the start—
“Darjeeling, if you have it?” She enters the kitchen, takes in the assortment of teabags on the counter, and raises an eyebrow. “Never mind, you have everything.”
But no, we had defined it. I had defined it. While you’re in town, I’d love to catch up. I’d said those damning words. I’d been the one to draw the boundaries and establish the rules.
And now, I’m the one who wants to break them. There’s a pit in my stomach. What if this just sex for her, and nothing else? Is that why she doesn’t want to stay for breakfast?
It takes an act of willpower to keep those words unsaid. “Dinner tonight?”
“I can’t.”
Carter enters the kitchen in time to hear my question and her reply. “Am I missing something?” he asks bluntly. “Are we getting the brush off?”
Once again, she doesn’t look at us. Her fingers play with a strand of her hair. “I thought I’d go to the city for the weekend,” she replies evasively. “Catch up with friends, check in at the office, that kind of thing. I’ll be back on Tuesday.” She looks at me at last. “If the dinner invitation is still good then?”
“It is.” She’s going away. She’s going to the city for the weekend, because that’s where her life is. That’s where her friends live, and that’s where her job is. Atlantic City is a temporary stop, and so are we.
That’s a bucketful of cold reality in my face.
She’s retreating from us, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. “Indian food sound good to you?”
“That sounds amazing.”
She gulps down her tea, changes into the clothes she wore last night, gives us a quick farewell hug, and leaves for her room. The front door shuts behind her, and I stare at it for a long time. I can’t shake off my gut feeling that she’s running from us.
