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He quietly tossed his things in his bag, then threw his bag in the trunk of my little blue Mazda 323. We drove in silence to the Go-Station, our hands linked tightly on his hard thigh, the silence between us thick with sadness and dread.
I tucked my scarf snugly around my neck to ward off the icy November wind. He held me close against his warmth as we crossed the parking lot to the other side of the station, where I could accompany him no further.
The station was busy enough to help me hold it together.
Vander turned toward me and encircled me with his arms. His tall frame sheltered me from the wind while people passed us on either side, heading in both directions.
I could barely feel him through the bundled layers of winter clothing between us, but I pressed closer anyway.
“Promise me,” he urged, pulling back slightly, his dark eyes searching mine. “Promise me you’ll think this through. It doesn’t have to be over.”
I nodded. It was easier than arguing. In any case, grief on top of grief, from loss upon loss, squeezed my throat closed.
I pressed my forehead to his lips. “Vander, I love you,” I whispered. “But you have to go. You’re going to miss your train.”
A shudder raced through his long body while he wrapped me up tight for one last moment. “Don’t forget about me, Ruby-mine.”
I hiccoughed. “I could never.”
“I’ll always be here for you.” He palmed my face and dipped to look into my eyes. “We’ll work it out. Somehow, we’ll work it out. What we have is too special.”
I swallowed hard but didn’t answer. I knew what the end would be. Three thousand miles between us and not two pennies to rub together did not equal a viable long-distance relationship. We were over.
I knew it.
He must have known it, too.
He hugged me tightly one last time, his lips pressed firmly against my forehead, then he released me abruptly and strode away.
My stomach pitched and rolled at the sudden loss of his warmth. The bitter wind slapped my cheeks, and I prayed to keep my breakfast down, at least until he got on the train.
“Don’t look back, don’t look back,” I whisper pleaded, my face chilled from my tears, my eyes frozen on his retreating form.
Halfway down the pathway that led to the train, he stopped. The sounds of the people and the tracks receded into the background. All my attention homed in on his back.
“Oh, God!” I sobbed. I slapped my cold fingers over my mouth.
Turn around. Please.
He was too far away to hear me, but if he turned, he would witness the despair I could no longer hide. If he turned, I wouldn’t be strong enough to let him go. If he turned, our parting would be delayed, and our love would sour.
I witnessed firsthand what staying had done to my mother. Eyes that used to look at us with affection and dance with laughter, rarely took us in at all after we lost my dad. When I did catch her gaze, it reflected only grief, as if the mere sight of us magnified her pain.
Over time, her grief morphed into anger, and neither Amber nor I could do anything right. Anger faded to indifference, and that indifference allowed my mother to walk away from us, even as Amber ran down the driveway after her, screaming and begging her to stay.
Yiayia and Pappou were at work the day she left. I did not run after my mother. I ran after Amber.
I held her on the driveway as our mother drove away.
I wiped her tears.
I bore the crescents from her nails in my arms as she wailed out her despair.
Our mother never looked back.
Her absence in the days and weeks that followed, for me, was a relief. At the time, that relief shamed me, and I pretended a devastation I didn’t feel.
It wasn’t hard.
