41
We wake up slow, limbs tangled together like we’ve been sleeping this way for years instead of one night.
“Morning,” West murmurs against my hair.
“Morning.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.”
We lie there for a while, neither of us wanting to acknowledge that today is Sunday and I have a flight to catch and everything real-world is about to intrude on this perfect bubble we’ve created.
“What time is your flight?” he asks eventually.
“Two.”
“That’s in five hours. We should probably get breakfast.”
“Probably.”
But neither of us moves. We just stay wrapped up in each other, postponing the inevitable.
The hotel restaurant is busy with other wedding guests saying their goodbyes, and we find a quiet table by the window overlooking the vineyards.
“This is beautiful,” I say, looking out at the morning light on the grapevines.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Thank you for bringing me.”
“Thank you for the grand gesture.”
We’re being overly polite, dancing around the fact that in a few hours I’ll be on a plane back to LA and he’ll be back to Seattle, and we’ll be starting this long-distance thing we’ve committed to.
“I have something to tell you,” I say as we’re finishing our coffee.
“Tell me.”
“I got an email this morning. A freelance offer. It’s big. It’s two months of work, August and September, really good money, excellent exposure.”
“That’s great,” he says, but I can hear the careful tone in his voice. “What kind of work?”
“Same as what I’m doing. Content strategy for another fashion brand’s fall campaign. It would mean traveling, attending fashion shows, working with influencers. It’s exactly the kind of opportunity I’ve been hoping for.”
“That sounds perfect for you.”
“It is perfect for me.”
“But?”
“But it’s also two months where I’d be completely unavailable. Working eighteen-hour days, traveling constantly, no time for anything else.”
“Including us.”
“Including us.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee cup.
“When do they need an answer?” he asks.
“End of the week.”
“And you want to take it.”
“I want to take it. I need to take it. This could change everything for my career.”
“Then you should take it.”
“West—”
“No, I’m serious. You should absolutely take it. You’re moving in, right? I’ll be busy with hockey. Once the season starts, babe, you won’t be seeing much of me anyway. So, take it. We’ll figure out our schedules. And luckily phones were invented.”
“It’s the best invention ever.”
“Or the worst,” he says, “depending on how you look at it.”
I smile. “True.”
We take a few bites of our food.
“Okay, I’m taking the job.”
He smiles. “Congratulations.”
“And we’re going to figure out how to do this long-distance thing.”
“We are.”
“I love you,” I say, reaching across the table to take his hand.
“I love you too.”
The drive to the airport is quieter than I’d like. We hold hands across the center console, and he plays music that’s soft and melancholy and perfect for goodbyes.
“Text me when you land?” he says as we pull up to the departure drop-off.
“Of course.”
“And call me tonight?”
“If it’s not too late.”
“It won’t ever be too late.”
He gets my bag from the trunk, and we stand on the sidewalk while cars and people move around us.
“This is weird,” I say.
“What’s weird?”
“Saying goodbye when we’re finally together.”
“We’re not saying goodbye. We’re saying see you later.”
“When will I see you later?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“Define soon.”
“Sooner than you think.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the best answer I’ve got right now.”
He pulls me into his arms then and kisses me right there on the sidewalk in front of everyone.
It’s not a quick goodbye peck. It’s a real kiss, the kind that makes me forget where we are and why I have to leave.
“I love you,” he says when we break apart.
“I love you too.”
“Go catch your plane.”
I walk into the terminal without looking back, because if I look back, I might not get on the plane.
The flight is long and uneventful, and I spend most of it staring out the window and thinking about how different everything feels now.
This morning I woke up in West’s arms as his real girlfriend. Tonight I’m going to sleep alone in my studio apartment as his real girlfriend who lives three states away.
The Lyft from LAX to my apartment takes forever, and by the time I’m climbing the stairs to my door, I’m exhausted and emotional and ready to cry.
Which I do.
I sit on my couch in my tiny apartment that suddenly feels too small and too quiet, and I cry.
Not because I regret anything that happened this weekend. Not because I’m having second thoughts about me and West.
But because love is hard, and long distance is harder, and I just left the person I’m in love with to come back to a life that doesn’t include him.
My phone buzzes with a text from West: Made it home. House feels empty without you.
I type back: Apartment feels empty too.
We’ll figure it out.
I know.
I love you.
I love you too.
Sweet dreams, girlfriend.
Sweet dreams, boyfriend.
I set my phone aside and look around my apartment, at the plants that need watering, the mail that needs sorting, the life that needs resuming.
Tomorrow is Monday, so I’ll respond to the job offer. Tomorrow I’ll start planning for two months of career-building that will take me away from the person I want to be with most.
Tomorrow I’ll start figuring out how to love someone from a distance.
But tonight, I’m just going to sit here and miss him and let that be okay.
Because missing someone means you have someone worth missing.
And West Carmack is definitely worth missing .