Chapter 29
Neither of us broaches the topic of my upcoming departure when we get home.
We don’t say much of anything. Instead, we fall into something that’s become familiar.
Skin against skin, his body covering mine, but there’s something new in our movements tonight.
A sort of desperation, a hurried, quick nature about it, as if we’re in a rush, stealing time.
It starts the moment he locks the door behind us. His eyes blaze, and then my back is pressed into the wall. He cradles the back of my head, gentle, and kisses me with a force and determination I haven’t felt from him before.
It’s dizzying, this evidence of how much he wants me, and I reach for him, pulling him closer. I wrap a leg around his waist, and he bends his knees and lifts me so I can fully wrap myself around him.
“Jacob,” I say on a rough exhale. His breath stutters, then he arches into me, and my eyes slide shut. “More.” I need more.
“I know,” he says. His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly, and I gasp. “I’m going to give it to you. I promise.”
He grabs the backs of my thighs and tells me to hold on before turning us away, carrying me to the bed.
We’re still clothed, I realize with startling clarity. I reach for his shirt, but he’s already started unbuttoning it. I sit up, pulling off my top, my pants, then shuffling to him, grabbing the back of his neck, drawing him close.
I part my legs, and he settles between them, his eyes locked on mine. For the first time tonight, his pace slows. He enters me gradually, and even when I ask him for faster, he shakes his head, though I can see the strain across his face, the tension as he holds himself back.
“Tell me something, Neelu,” he says, the words tight.
“I don’t—what should I—”
He thrusts forward, and my brain goes blank. I don’t know anything outside of this moment. Outside of this feeling. Outside of him.
“Tell me you’re here,” he says. His hips press against me, moving faster. “Tell me you’re with me.”
“I’m here, Jacob.” I clutch at his arms, his shoulders. We’re as close as two people can be, but I need him closer. “I’m right here.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, they’re shining.
“It’s never—I’ve never—” He stops speaking, releasing a noise of satisfaction and deep pleasure, and moments later I follow.
And when he lowers his weight onto me, parting my mouth with his, I taste the salt of his tears.
“Jacob,” I murmur, but he shakes his head. He pulls my body against his, and I want to stay awake. I want to push, make sure he’s okay, but before I know it, I fall into a dreamless sleep.
—
When I wake up, I reach across the bed out of reflex, only to find it empty.
On the nightstand, Jacob’s left a cup of tea for me and a scribbled note. It’s the first time I’ve seen his handwriting. Cursive, old-school, with slanted loops. Working on campus today. Be back for lunch.
Steam floats up, and the mug is still hot to the touch. He must have just left.
I take a sip and settle back into my usual spot on the couch, popping in my earbuds and pulling up the footage from last night. I listen to it, cutting and splicing, editing it down.
I try not to think too hard about Jacob’s absence, about the fact he didn’t wake me before leaving. I’m sure he had to go, something must have come up, but no matter what I tell myself, there’s an empty sort of sensation in my stomach.
On my computer screen, my father’s brows furrow, and when he speaks, I hear different words. Ones he said before we began recording.
I didn’t know what the distance would be like.
A door slams shut behind me, and I startle, twisting around. My laptop slides off my knees, onto the couch, and I pull my AirPods out.
Jacob’s in the doorway. His hair soaked, dripping across his forehead. He’s wearing a rain jacket, but the hood isn’t up, and his eyes are wild.
“What happened?” I ask. I get up, moving toward him. “Is everything okay?”
His jaw works, and then he swallows, the movement rough. “Were you going to tell me?” he asks. “About the flight?”
I stop in my tracks. We’re several feet apart, his back still pressed flat against the front door. He’s made no move to come farther inside.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
He shakes his head, drops of water falling to the floor. “I know you’re leaving. And I knew when, but”—his brows draw tight—“I thought you’d tell me. I thought we were going to talk about it.”
“We agreed to wait,” I finally say. “We agreed to wait to talk about…to talk about all of it.”
“Wait until when? You’re leaving the day after tomorrow!
” His hands hang loose at his sides, curling into fists, then releasing.
“I haven’t wanted to push you, but you won’t—I told you I wanted to visit you.
And I thought you wanted that too, but you won’t bring it up.
And I…What happens next, Neelu? What do you want to happen next? ”
“I…” I take a step back, leaning against the couch. “So, we’re…we’re going to talk about this now?”
A rough, humorless laugh escapes him. “You still don’t want to talk about it. We’re out of time, and you still don’t want to—”
“No, it’s just…they’re doing the wedding tomorrow.” I swallow. “Maybe we should just focus on that, and then—”
“And then you’re flying out. You’re leaving. And I’m not sure you would have even told me.”
“I would have.”
“Really?” He watches me for a long moment, and then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry. I’m saying all of this wrong—I’ve been walking around for hours, thinking, trying to understand—” He looks up at me, his face softer, vulnerable.
“Why do you keep wanting to put this off?” he asks. “What’s going on?”
My heart beats faster. “I don’t know. I think…” My mouth feels dry. I lick my lips and continue. “I’m scared that this…I don’t know how this can work. With me there, and you here. With the distance.”
And with that, his entire body relaxes, his shoulders falling, relief coming off him in waves.
Relief that I don’t feel.
“I’m scared too,” he says. He walks toward me.
“I’m scared of traveling again, of what might happen.
I’m scared of all the things I can’t control, but I—I’d do it.
” He lifts a hand, slowly, cupping my face, his thumb tracing a slow, gentle arc across my cheek.
“Ask me,” he says. “Ask me to come to L.A., ask me to visit you anywhere. Ask me to leave Aberdeen and come see you and I’ll do it. ”
I inhale a shaky breath, all of me rattled.
Because he doesn’t know. We can plan a trip for him to come see me, for me to come see him, but it isn’t the same.
It won’t be the same. I’ve done this, I’ve tried.
I’ve hung on to scraps of affection across an ocean, and it didn’t work.
It left a scar that still hasn’t healed.
And I’m not sure it ever will. My father’s apologized, tried to make amends, and I believe that things will be better than they used to be, but I have to live with the effects of that wound.
I don’t know if I can take another one.
I don’t know if I can go through it again.
I don’t know if I can live with this…this hope that it would be different this time. That Jacob and I would be different. Only for it all to crumble around me.
How many big moments will we miss in each other’s lives before we grow bitter? How long before we begin blaming each other for circumstances beyond our control? How long before the distance breaks us?
And it’s not exactly the same. It’s not like it was with my father. It’s worse. Because this time, I won’t simply be the one who’s left. I’ll also be the one who chose this, the one who did the leaving.
I think of my father, all the regret he still carries.
Leaving Jacob, returning to my life, and trying to make this work with him…It would be a different sort of wound. A new scar.
Wouldn’t it be better to never allow it to form at all?
“I don’t—I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Why?” His voice breaks on the word, and I close my eyes. I can’t look at him, I can’t watch myself hurt him. He doesn’t know yet, but this is going to prevent more pain for him, for both of us, in the long run. I just have to say it. To get the words out.
“Long-distance doesn’t work,” I say. “We can try it, but it won’t—We started out as…
you know, something fun, but it got complicated.
And…” I open my eyes back up, bracing myself for his hurt, his sadness, but he only watches me, quiet, his expression gentle.
“And it’s been an emotional time. For both of us.
So, it makes sense that we…that things got away from us, but it’s probably best if we just end things. Now. Instead of trying to prolong it…”
“You’re scared,” he says, his voice low, a whisper. “I get that. You want to go home and pretend this didn’t happen, but it did happen, Neelu.” He leans down, his forehead touching mine. “I’m falling in love with you. And it terrifies me.”
Pain slices through me, and my fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt.
“You’re scared, and I’m scared, but you don’t have to feel that alone.” He pulls back, his eyes misty, pleading. “Let’s be scared together.”
And I’m tempted. He’s willing to work through his fears, but mine…They feel less like fears and more like certainty. A fact set in stone. We won’t survive the distance. We won’t.
“No,” I say softly. My hands flatten against his chest, and I straighten my arms, giving us space, not pushing him away so much as taking a step back. “I can’t. I need—I need a second. I need to think. I need more time.”
“We don’t have it,” he says, not unkindly. There’s something like sorrow in his voice. Something resigned. “You’re leaving.”
“Then no,” I say. Our eyes connect, latch, neither of us looking away. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
His throat bobs, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks. “All right,” he says. “All right.”
He moves away, rubbing a hand over his arm, and my chest aches.
“I’ll go back to the office,” he says. “Work from there. And you can—I’ll find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
“No,” I say. “It’s your place. I’ll go.” I clear my throat. “My suitcase is already packed anyway.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Right.”
He turns around, walking back to the door.
“Jacob,” I call after him.
He stops in place, still facing the door.
“I’ll still see you tomorrow, right? For the wedding?”
“Yeah,” he says, the word gruff. “Of course.”
And then the door opens, and shuts, and he’s gone.
I sink into the couch, stunned, my vision growing blurry.
I knew it would hurt. The loss feels massive and all-encompassing right now, but a clean break is supposed to heal faster. It’s supposed to feel better when I’m the one who walks away, when I’m the one who leaves first.
So why does it feel like this?
A sob climbs up my throat, and the pain in my chest grows.
I curl in on myself, tucking my face into my hands, regret bitter in my mouth as I allow myself to cry.