9 Samantha
9
SAMANTHA
Y OU’RE MOVING TO California…” he said like he hadn’t heard me right.
“Yes. To Glendale. I need to help take care of my mom.”
He stared at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I sort of did. I told you I was leaving—”
“On a trip. Not leaving the state.”
“I never said it was just a trip.”
He pressed his lips together.
I looked away from him. “I’m sorry.” I looked back up. “Do you wish I’d said no to the date?”
He gave me one of his contemplative gazes. “No.”
For some reason this made it worse.
We stood there, in my empty bedroom next to my luggage, in a standoff of silence. Pooter mewed from his arms.
I’d only spent twelve hours with this man. I didn’t owe him anything. He was a guy I’d just met. But I felt like I’d betrayed him anyway. Like we’d been dating for a year and looking at rings and I just sprung the news on him that I was leaving without telling him or asking him what he wanted or inviting him to come with me.
And I knew why.
Last night was a core memory.
He was filed away in a place that my brain would forever protect. And I knew how special that was, now more than ever—but I also knew that it didn’t matter. Because I was going home and there was nothing and nobody that could make that any different.
I took my kitten from him without making eye contact and put her in the travel case I got for her. When I looked back up, Xavier had gone flat. His expression set back to neutral, the way it was in the beginning before I’d earned the creases at the corners of his eyes.
He was upset. And you know what? So was I.
Why did I say yes to last night? I shouldn’t have gone. But I didn’t know it was going to be what it was.
I thought it was going to be some nice but otherwise unremarkable evening with a good-looking guy who was going to buy me dinner and take me somewhere.
I didn’t know…
The drive to the airport was silent.
“You keep the lava lamp, okay?” I said, two exits from the airport.
“I got it for you,” he said dryly.
“My luggage is full.”
“I’ll mail it to you.”
“It’s probably going to be more expensive to ship it than it is to just buy a new one,” I said.
“But it won’t be that one.”
This ended the conversation.
When we pulled in front of the drop-off area he got out and took my bags from the trunk. Then he handed me his hoodie. “The plane will be cold,” he said quietly.
“Thanks…”
I stood in front of him on the curb, looking down at the hoodie. I couldn’t even explain how shitty this felt.
“Thank you for last night,” I said.
He didn’t respond.
“You’re mad at me…”
“I’m mad at the situation,” he said. “Not you.”
I looked away from him and stared at the luggage cart machine by the Delta curbside check-in counter.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I had to check in. We both knew it. I had less than an hour, I had to go. I came in and hugged him and he folded around me. I breathed out and he took the extra space.
“What happens now?” he asked quietly.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You forget me.”