25. Gabe
CHAPTER 25
GABE
W hen I get up, Carly is on the phone in her room.
I was supposed to be at work this morning, but Phoebe texted and asked if we could swap shifts. Normally, I’d tell her that I’d work both, but with Carly here, the thought of an uninterrupted morning together seems like bliss.
I’m not trying to listen as I go past her door, but I do catch snippets of her conversation. Sounds like she’s talking to a new client. I should be happy for her that she’s getting work, but the only thought that goes through my head is, if she’s got more work, that means she’s leaving.
She’ll be furious if she catches me listening at the door, but my curiosity wins out. The client is on speaker, and it’s not long before I hear a sentence that makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“What’s the issue?” the woman says. “Do you have some reason to stay?”
Carly hesitates for only the briefest of seconds before she answers. “No,” she says. “I don’t.”
My blood freezes at the words. She doesn’t have a reason to stay. I’ve really meant that little to her?
The rest of the conversation does nothing to stop my racing heart. She’s going to New York the second Ruth and John’s wedding is done. She’s not even going to stop for the after-party or to say goodbye.
We really are just a small town of small people to her. We were never going to be permanent.
“Yep. I’ll be there,” she tells the client, and I realize she’s probably about to hang up.
Panicking, I scramble away from the door and make my way downstairs. I must not have been as sneaky as I thought because Carly sticks her head out of her room and calls for me. “Gabe?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I dart into the kitchen and loudly start putting plates away from the dishwasher, both a cover for why I didn’t hear her calling for me and a signal to her that she’s not alone in the house.
I hope she goes back into her room and continues to do whatever it is she’s doing — planning to get out of here — but she doesn’t. She comes down the stairs and wanders over to me, smiling. Is it a real smile, or is it just something she’s putting on to appease me?
Is any of this real to her at all?
“Hey. I thought you were at work.” She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and though my entire body is screaming out to melt into her, I don’t. I stay rigid and continue putting plates away.
She freezes, then backs off. I don’t dare look at her, not wanting to see her look of disappointment.
“Phoebe swapped shifts with me. I’ll be home all morning.”
“Great,” she says lightly. “So we can hang out.”
“I have to finish the woodwork,” I say, still not looking at her.
She sighs, and I glance at her. She’s frowning, pouting her lips at me in the kind of way that still makes me want to rush over to her and take her here and now, but I can’t. If she’s going to leave, I have to distance myself from her. We both have to get used to it.
This was always coming. I don’t know how I could be so stupid to let myself believe that maybe this would be different for her, that maybe she would tell me that she wanted to stay.
Small towns aren’t made for people like her. She needs to spread her wings and be free.
Free from people like me.
“Did you hear my call just now?”
“You were on a call?” I lie, feigning nonchalance. I’m not very good at acting, so I think she probably doesn’t believe me, but she’s not telling me just as much as I’m not telling her. “What was it about?”
“Oh, a new client.”
“That’s good. Did you take the job?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Where is it? When?” I’m pushing her for an answer, but I want to see if she’ll lie to my face.
If she’s happy to tell me a lie now, how can I trust that anything she said to me this whole time has been true?
“New York,” she says, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next hit. But it doesn’t come.
Stilted, I ask, “So you’ll be heading down there soon?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs and stares down at her feet, biting her lip as she scrambles to make up something she can lie about.
“I guess they haven’t given any exact dates yet, right?” I say, turning back to the dishes. They’re all done, so I start rearranging the mugs in the cabinet to keep my hands busy. It takes all my strength not to smash one.
I’ve been so stupid to fall for this, to let her pretty face win me over, to think that maybe someone like her could like some hick like me.
“Gabe, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing at all.”
“You’re upset.”
“No.”
“You don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, and my gut clenches when she flinches away from me. But it’s better for us both if she starts separating from me.
I don’t think I’m strong enough to say no to her if she kisses me, but she doesn’t. All she does is stare at me with wet, sad eyes like she’s hurt, like she’s expecting me to say something else when she’s the one who’s leaving me.
“Right, then,” she says, and it’s the coldest conversation we’ve ever had. “I guess I should see if John and Ruth need anything.”
“I guess you should. I’m going to the shed.”
I don’t want to see her leave first. I can’t bear it. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk out into the garden, imagining her eyes burning into me the whole time. Imagining the look she’s giving me.
Trying not to let it break my heart.