Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
DECLAN
I'm doing my best to pack my suitcase like an actual adult instead of a teenager heading to sleepaway camp when Sutton walks into my room.
“Hey, babe.”
She gives me a quick kiss. “Hey, yourself.”
"How's the studying going?"
"It's going." She sits at my desk, her reading glasses on top of her head and what’s probably her fourth cup of coffee in hand. "This final is going to destroy me."
"You'll ace it. You always do."
"Maybe."
I glance over at her. The woman looks exhausted.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired." She finally looks up. "When do you leave again?"
"Tomorrow. We leave for the airport at five.”
"Right. Early."
Something in her tone is off. Flat. Like she's just going through the motions of this conversation.
“Very.”
“Nervous?” she asks.
“Yes. No. I’m not putting any pressure on myself. I’m doing this because two very smart people tell me I need to see if I like it.”
She offers a tired smile. "You'll be great. And it will be fun."
The words are right, but the delivery is wrong. Automatic. Like she's reading from a script.
"Come here," I say.
I sit on the bed and pull her between my legs, hands on her hips.
"You've been quiet lately," I say.
"Just stressed. Finals week."
"Is that all it is?"
"What else would it be?"
I search her face. There's something there—something she's not saying. But I can't quite name it.
"I don't know," I finally say. "You just seem—distant. Like you're somewhere else even when you're here."
"I'm just tired. Between work and studying and everything else—" She gestures vaguely. "I'm running on fumes."
I want to push. Want to ask what's really going on. But she looks exhausted.
"When's your last final?" I ask instead.
"Thursday afternoon. Organic chemistry."
"And then you're going to your dad's?"
"Yeah. Leaving Friday morning."
"Three weeks." I pull her closer. "That's a long time."
"It'll go fast."
"I'm going to miss you."
"I'll miss you, too."
The words feel hollow somehow. But I tell myself I'm imagining things. The last couple of weeks have been good.
“We’re going to do something fun for spring break,” I say. "We should go somewhere. Just us. Maybe back to Miami? Or somewhere new?"
"I can’t afford Miami."
“Sutton, we’ve discussed this. I’m your boyfriend. I can pay for things. That’s normal. You’re not taking advantage.”
"Maybe. We'll see."
Maybe. We'll see.
It isn’t a yes. It isn’t even a “that sounds great.” It is just a deflection.
"You don't sound enthusiastic."
"I'm just—I'm thinking about finals right now. Can we plan this later? I feel like my brain is overloaded. I can’t possibly fit anything else in my head."
"Yeah, of course." The hurt must be showing on my face because she immediately looks guilty. "Sorry. I know you're stressed. We don’t need to make plans right now."
"It's not that." She pulls away. "I need to study. This pathology final is going to kill me."
She's shutting me out. I can feel it happening. But I don't know how to stop it.
"Okay," I say. "I'll let you focus. But Sutton?"
"Yeah?"
"We're okay, right?"
The question hangs between us. She's quiet for too long.
"We're okay," she finally says. "I promise."
I don't believe her.
But I nod anyway. "Okay. I love you."
"I love you, too."
She goes back to her room, and I return to packing.
But I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. That she's pulling away, and I don't know why.
I finish packing and zip my suitcase, then sit on the edge of my bed staring at it.
Three weeks.
How am I even going to function without her? I suppose that’s the real test, right? Can we function without each other? I know we spend all our free time together. But it’s not like we don’t have our own lives.
The fact that I’m freaking out about not getting to hold her while I sleep could be a sign.
Leaving her behind for three weeks is going to be brutal, but if we can’t survive three weeks, we’re not going to survive months.
But I’m not gone yet.
I grab my keys.
"Where are you going?" Ashton asks when I pass him in the hallway.
"Shopping. I'll be back in an hour."
I drive to Target first. I walk through the aisles, grabbing things I know she likes. Vanilla candles—the expensive ones she never buys for herself. Bath bombs in lavender and eucalyptus. A face mask set. The good chocolate—dark with sea salt.
Then I hit up the fancy coffee shop and buy a gift card. She's always complaining about how expensive their lattes are, but she gets them anyway because it’s her little splurge.
I add fuzzy socks because her feet are always cold. A new notebook with cats on the cover because she's weird about stationery. Some of those expensive gel pens she hoards.
At the checkout, the cashier smiles at me. "Someone's lucky."
"I'm the lucky one," I say.
On the way home, I stop at Los Mariachis and order her usual—chicken enchiladas with extra sour cream, chips and queso, and a side of their homemade salsa that she's obsessed with.
When I get back to the house, I arrange everything in a basket I found shoved in the back of my closet from some secret Santa or something.
I tuck a note inside: For when finals kick your ass. You've got this. I love you.
I knock on her door. "Sutton?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm coming in, and I'm bringing food."
I push the door open. She's at her desk, surrounded by textbooks and notes, her laptop open to what looks like a practice exam.
"Declan, I can't right now. I love you, but—"
"Thirty minutes," I interrupt. "That's all I'm asking. Thirty minutes to eat and take a break."
She looks like she wants to argue. But then she sees the Los Mariachis bag, and her expression softens.
"You didn’t."
"I did. Your usual, with extra sour cream."
"You're trying to bribe me."
"Is it working?"
She laughs. Not the tired, automatic one she's been giving me lately. "It's working."
I set the food on her desk, and she immediately digs in. I sit on her bed and watch her eat, relieved to see some color returning to her face.
"Thank you," she says around a mouthful of enchilada. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."
"When's the last time you ate?"
"Um, breakfast?"
"Sutton, it's seven."
"I know. Time got away from me." She takes another bite. "This is so good."
"I also got you something else." I grab the basket from where I left it by the door.
Her eyes widen when she sees it.
"It's a finals survival kit. You're going to need it."
She sets down her fork and pulls the basket toward her. She picks up the candles first, then the bath bombs, and then the chocolate.
"You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to."
She finds the note and reads it. When she looks up at me, her eyes are shiny.
"Thank you," she whispers. "This is really sweet."
"You've been stressed. I wanted to do something to help."
She stands and crosses to me, climbing into my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my shoulder.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you, too."
She pulls back and kisses me. Soft at first, then deeper. Her hands slide into my hair.
This. This is what I've been missing. This connection. This feeling of actually being together rather than just existing in the same space.
When she finally pulls away, she's smiling. A real smile that reaches her eyes.
"Okay," she says. "Thirty minutes. Then I have to get back to studying."
"Deal."
While she eats her meal, I take out my container. We talk. It feels like we haven’t talked in forever.
It feels normal. Easy. Like maybe I was imagining the distance.
When thirty minutes is up, she kisses me again. "Thank you. Really. I needed this."
"Anytime."
She goes back to her desk, and I head to my room feeling lighter than I have in days.
Maybe everything is fine. Maybe she really is just stressed about finals. Maybe I'm overthinking everything.
I'm about to get ready for bed when my phone buzzes.
It's an email notification.
From the university housing office.
Re: Spring Semester Housing Application
My stomach drops.
I stare at the email. It's not addressed to me—it's addressed to Sutton. But we share an iCloud family account for the shared calendar, and sometimes our emails get mixed up in the notifications.
Spring semester housing application.
Sutton applied for housing.
She's moving out.
And she didn't tell me.