36. Dylan
36
DYLAN
I ’m lying in Parker’s bed, wrapped up in his sheets, trying to catch my breath. That may have been one of the best desserts I’ve ever had–and I’m not talking about the whipped cream that may or may not have been involved.
Parker slithers his way up my bare stomach, planting small kisses up to my collarbones.
“I should take a shower. I’m all sticky.” I replay all of our…activities in my mind, and my cheeks heat up. “Want to join me?” He mumbles into the crook of my neck.
My skin breaks out in gooseflesh at the feeling of his hot breath against my skin, and I give him a small shove with a giggle. If he’s not careful, I’m going to have to go back for seconds, and I’m not sure either of us can handle that right now.
“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”
He pecks me on the lips and walks to the bathroom, his bare ass just asking to be gawked at. With a tilt of my head, I take a mental snapshot of the view and lay back down on the bed to get myself together.
After a few seconds, I sit up, wrap the sheet around me, and shuffle the sheets in search of my phone. Between the cooking, dinner, and escapades after, I have no idea what time it is. When I can’t find anything on the bed, I stand up and start looking around the room until I find an iPhone face up on the floor.
I bend down and pick it up, clicking the power button. The screen illuminates, reading almost ten p.m. One glimpse at the wallpaper–a photo of the New York skyline–tells me this isn’t my phone, but before I can set it down to find my own, my eyes snag on an email notification.
Although I can’t see the entire email, the small blurb that is visible appears to be from Thames & Type, a publishing company in London. I don’t know much about the business, but when my eyes scan across the words, “We’d love to talk further about the job opportunity we previously discussed,” my stomach plummets.
A job opportunity in England? Why hasn’t Parker said a word about this?
My eyes sting as tears build, and I take an uneven breath, trying to give myself a moment to process this. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation if I just asked, but my brain is shutting down. The room feels like it’s caving in on me, and I’m not in the right head space to have that conversation. What am I supposed to say anyway? Hey, I was snooping through your phone and saw this email?
My vision begins to grow spotty around the edges, and I sit on the edge of the bed with my head in between my legs, just like I did at the airport. I focus on inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply, but my mind won’t slow down. All I can think about is what it was like to lose him all those years ago and how devastated I was. It felt like the life had been drained out of me, and I’m not ready to go through that same pain again.
We just got back together, for fuck’s sake. If he couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship back then, how the hell are we supposed to make it work when he’s five hours ahead and a seven-hour flight away? My job at Thrive may not be my forever job, but I just got promoted, and I feel like I’m just now settling in. I’m not ready to give that up.
“You coming?” Parker’s voice echoes from the shower.
I try to find my voice, to tell him that I’ll be right there, but my throat is dry, and the words catch like sand no matter how hard I try to speak. The uneasiness continues to build up in my chest, and I feel like a weighted barbell is being pressed down on me. I finally found my happiness after years of going through the motions, and now it’s all at risk of being taken away from me again.
“Lucky?” I can barely hear the water shut off over the whooshing in my ears. I close my eyes, doing everything in my power to soothe myself. The rational part of me understands this is an overreaction. Yet, I can’t stop the anxiety from clawing at my thoughts, threatening to pull me under.
I drop the phone where I found it right before I feel the bed beside me shift. Out of my peripheral, I see Parker sitting on the bed next to me in nothing but a towel. Water droplets stream down his skin, and in any other instance, I would have licked them up, distracting us from the point of the shower in the first place.
“Hey, what’s going on?” He tries to place his hand on my lap, but I immediately shoot out of bed, dashing over to the door.
I have to get out of here before the anxiety attack has me in its chokehold.
“I just remembered Amelia needs me tonight. She’s got a lot going on, and I told her I would be home early.” My breathing is labored, and I can only hope he doesn’t notice.
He cocks an eyebrow, clearly not believing a word I say, but he doesn’t argue with me.
“Are you okay?” He walks up to me and attempts to pull me into his arms, but I place a hand on his chest to create a barrier before I can break down in front of him.
I need a moment to process this. Alone.
I wear my best fake smile. “Yeah, I just don’t want to disappoint her.”
He nods, unsure of what to say yet unwilling to fight me on it. “Okay, are we still on for The Met tomorrow?” I’ve dreamed of going on a museum date since moving to the city, and the reminder of it makes my heart crack in half.
“I’ll call you.” I kiss his cheek and hurry to the door, giving him no time to process what I’m saying. As soon as I’m out of the apartment and back outside, I lean up against his building, closing my eyes and planting a hand on my chest. I mentally scan each part of my body, starting with my toes to the top of my head. Once I feel the panic subside, I determine it’s safe to start the trek home.
As I walk, the warmth of early summer seeps into my bones, helping to further calm my mind a bit. I don’t blame him for not telling me. I’ve been so hot and cold with him all winter and spring, and it’s not like we were dating. I just can’t see why he’d want to get into a relationship, knowing there’s a high possibility of him moving–especially because he knew how guarded I was.
I can’t ask him to stay. We may have a history, but this version of us is too new. Far too new to be asking for something that big already. But I’m not sure long distance is something I can go through again. Yes, I am older. I can handle my emotions–though that is questionable right now–better than I could back then. But I just want to be able to enjoy having him in my life again–fully, nothing in our way.
With each step, the heaviness lifts, so I opt to walk instead of taking the subway. As the anxiety lessens, it’s replaced with dread. I’m going to have so much explaining to do.