That is never going to happen.
“Don’t…do…this,” he whispers. I don’t answer. Standing here, looking at him. Not being able to go to him—to press my cheek against his chest and feel his arms wrap around me—it’s torture.
More time passes. Minutes. All we’re doing is standing here in the dark, breathing. But if feels like we’re dying.
“I’ll help you in the morning,” he says finally, his voice showing some resolve to the heartbreak I’ve just pummeled him with. I remind myself how much worse it would have been if I stayed.
“You don’t have to. Nate will help,” I say. Houston looks to the side.
“I can’t even help you move out,” he says, a sad smile crawling into place as he shakes his head.
“It would be better if you didn’t,” I say. What I mean is it would be better for me.
“Leah is going to be…” he doesn’t finish, and I’m glad he doesn’t. That was the only part of my plan that I couldn’t find a way to do quickly. Nothing with Leah could be fast.
“I’ll leave something for her,” I say, grasping a little now. I breathe slowly, trying to hide it from him. “I’ll write her a letter. And I’ll leave her a present.”
He smiles once, his gaze still off to the side, but it fades quickly.
“Okay,” he relents. I know there’s a chance he won’t give it to her. He may hate me by the time this night is over. That would be better than what I think he’s feeling now.
I wish I could hate him. That would make this easier, too.
“I’ll be out by the time you get home from work,” I say, and he lets out a breath of a laugh. He still won’t look at me, and that hurts the most.
“You can leave everything on the counter. You know, keys and stuff. And don’t worry about the lease, or paying for this month,” he says, his eyes coming to mine finally, but only for a second.
I wait as he pushes off from the counter, my arms squeezing my body tightly, anticipating his approach again. But he stops after a step or two, his hands finding a home in his pockets, his body exhausted, his heart—broken.
“As bad as this feels,” he says, lifting his eyes up from the ground to mine in a slow drag that cuts me in half, “I wouldn’t take it back. Not any of it. Not even this. For a minute there—I know you loved me. Even if you don’t now…I know you did.”
His eyes give me one last challenge. I hold strong, and after a few painful seconds, he turns and climbs the stairs, switching off the lights on his way and closing his door behind him. I’m left alone, in the dark—so much of right now feels like the way my life began in this house. Only this time, I let myself cry.
Houston
Her things are gone.
I knew they would be. I’ve learned never to doubt her. I left before she woke up. I brought my mom up to speed over breakfast, letting her know things didn’t work out, that Paige was moving out. I think my mom could tell I wasn’t in the mood to elaborate; she didn’t ask questions. My mom promised to have Leah out of the house for the day, too.
Paige left a gift behind for my daughter. I read the letter. It was…perfect.
Miss Leah,
I had to move out because my sister was sad not living with me. You know how you said your dad was good at making your bad dreams go away? Well, I do that for my sister. And she does that for me. We really need each other. But I wanted to make sure I left something behind for you, since you are the princess of the house. I hope you will enjoy what’s in this box.
Love,
Paige
It’s that L word that mesmerizes me. She wrote it here, so easily. I don’t open the box. It wouldn’t be right. Instead, I move the gift and letter to Leah’s room, setting it all in the center of her bed.
My mom let her come to her book club night. There’s another little girl at the house that’s hosting; she’s a year older. Leah will be so happy with a friend. I hope what’s in the box will help her get over Paige not being here when she comes home.
I dump out the things in my backpack, knowing I have Spanish tomorrow. Things are just starting to get challenging in that class. I didn’t even get to take advantage of Paige’s tutoring. I have a feeling I won’t make it through this second semester.
I sit at the table, the house completely quiet, and slide my things out in front of me. Paige’s handwriting is on a few note cards I’ve saved from my first semester; I pull them into my lap, looking at her handwriting. The things I’m left with are pitiful. I stack the few small notecards and tuck them in a side pocket on my bag. I won’t throw them away.