Mister Weston

“I’m not leaving.”

“Well, I will. Hurry up.”

Her roommate noisily opened a huge bag of potato chips and sat up on the couch, watching us intently like we were her entertainment.

I rolled my eyes at her and faced Gillian again. “Can I talk to you, in private, please?”

“Right here is fine.”

She pointed at the clock on the wall. “Five minutes.”

“Fine.” I held back a groan. “I do miss the way you fuck me, and I miss the way I fuck you, too.” I stepped closer to her, crossing into the kitchen. “And if you weren’t crying right now, I might believe that you want me to leave you alone.” I closed the gap between us and wiped her tears away with my fingertips. Then I returned the watch to the drawer.

“Don’t touch me...” she said, but she didn’t move back when I wiped another stream of tears away.

“I don’t intend to hurt you, Gillian,” I said softly as she turned away. “And I think you should know by now that I do have feelings for you.”

“You have one hell of a way of showing it.”

“Gillian...” I grabbed her hands, entwining them with mine until she looked up at me again. “I don’t usually let people get close to me because they always disappoint me in the end. Always.”

“What happened to ‘neither of us can predict the future?’ I believe it was you who said that.”

“I’m not done talking.” I pressed a kiss against her lips. “The three-week thing is personal. It’s something I’ve never had to answer to anyone about, but...” I looked into her eyes. “We can discuss it later if you’d like. You think I’m fucking another woman when I can’t meet you those weekends?”

She nodded, looking completely convinced.

“Well, I’m not. It’s only been you since we met.” I let one of her hands go and ran my fingers through her hair. “As crazy as you drive me sometimes, I don’t want to lose what we have.”

“Outside of great sex,” she said, her voice completely hoarse. “What do we have, Jake?”

“Whatever it is, it’s a mess, but I like it.” I looked right into her eyes. “That said, I honestly don’t want us to argue anymore.”

“Ha!” her roommate snorted, making both of us turn around, making us both realize she was still watching.”

“Sorry,” she said, faking a cough. “My allergies are just awful this year.”

I gave her a blank stare and turned around, refocusing on Gillian. “I don’t enjoy arguing with you and I’m s—” The word stalled on my lips. “I’m...”

Her eyes lit up and her lips turned up into a small smile. “You’re what, Jake?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and before she could make a spectacle out of it, I continued. “For not treating you right. Yes, I will do better. If you let me.”

“I think that’s as good as an apology as you’re going to get from him, Gil.” Her roommate spoke from the couch. “I would be okay with you giving him one more chance based on that, especially since you say the sex is so amazing.”

Gillian cheeks turned red as she ignored that comment and looked up at me. “Is this the part where you whisk me into my bedroom and make love to me?”

“No, this is the part where I ask you to come fly with me.”

“When?”

“Now. This morning.”

Her smile faded. “I can’t.”

“And why not? Is it the someone else?”

“No.” She shook her head, and grabbed my hand, pulling me down a short hall and into her bedroom. She motioned for me to sit at her desk. “I’ll be right back.”

She left and I looked around her room. With its bright yellow walls and Christmas lights strung atop the window, her cramped space was stuffed with boxes of shoes and racks of clothes on one side. Her mattress, propped up by egg-crates, was on the other side.

The wall above her desk was covered in photos, college news-clippings, and handwritten notes. There was one particular phrase that was written repeatedly on multiple pinned post-its:

Fuck you, NYC.

Fuck you, NYT.

And Fuck you, Kennedy.

Ha! It rhymes...

UNDERNEATH HER HANDWRITTEN notes were photos of herself. She was smiling in a college newspaper room, laughing at an airfield, and numerous shots of her in an airport.

I picked up one of the airport pictures and noticed it was dated for six years ago. Her hair was twisted into a bun and she was dressed as a gate agent, not a flight attendant. Not only that, but she wasn’t dressed as an Elite Airways gate agent, she was wearing the red and white from Delta Airways in a few shots, and the blue and red from American Airways.

Interesting...

Before I could think about how she’d managed to get hired at three competing airlines within the same few years, I spotted two pictures of us on her wall. Confused, I pulled them down and saw that she’d snapped them while I was sleeping. With her eyes squinted and her black bra slightly exposing her breasts, she was smiling while resting against my chest.