Date Me Like You Mean It

Just like that, poof. He’ll be gone.

I feel sick with dread, not quite wanting to believe this could be happening so fast. Sure, Aiden has mentioned working for the Times, but it’s always seemed like a pipe dream, like some ten-year-old in a football jersey talking about starting in the NFL. I never thought he would actually do it.

This is wrong.

This isn’t how our lives were supposed to play out.

Last night was the start of something. We both lost ourselves in the moment, sure, but doesn’t that mean something? Surely there are repressed feelings on his end too? You don’t kiss someone you find repulsive, right? So maybe he likes me? Maybe he wishes we hadn’t been interrupted by Stephanie?

I’m in a full-on argument with myself now, walking back and forth on the concrete path out in front of our bungalow, contemplating my options in my head, gesturing wildly with my hands as if I’m a lawyer in a courtroom. I could go back to the pool, procure a bottle of vodka, and proceed to drink it down to the very last drop. Or I could go back in, tell Aiden the truth, and beg him to stay.

Neither sounds especially appealing.

There’s a reason why I’ve kept my feelings secret for all this time. If I were the type of confident live-and-let-live woman who proclaims her love for all to hear, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. I would have told Aiden I had feelings for him, oh, I don’t know…TWO years ago!

I can’t do it. No way.

On the other hand, if I don’t tell him now, what then?

Oh, right: doom, misery, soul-crushing sadness.

I can’t let that happen.

I have to tell him everything. He needs to know!

Without another thought, I turn toward the door and fling it open again. My heart is racing. My vision is clouding with premature tears. My legs aren’t even controlled by my brain anymore, just two limbs doing their own thing, carrying me back in front of Aiden just as he glances up and smiles.

“I found a flight from Austin that would put me in New York tomorrow before noon,” he says, setting his laptop on the coffee table then heading off toward the closet.

What?! Already?!

“Oh, really?” I sound like I’m unimpressed. “Early morning flights are always tough because it’s like, do you go back to sleep? Do you ask for another coffee? But then what? That much caffeine? Phew. Good luck. You’ll have to ask your seatmate in the aisle to let you out to use the bathroom, and you know they always get annoyed—”

He laughs. “It’ll be fine.”

I squint. “Will it, though? I mean, what airline are you flying with?”

“Delta.”

“Delta?! Yikes. I mean, at least Southwest gives you peanuts.”

“I think Delta gives out snacks too.”

Shit. Do they?

I hear him yanking clothes off hangers. He’s really leaving. Like right now. If he has an early-morning flight out of Austin, that means he has to drive home today.

I bite down on my knuckles, fumbling for a plan. When I marched back in here, I thought he’d be sitting right where he was, having the same doubts as me. He’d see my expression, frown, shove his laptop aside, and say, Don’t worry. I know exactly how you feel, and of course I’m not taking the job. I’d never leave you.

Then we’d kiss for soooo long and gallop off into the sunset on noble steeds.

CRAP.

“Aiden!” I call out suddenly.

He comes back into the room, moving fast as he circles the bed so he can unplug his phone charger from the wall and wrap it up into a clean ball.

“Yeah?”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“About what?” he asks, not bothering to stop and look at me.

Courage seeps out of me like helium out of a balloon.

“The…flight.”

He laughs. “Delta is fine.”

Then I stand immobile as he carries his phone charger and laptop back into the closet so he can finish packing up.

I’m not doing this right. I wrongly assumed binge-watching romantic comedies my entire life would have equipped me with better skills for this moment. I’m fresh out of grand gestures. I don’t have giant poster boards and a boombox à la Love Actually. I am not leaning casually against a red Porsche Sixteen Candles style. I don’t even have a microphone handy to croon “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” like Heath Ledger did on those bleachers in 10 Things I Hate About You.

I look around me, uninspired by the decor in our desert bungalow.

Here, Aiden, take this succulent as a token of my affection.

I hear him zip his suitcase, and my heart shreds into tiny pieces. He emerges a moment later with his luggage in tow. He’s flustered, looking around to confirm he has everything he needs.

“I’m sure I’m forgetting something. Will you just bring it back to the condo when you get—” His gaze finally snaps up to me. “Crap, I wasn’t thinking. How are you going to get back to Austin?”