The One I Want

“Yes?” she replies, sounding roused from sleep.

“What do you think about Seattle?”

She traces figure eights across my chest. “I’ve never been.”

“Would you want to go?”

“Sure.” Maybe there’s hope. She goes on, “We could visit Pike’s Place, the original Starbucks. We could be regular tourists when we’re there.”

“We can.”

“Could,” she corrects so innocently. She was always whip-smart, and that includes when we’re post-coital and even more so with her senses still on high alert. Kicking her arm up under her, she looks down over me. “What are you thinking, Drew? A visit? A quick trip? Or—”

“Longer than a quick trip?”

“Are you asking me? If you’re asking me, I vote no.”

My swallow becomes a gulp, and her eyes redirect to my throat. When her hazels return to me, she asks, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I nod once, still holding her around the back, her skin so soft just like I remembered. “On the way over here, I was told a trip I thought was going to be no more than two months has been extended.”

“Two months?” Her mouth hangs open as shock shapes her features into disbelief.

“That was before.”

“How long now?”

“Indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely sounds like a move. You’re moving to Seattle?” Her daggered stare penetrates mine where all the apologies lay. She closes her eyes, and then when her lids fly open, she climbs out of bed. “This isn’t a discussion I want to have in bed.” Slipping on a robe, she leaves a huff of anger behind as she walks into the living room.

I slip my underwear and a shirt back on before following her. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear—”

“Me? You mean you don’t care?”

“I care. I care a great deal. I’m the one being forced to leave.”

“As if being left behind makes this easier? Spoiler alert—it doesn’t. I’ve been the last one standing, and it’s never fun. My parents left me. My grandparents. Fucking Karl took all he could and then packed his bags to go. So I understand the tough position you’re being put in, but I’m the one being abandoned.”

“This is business, Juni. I’m not leaving you. I’m leaving this city. That’s all.”

She positions herself on the other side of the couch. “It may be business to you, but it’s the same as it’s just the science we need to discover, which is what my parents said every time before they left me, too. You were becoming my everything.”

“Not were. You are everything to me.” I deserve this, to hear every word though I already knew what she’d say and what she’d do before she did it.

“Not if you’re halfway to Seattle already.”

“That’s not fair—”

“You know what’s not fair?” she yells. “Talking about a future that was never going to happen. Why would you even talk about living together when you knew you were leaving? Did you think I would drop everything, my life here, and run to live life in your shadow?” Her volume decreases with every word spoken. Not because she’s less angry, but more, and she’s trying to control it. She’s trying to control her emotions and tuck them safely back into her world, leaving me out in the cold.

I move closer, coming around the couch. Her arms are crossed, and that fire in her belly is blazing in her eyes. She doesn’t move, holding her ground. “This isn’t about hurting you.”

“But you’re doing it anyway.” Her voice is eerily low.

“I’m not abandoning you, Juni. I won’t stay forever. Seattle’s not my home.”

“Neither is New York. So if you’re looking for the location closest to your heart, you’re heading in the right direction.” Her arms finally uncross, and when a breath releases, her body’s resigned. “You always talked about LA, and I sat here and listened. I sat here hoping that maybe I was different. Maybe I was the one who would make you want to stay.”

“I want to stay with you, but I—”

“I know. You can’t. You go do what you need to do, and I hope you find happiness.” Her tone’s not cruel. It’s conflicting because it’s genuine. “But I think you should sleep at your place.”

Standing there, I want to argue, but I think I’m out of opportunities to convince her of my true intentions. Her mind is set tonight. “You’re probably right. We need sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow after we both get some rest.”

She moves to the door and opens it wide. I take the handle of my suitcase and walk into the hall. I turn to tell her good night, but she says, “Good night,” and closes the door before I have a chance.

I stare at the door a few seconds longer, trying to process what just happened. It feels a lot like we just broke up. That can’t be right. We’re running off exhaustion and heated emotions. After a good night’s rest, we’ll be able to think clearly again.