Our Way

“I’ve got to go.”

I frown. It’s still dark out. “What, why?”

“I’m on an early flight.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. “Okay.”

He sits on the side of the bed and smiles as he brushes the hair back from my forehead. “You were incredible.”

I smile goofily at him.

“We should do it again sometime.”

What?

My dream instantly dissipates.

Oh, the casual thing. He’s playing the game. Of course he is.

I roll my lips to try to hide my smile. “Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I reply casually.

He stands in a rush, annoyed by my answer.

I roll over onto my side and put my back to him. “Can you lock the door on your way out, baby?” I scrunch my face into my pillow, knowing full well that he will be going postal on the inside.

“I’m going,” he says.

“Yeah, I know.” I smile into my pillow. He wants me to demand that we get back together. Well, too bad, I’m not. I wasn’t joking the other day, being a bitch really is fun.

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” He huffs.

“I wasn’t going to. Have a safe flight,” I say casually.

He hesitates, and I know he wants to lose his shit. “I’m going,” he repeats.

“Yeah, okay. God, I’m trying to sleep here, Nathan.”

He inhales sharply, and he marches out the door. It slams behind him.

I roll onto my back and smile goofily at the ceiling. Holy shit.

Who am I?

29

Eliza

I empty the last of the boxes and look around my little apartment. I love it.

It feels like home already. I flew in last Sunday and have spent the week unpacking and settling in. I rejoined my old gym and caught up with my friends. I start work on Wednesday.

It’s Sunday night, and I haven’t heard from Nathan all week. I wanted to get settled and not call him the minute I landed in San Francisco. I need to be independent and, damn it, I’m going to try my hardest to do it.

I do really want to see him, though. He’s all I can think about, and I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve nearly called him. I told myself all week that if I hadn’t heard from him by Sunday, I can call him. Tonight is the night.

My phone dances across my coffee table, and the name Phyllis lights up the screen.

Nathan’s mom. “Hello,” I answer.