Wednesday, Rob’s last full day in the States, comes too fast. It really isn’t a big deal that he’s leaving, so it’s hard for me to explain the sense of impending doom I feel whenever I think about it. Maybe it’s just that his trip has been extended at the last minute—instead of a week he’ll be gone nearly a month. I’m not even sure he’d have remembered to tell me if I hadn’t overheard him discussing it with Brendan.

He calls just after lunch. This in and of itself is unusual, because Rob never calls while I’m at work. But it’s his voice I find most alarming—flat, without inflection or apology, telling me he thinks he might work late.

“Rob,” I sigh. “This is the last time I’m seeing you for a month. I’d think that just this once you could tell your boss no.”

“Yes, and I’d think that just once you might be able to tell your brother no, but apparently you decided to give him all of your money instead,” he shoots back.

Oh. Fuck. “Did Sean call you?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Rob says with a bitter laugh. “He wanted to thank me for being so ‘cool’ about it.”

There’s nothing I can say to defend myself. I should have discussed it with him. There’s only one reason I didn’t: because I knew I’d pay Sean’s tuition whether Rob agreed or not.

“I meant to tell you,” I say weakly.

“Don’t you think you should have discussed it with me first? I thought we were a team, Erin.”

“Sean was going to work at a bar,” I reply. “It would have been a disaster.”

“That’s not the point,” he snaps. “We’re supposed to discuss these things. We’re engaged. Or have you forgotten?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’ve been engaged for 18 months, and you haven’t moved one millimeter toward picking a date or anything else,” he says. “You keep claiming you’re too busy, but when you do something like this, I have to wonder if that’s all it is.”

* * *

He doesn’t get home until after eight. Dinner is cold. I’m mad, but my grounds for anger are so minimal compared to his that I push it down deep.

“There’s food on the stove if you’re hungry,” I say quietly. “You’ll just need to heat it up.”

“I met Brendan and got something at the bar,” he replies, throwing his jacket on the chair.

I close my eyes to keep from rolling them. Being late is bad enough. Being late because he was hanging out with Brendan, however, is really doubling down.

“Let me guess,” I say. “He told you to dump me for the hundredth time?”

“No.” Rob sighs. “He said I should get clear on what bothers me before we have a conversation because you’re a fixer, and you can’t fix this until you know what the problem is.”

“Has the world stopped spinning on its axis? Brendan actually paid me a compliment?”

Rob laughs. “Not exactly. He said he hates fixers. But anyway, he meant well.”

“Any other sage advice from the guy who’s never had a relationship?”

“Yeah, he said I should go home and get laid.”

That sounds more like Brendan.

Rob leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m not happy about it, Erin, but I don’t want to fight with you tonight. So can we just table all this for a time when it’s not my last few hours with my beautiful girlfriend?”

I agree with relief, and he throws his tie next to his jacket. “Then it seems to me you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m only wearing a tank top and shorts.”

He grins. “Like I said. Too many clothes.”

We walk into the bedroom. I don’t think we’ve ever once had sex anywhere else. Harper calls it boring, but there are far worse things than a boyfriend who’s a tiny bit predictable. His shirt comes off, his pants follow, and he slides into bed, pulling me against him.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to go without for a whole month,” he says against my mouth.

I nod in agreement, although we’ve only slept together a few times since he started work on this merger, so I’m not sure a month apart is really going to feel all that different.

He rolls me on my back. "Jesus,” he groans, already hard, pressed against my stomach. “It's been so long. This is going to be over before it starts.”

I tell myself I don’t mind, but my thoughts flicker briefly to the idea of Harper’s imaginary hot factory guy before I can stop myself. I bet sometimes it’s over with the hot factory guy before it starts too.