I didn’t sleep all night. I tried closing my eyes but sleep never came.
It’s a little after seven and I know I need to wake her up soon. She wants to be on the road by nine, but it was after three before she finally fell asleep. I’ve dreaded this day since even before she took the job. I knew it was coming. I had hoped I could convince her to stay a little longer with no job waiting on her, but that plan never took shape.
Silently I watch the clock as the minutes slip by. I know I have to wake her, but dammit, I don’t want to. I want to hold her like this forever, keep her in my bed so she can never leave me.
“Hey,” she says, waking on her own.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“What time is it?”
“About twenty minutes until eight.” I dread telling her the time because I know she has to get up. She still has to pack.
“I need to get moving,” she says, not making a move to get up.
“I know.” I do know, but I don’t like it. I hate it. I hate her driving all that way on her own. I hate that she lives in Chicago. I hate that she was offered the job of her dreams that happens to be hours away from me.
“I have to shower.” She rolls over and climbs out of bed.
My heart races. This is it. I have to somehow say goodbye. I have to somehow let her go. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Some toast?”
“Yeah, I can do some toast.” She disappears behind the bathroom door.
I swallow hard and climb out of bed. Slipping into some basketball shorts, I head to the kitchen to make my girl some toast and orange juice.
Twenty minutes later, she comes down the hall, rolling her two suitcases. I glare at them. I fucking hate this. “Here you go.” I slide a plate with toast and jelly toward her.
“Thanks,” she says softly. I watch as she nibbles on her toast, managing to eat both pieces before standing and rinsing her dishes in the sink. “I really need to get going.”
“I pulled your car out. I checked, you have a full tank of gas.”
“Yeah, I stopped just after I got to town.”
“I’ll take your bags.”
She nods and I grab both handles, following her outside and loading them in the trunk for her. She’s leaning against the driver door and I pull her into me. “I don’t know how to do this, Jamie. I don’t know how to let you go.”
She releases a sob against my chest. “I don’t either. I love you so much,” she cries.
I hold on to her and bite my tongue. I want to beg her to stay, but we both know she can’t. This is her dream and she needs to go for it. It just sucks that she’s taking my heart with her.
Bending my knees, I get eye level with her. Her big green eyes are wet from her tears and hold so much pain. “I love you, James. Never forget that. Call me when you get there, and if you’re up to it, I’d like to come and visit. You tell me when and I’ll be there.”
“Mike, we can’t keep doing this.”
She’s right, but I don’t care. “I can’t just give you up. I have to… I’m coming to visit. You tell me when.”
“Okay,” she concedes. “I’ll keep you updated as I go.”
“Be safe, babe.” I kiss her one last time. Backing away, I open her door and wait for her to get in and buckle up. “I love you,” I say one final time before shutting her door, keeping my eyes on her car until it disappears into the distance. My chest aches as if there is a thousand pounds sitting there.
I head into the house and go straight to my room. My bed smells like her. I turn the TV on, but I couldn’t tell you what’s playing; I’m watching a mental reel on repeat of our time together over the past several months.
My phone beeps, pulling me out of my memories. I grab it and see a text from David.
David: Sunday dinner?
Me: Not today.
David: I’ll handle it.
Me: Thanks.
What he really means is that he’ll handle my little sister. It’s only a matter of time before she’s giving me her opinion on the situation, and I’m not in the frame of mind to listen to it or even attempt to deal with it today.
Picking up the remote, I flip through the channels and stop on the sports network. I mindlessly watch TV, waiting for her check-in text. She usually stops once on the way home and checks in with me. I’m almost asleep, unable to fight it, when my phone beeps.
Jamie: Bathroom break. I’m making good time.
Me: That’s good, babe. Be careful. I miss you.
Jamie: I miss you too.
Holding my phone in my hands, I make sure the ringer is turned on and let exhaustion take over. Hours later, I wake to my phone ringing. It takes me a minute to realize I’m still clutching it in my hands.
“Hello,” I say sleepily.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jamie’s sweet voice comes over the line.
“I’m glad you did. Did you make it home?”
“Yeah, just got in. Did you sleep at all last night?”
“No.”
“Mike,” she sighs.
“I miss you,” I tell her before she can say whatever it is she was going to say.
“I miss you too. More than I thought possible for just being away from you for a few hours.”
“You ready for tomorrow?” I ask her.
“Not even close. I have to iron an outfit, go to the store, unpack—the list goes on and on.”
“I won’t keep you. I’m glad you made it back safely.”
“I love you, Michael,” she whispers.
“I love you too. We’ll talk soon.” I end the call and drop my phone to the bed beside me.
How am I going to do this?