Page 3 of Waiting on You

A year ago, he came home and said he was offered a promotion, but it meant moving to Houston, Texas. He asked me to join him, and even though I loved my job at Benson Liquor, loved being in the city my mom had adored, I agreed because I loved John as well.

I still love him, but right now, I don’t like himvery much.

He promised Houston would become our home, and since that was all I wanted—to settle down and create a life with the person I loved—I agreed.

I took a job I enjoy with my best friend, Anastasia, at Kingston Limited, and John and I started to make roots. At least, I thought we had.

“You can’t expect me to give up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” John says with a huff. “It can mean doors opening for me. If it works out, this will be our last move.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Literally. I’m pretty sure those were his exact words. I should’ve known he was lying when I suggested we buy a home and he insisted we rent instead. But love makes people blind, deaf, and dumb, so I went along with it anyway.

Looking back with new eyes, I can finally see how selfish John has been since the beginning. I moved into his place because he had more stuff and it was closer to the tube. He didn’t care that I loved my flat, that it overlooked my mom’s favorite part of London.

And when we moved here, it was because he was chasing his promotion. He didn’t consider my job or what I would lose by leaving. It was all about him.

“I bet Benson would give you your job back,” he points out.

“I don’t want my job back!” I say, emotion clogging my throat. “I want to stay in Houston.”

The fact is, I didn’t even want to live in Houston.My job is in Rosemary—a good thirty minutes away. My best friend lives in Rosemary. But John wanted to live in Houston, so we moved to Houston. Now, I’m going to be stuck here while John is back in London. Because John put his wants and needs first and I allowed my own to be put on the back burner.

“You said we would make a home here,” I add, losing the fight to not cry as tears spill over my lids and track down my cheeks. “Why can’t what we have here be enough?”Why can’t I be enough?“I know the promotion means more money, but we have plenty of money. We both make a good living. Please,” I beg, “stay here with me.”

“Paige!” John snaps. “Stop acting like a brat and be an adult about this.”

His words shoot me straight back to my past, to a time I try not to think about.

“Please,” I beg my dad. “I don’t want to leave. This is our home. This isherhome.”

Dad’s gaze flits to mine for only a second before he looks away. Ever since Mom took her last breath, Dad has barely looked at or spoken to me. I get that he never wanted me, but shouldn’t the fact that Mom loved me be enough for him to at least care about me?

“I’ve made my decision,” Dad mutters. “We’re moving.”

Mom has only been gone for two weeks. Fourteen days. And my dad has decided to take a job in Rome. He doesn’t care that this is the home we’ve lived in for the past several years, the last place I felt the magic.

Mom’s gone, and if my dad has it his way, so will every memory we created here. The trips to the Tower Bridge to look at London from the top. It was so magical. The walks to Kensington Gardens. It was her favorite place. We would sit on the bench and talk while we people-watched. Our favorite bookshop was nearby, so she’d buy us each a new book, and then we’d have tea while we read. When she was doing well, we’d take the tube to Chinatown and eat at our favorite Chinese restaurant.

I already lost her. I don’t want to lose this city as well.

“You promised Mom this would be the last time we moved,” I remind him, hoping mentioning her will thaw his icy heart. “This is where she wanted to make a home. I have school and friends and a boyfriend!”

And a dad who never wanted me,I think to myself.

If he moves me from here, away from the city my mom loved, away from the friends I’ve made, away from the only place that actually feels like home, what will I have left? A man who can hardly stand to look at me?

“Well, your mom isn’t here!” Dad barks. “Stop acting like a brat. You’re not a baby anymore. It’s time to start acting like an adult. We’re moving, and that’s the end of it. You’ll make new friends, and there will be plenty more boys.”

We moved the next day and spent the next year in Rome. Dad was gone so often that it felt like I was living on my own. The home he rented was beautiful, but it was filled with silence…emptiness. The magic was gone.

Then, he moved us again to the States my junior year. My senior year, he met a woman closer to my age than his. They started a new family and had a baby the same month I graduated.

All this time, I’d thought when he told Mom he didn’t want to be a dad, he meant in general, but it turned out, it was justmehe didn’t want.Mehe couldn’t love.

I left for college a few months later, and Dad settled down. He stopped moving, he took less flights, and stayed local, proving once again that I wasn’t enough to stick around for, but Debbie and their daughter, Kristin, were.

I came home for Thanksgiving and again during winter break, but it was hard to watch. To wonder whyIwasn’t enough. Why he couldn’t love me, didn’t want to be home with me, but he wanted and loved the new baby.

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