Page 82 of Just a Distraction

“You’ll tell your family eventually?”

“Yes. I will.”

But I’d rather not think about that right now. One thing at a time. The walk stretches long, the smell of spring’s new cedar leaves in the air. Once back at her place, we work together to wipe down the counters, feed the dog, and get Callum to sleep.

Afterwards, Rose talks me into playing cards, and I’ve just won my second game when she puts her hand on mine.

“I kind of like that I know your big secret.”

“Yeah? Well, I do, too,” I say. “There’s something else you should know.” I shoot

out a breath. “Yet another thing no one in my real life knows.”

Her eyes gape, and I rush to explain.

“I was accepted into the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing program at Greenleaf College.”

“That’s in Denver, right?”

I nod, dread pooling inside of me. “I’m supposed to start in the fall.” The admission hangs in the air between us, and I watch as things shift in her consciousness.

“All this talk of me starting my nursing program and you’re starting graduate studies, too? That’s amazing.” She traps her top lip with her teeth. “You’ve mentioned wanting to transfer to the Chapel Hill resort like me, though.”

“Well, that’s still a possibility.”

“Can you go to Greenleaf online?”

I drop my gaze to the table. “No, it’s not an option. They’re a small school and they only meet in person. It’s a professional program, so classes are held on weeknights and weekends. And it’s one of the only MFAs that has an optional emphasis on genre fiction. It’s right up my alley.”

“It’s an honor to be accepted, though, right? I mean, you have to do this.” She smiles, but there’s something behind it. Apprehension?

“All this still doesn’t mean we have to break up, though, Rose. We can still do the long-distance thing. Or I could defer and go with you to North Carolina and then do the program when we get back.” I’m steeling myself for her response. I know what she’ll say, but I can’t help trying to help her understand that there are more options for us to stay together.

“I doubt they’d let you defer. Those small colleges have enormous waitlists, don’t they?”

“They do.”

She’s right. I’ve looked into it and it’s highly unlikely they’d let me defer. When I’m willing to face the whole picture, I know it’s now or never. Her gaze tells me she can see it in my eyes.

“Milo, you don’t want to defer. I know this, and I would never ask you to. You have to go.”

“But you’ve said all along that long distance is an impossibility!”

“We’ve gone over this.” Her voice is quiet. She huffs out a breath of exasperation as she tries to right the deck of cards so she can shuffle them again. “Can we please not go there right now?”

Finally, she neatly sets the deck and shuffles the cards with a crisp, satisfyingphlipt.

When she hands the deck to me, I deal. And this dance we have, of walking the dog with Callum, of cleaning together, of parenting Callum together, of playing cards? Knowing it’s going to end feels completely wrong. And I don’t want to talk about it right now, either.

“I have one more confession to make.” What’s one more? Anything’s better than trying to convince her not to say goodbye in a few months.

Her eyes flash open. “Oh no. What is it this time?”

“About my middle name . . .”

“Please tell me it’s Kalamazoo. Or Klingon? Wait. I got it! Kookaburra. Maybe

your parents did some research in Australia and gained a deep appreciation for Kookaburra birds.”

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