Page 82 of Hold You Close
Nineteen
Ian
New Jersey?
She’s kidding, right?
After everything we’ve been through, she’s going to move across the fucking country? Jesus Christ.
My mind searches for something brilliant to say, but all I keep thinking is that she’s going to leave me again.
“Say something.” London’s soft voice is brimming with fear.
“Wow.” I push the word out. “New Jersey.”
“Look, I’m not happy about this. I don’t really want to take it, but I’m torn. It’s a great opportunity, one that probably won’t come around again, but then there’s us, and the kids . . .”
“I can’t move there, London. The kids can’t handle another uprooting like that,” I explain.
“I know! I know this, which is why I’m so broken up about it. Look, I didn’t want to tell you until I’d decided, but I can’t lie to you, and we’re a couple now. Couples talk about things like this and make decisions together.”
“So you haven’t taken it?” I ask.
“No, I haven’t.” London’s eyes fill with tears. “I can’t leave you. I can’t do it, and as much as I want this job, and God, it’s probably going to mean the end of my damn career, I don’t care. I just don’t. I love you. I love you and I don’t know if you love me back, but I won’t give up on what we have right now. Not for anything.”
I try not to revert to when we were kids, but I’m right back there again. I remember it so clearly because it was the worst day of my fucking life. There I was, with the girl I had been in love with for years but never had the courage to tell, and she told me she was going to walk away from everything—for me.
The Northwestern scholarship—something only ten people in the country were offered, and she was going to walk away just for me.
How’s this for some déjà vu shit again?
Now, it’s a job.
Fuck my life.
“Ian, please. Say something.” London lets go of my hands and wipes tears from her eyes.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Something. Anything. What you’re thinking.”
I’m thinking this is a sick joke the universe is playing on me. I feel like I’m in a time warp, stuck in this loop where I’m forced to give her up time after time. Stand by silently while she walks away, angry and hurt. “I—I don’t know what to think.”
She starts to cry harder. “How do you feel?”
Like punching something. Like begging you not to go. Like I’m about to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?” she parrots, her voice rising. “Are you saying you don’t love me?”
“I didn’t say that.” Because seeing her cry is going to weaken me, and I know what I have to do, I stand up and walk toward the window, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I just need a moment to think. You sprung this on me out of nowhere.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you about it sooner, but . . . I was actually hoping I wouldn’t get it.”
“How long have you known about it?” I ask. Does she hear the tremor in my voice?
“About three weeks.”
I spin around and face her. “Three weeks? You’ve known a transfer to New Jersey was a possibility for three weeks and you never said anything?”
