Page 148 of Fake As Puck
“I love you too.”
The drive to the airport is quieter than I’d like. We hold hands across the center console, and he plays music that’s soft and melancholy and perfect for goodbyes.
“Text me when you land?” he says as we pull up to the departure drop-off.
“Of course.”
“And call me tonight?”
“If it’s not too late.”
“It won’t ever be too late.”
He gets my bag from the trunk, and we stand on the sidewalk while cars and people move around us.
“This is weird,” I say.
“What’s weird?”
“Saying goodbye when we’re finally together.”
“We’re not saying goodbye. We’re saying see you later.”
“When will I see you later?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“Define soon.”
“Sooner than you think.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the best answer I’ve got right now.”
He pulls me into his arms then and kisses me right there on the sidewalk in front of everyone.
It’s not a quick goodbye peck. It’s a real kiss, the kind that makes me forget where we are and why I have to leave.
“I love you,” he says when we break apart.
“I love you too.”
“Go catch your plane.”
I walk into the terminal without looking back, because if I look back, I might not get on the plane.
The flight is long and uneventful, and I spend most of it staring out the window and thinking about how different everything feels now.
This morning I woke up in West’s arms as his real girlfriend. Tonight I’m going to sleep alone in my studio apartment as his real girlfriend who lives three states away.
The Lyft from LAX to my apartment takes forever, and by the time I’m climbing the stairs to my door, I’m exhausted and emotional and ready to cry.
Which I do.
I sit on my couch in my tiny apartment that suddenly feels too small and too quiet, and I cry.
Not because I regret anything that happened this weekend. Not because I’m having second thoughts about me and West.
