Page 149 of Fake As Puck
But because love is hard, and long distance is harder, and I just left the person I’m in love with to come back to a life that doesn’t include him.
My phone buzzes with a text from West:Made it home. House feels empty without you.
I type back:Apartment feels empty too.
We’ll figure it out.
I know.
I love you.
I love you too.
Sweet dreams, girlfriend.
Sweet dreams, boyfriend.
I set my phone aside and look around my apartment, at the plants that need watering, the mail that needs sorting, the life that needs resuming.
Tomorrow is Monday, so I’ll respond to the job offer. Tomorrow I’ll start planning for two months of career-building that will take me away from the person I want to be with most.
Tomorrow I’ll start figuring out how to love someone from a distance.
But tonight, I’m just going to sit here and miss him and let that be okay.
Because missing someone means you have someone worth missing.
And West Carmack is definitely worth missing.
42
The nights are the worst.
During the day, I can lose myself in work. Client calls, content strategy, deadlines that demand my full attention. But when the sun goes down and my laptop closes and I’m alone in my apartment, that’s when I feel it.
The missing him.
The ache of wanting to tell someone about my day and having that someone be three states away.
It’s been two weeks since Napa, and we’ve talked every day. Text throughout the day, phone calls when we can manage it, pictures of coffee cups and sunsets and mundane moments we want to share.
But it’s not enough.
Tonight’s been particularly brutal. Fourteen hours of back-to-back video calls with clients on the East Coast, my brain fried from switching between time zones and campaign strategies. I’mexhausted but wired, tired but restless. Not to mention that my dad didn’t come home until late last night, so I had to clean their kitchen and prepare dinner for them.
I’m overwhelmed, and I need to hear West’s voice.
I call him at 11 PM, knowing he’s probably asleep but hoping he’s not.
He answers on the third ring, breathless.
“Liv?”
“Hi. Did I wake you?”
“No. Just finishing a workout.”
I can hear the slight pant in his voice, the way he’s trying to control his breathing.
