Page 103 of Check the Halls
Ben laughs, but it’s hollow, unsteady. “Okay, very funny. You almost had me.”
“I’m not joking,” I whisper.
His brow furrows in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course, you’re coming.”
“Ben…” My voice breaks around his name. “I can’t.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking another language. He doesn’t get it. He’s not even trying to.
“My mom needs me,” I say, the words coming fast and brittle. “It’s been eight months since my dad died. She’s alone, Ben. Ican’tjust leave her.”
“She told you she’d be fine,” he says, jaw tightening.
“Shelostmy dad.” My voice cracks, and this time I can’t stop it. “She lost everything. I’m all she has left.”
“And what about me?” he fires back.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, my chest caving under the weight of his pain.
“Don’t dowhat? Fight for us?!” His voice splinters. “We had aplan, Mads.”
I shake my head. “Youhad a plan. I never said I’d go.”
His mouth falls open, then closes like he can’t find the words. “You never said youwouldn’t.”
“I have school. I want to finish my degree. I want to get my master’s.”
“You can do thatanywhere! There are schools in Philly.”
“But Idon’twant to transfer.” My voice is shaking now. “I don’t want to uproot everything just to—just to follow you.”
He looks at me like I’m someone he doesn’t recognize. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“My mom needs?—”
“I need you!” he yells, his voice breaking like glass. “Did you even think aboutthat?”
My lips tremble. “Ben…”
His eyes are pleading now, red-rimmed and raw. “Do you really want to do long distance?”
I don’t answer.
And that silence—that one breath where I say nothing—ruinshim.
“You don’t,” he whispers, devastation bleeding through every syllable.
I shake my head, barely able to look at him. “Neither do you.”
“No, I want mygirlfriendto move to Philly with me so we can start our happily fucking ever after. But I don’t want to lose you over this.Please. We can figure it out.”
I’ve played out every version of this moment in my head, but they all end the same. No matter what I say, someone loses.
His hands clench at his sides. “So that’s it? You’re throwing this away?”
“I’m not the one who decided my future without asking,” I say, my voice barely holding together. “You chose for both of us and expected me to follow.”
He stares at me like he’s trying to memorize my face, like he already knows he’s losing me. “You’re making a mistake.”
