Page 59 of Lily In The Valley
She rolled her eyes. “It’s still my name on the lease.” She dug for her keys but didn’t move to unlock the door.
“Can we talk?” I asked, my voice gentle now.
“I’m tired.”
“I’m not trying to argue.”
She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t go inside either.
“I came by the other day,” I said.
“I wasn’t home.”
I stared at her. “Come on, Kelly. I saw your car. Lights on, tv blasting. You were home.”
She looked away. “Stop watching me.”
“I’m not watching you,” I said. “I’m trying not to lose you.”
“You’re not losing me,” she said quietly.
“You sure? Because it feels like you’re disappearing. Piece by piece.” She didn’t answer. I lowered my voice. “I know you’re grieving. I’m trying to give you space. But every time I reach foryou, you take a step back. I’m not asking for much, Kelly. I just want to be here for you.”
She looked down at her shoes. “You’re being too much, Khalil.”
I winced. “What does that even mean?”
“You love like you’re solving a problem.” She stared at the concrete. “And I’m not a problem.”
“I don’t think you are. But I know what it’s like to be left. I just want to give you something to hold onto.”
“I didn’t ask you for that,” she said. Her eyes met mine, tired and guarded. “You keep showing up like your love for me earns you special access. Keep expecting me to give you something I don’t have in me.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
Silence.
“I want things to go back to the way they were,” she finally said, and the words slapped harder because they weren’t yelled. They were soft. Certain. Measured. I stepped back, biting down whatever pride was about to drag me into a shouting match. She leaned against the door, like the weight of what she’d said was just catching up to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice cracked. “I just…I’m flying out tomorrow morning. This fellowship is going to be tough. I’m already hanging on by a thread. I need to stay focused. I can’t do us. Not right now. Not how you want.”
I nodded slowly. Kissed her forehead. It felt like the last time. I turned without another word and walked to my car. Behind me, the door opened. Closed. And that was that.
I didn’t sleep.I tried. Tossed and turned all night. Downed some Benadryl. Soon as my lids shut, the dreams started. That was worse than being awake. I watched too many episodes of some cheesy show on Netflix. Went for a run while the night was marrying the day. Decided I’d see her off one last time. Reassure her, one last time.
The curb at Hobby smelled like burnt rubber, spilled coffee, and heartbreak. I had pulled up behind a rideshare car, hazards blinking in a slow, tired rhythm. Kelly’s flight was early. Too early for the sun to be fully up but just late enough for the airport to already buzz with tension. The sky was the color of dishwater, low clouds curling against the concrete like they were trying to hold her back. She stepped out of the passenger seat before I could cut the engine.
Tight black leggings. Cream hoodie. Her hair was twisted back into the slick-backed bun she wore when she didn’t feel like being perceived. She moved like someone on autopilot–shoulders tense, eyes shadowed, suitcase rolling behind her with a squeaky wheel that sounded far too loud for 6:30 in the morning.
She hadn’t seen me yet. I stepped toward her, forcing my expression neutral even though my chest was already tightening. “Hey.”
She turned, startled for half a second, then softened. But it wasn’t the soft that reached her eyes. “Hey,” she said, the word small and distracted, like she’d dropped it by accident. I reached for her bag, but she didn’t let go. Just tugged it closer to her side like it was some kind of tether. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I know,” I said, not knowing if I meant it. “But I wanted to.” I wanted to see her. I wanted to remember how she looked when she left me. I wanted to be the last one to hold her gaze before the clouds swallowed her whole.
She gave a quick nod, eyes flitting past me to the sliding doors. “I should go in. TSA’s probably packed.” I nodded, too. Too much silence pressing in between us, stretching like old gum. I stepped forward anyway and pulled her into a hug, resting my lips atop her head. She let me. But she didn’t melt. She didn’t tuck her head beneath my chin like she used to. Her hands stayed mostly at her sides, brushing my back for a second before falling away. Her scent still wrapped around me–lavender, cocoa butter, something faintly citrusy. I could live inside it. I used to.
“You gonna text me when you land?” I asked, pulling back. My voice cracked a little, and I hated how it made me sound. Too tender. Too hopeful. Too much.
She looked at me, really looked at me for the first time that morning. And that was almost worse.
