Page 124 of The Moon Also Rises
“Jesus Christ, this is the worst first date of my life and considering some bloke once threw up on the brand-new Patrick Cox shoes I bought with my first pay cheque, that is saying something,” Jake says with a bitter laugh and picks up his cutlery.
I suck in a sour breath. “Jake, we should try and enjoy the meal. I am leaving for the US on Monday and I don’t know when exactly I’ll be back but I—”
“You’re leaving?” His knife and fork crash onto the plate.
“Yes, I’ve resigned from Status and I’m going back to LA for a while.”
“Resigned?”
“Yes,” I say heavily. I knew this would be a difficult conversation, but I didn’t fully appreciate how much it would pain me to hurt Jake over and over again. It’s not even like telling him the whole truth would make him feel better. No, that would only make everything much, much worse. Now is a time for damage control. Now is a time to do what I can to try and make Jake feel better.
“I need to go back to the States for a few weeks, maybe a month or so. And then I’ll be back. I’ll be coming back for you, Jake. If you’ll have me.”
Jake tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow. “And what do I do while you’re gone? Sit and wait and file my nails? Put myself in the freezer next to the frozen peas and a tray of fucking ice cubes? Spend the whole time gluing glitter onto a sign for your return at Heathrow?”
“No, Jake, I don’t expect you to wait for me. I’m just telling you when I come back, I won’t be coming back for my job, and not only for my family. I’ll be coming back for you.”
“Or you won’t.” He shrugs. “Maybe whatever it is in America that has you running back there will be too enticing to stay away from. Maybe you will get there and realise that’s what you want – perpetual summer, pissing macadamia nut milk lattes, and Botox on tap. Maybe once you’re back living your millionaire lifestyle with actual millionaires you won’t want to slum it with the likes of me.”
I risk lowering my voice and fix him with one of my looks, the ones that have affected him so resonantly in the past. “Stop talking about yourself like that, Forester.”
He points a finger at me and his words come out in a hiss. “No, Rami. No. You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore. Not if you’re not my man.”
It’s a perfectly aimed kick to my gut, because God, I want to be his man. I want nothing more than to be his man.
“You’re right.” I swallow down my pain.
We stare at each other, a million things being said with his sad, confused and enraged eyes. I have no idea what mine tell him, but I hope somewhere in there he gets just a hint of how much I… how much I love him. How much I want to love him. How much I hope I one day get to love him.
Much to my horror, a tear rolls out of his left eye and slides down the faint dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the ones that took my breath away that day we went to a wedding together.
“Jake.” I am ready to move, to stand and come to him and hold him in my arms like I did a week ago.
“No,” he says and he folds his napkin and places it on the table next to his untouched food. In the next beat, he stands up and looks down at me. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here any longer. But what I can do is walk away with my head held high. I gave you a piece of me today, and although it hurts like hell that you don’t want it, I don’t regret offering it up. I was brave and vulnerable and hopeful. Fuck, no. Iambrave and vulnerable and hopeful. I will not let you take that away from me.”
“I would never—”
“Goodbye, Rami. I hope you find what you’re looking for. But I’m not going to wait around to find out if you do.”
And that’s it. I’ve run out of words. I’ve run out of everything. It’s all I can do to watch Jake walk away from me, and he doesn’t look back once.
Chapter Forty-One
Rami
Idon’t know how I make it through the loneliest and saddest Saturday of my life, but somehow I do. I also don’t know how on Sunday I get on the train to Birmingham, nor do I know how I walk off it and find my sister’s car, but somehow I do. I say next to nothing to her as we drive to my mother’s house, and when she asks me what’s wrong it’s all I can do to reach my hand over and squeeze her shoulder, and I hope she can forgive me the impromptu physical touch.
As I go through these out of body motions, I swim in thoughts of Jake. Specifically, how hurt he was, how lost he looked and how beautifully brave he sounded with his final words to me. The only comfort I have now is knowing that I have a few hours alone with Roxie and my mother before Radia and Chloe arrive on a later train. Because I need to talk to my mom, and truth be told, I need one of her biggest, warmest hugs.
It's as if Mama knows as soon as she sees me when I walk into the living room. She looks up from the recipe book she’s holding on the couch and lowers her reading glasses.
“Rami?” she says, her tone filled with questions;Are you okay? What’s wrong?
“Mama,” I say and I am flooded with gratitude when she comes to stand as I approach her. Her arms open a moment before I step into them and she lifts up on her toes to embrace me as wholly as she can. I squeeze her body back in return, bending my head to hide it on her shoulder, her floral perfume filling my nostrils.
The urge to sob is strong. I fight it and with some success, although a few rebellious tears break through and land in my mother’s hair. When I finally pull back, Mama is quick to swipe her thumb under my eyes, taking others away.
“Tell me about it,” she says simply as she takes my hand and gestures for us to sit together.
