Page 25 of Almost Him

He storms out the front door. There isn’t an ounce of him that believes I’ll still go. No way. His arrogance won’t let him entertain that idea. Had I thought that cockiness was cute when we first met? I had. How stupid.

His arrogance isn’t playful, like Alden’s was. Wilson actually believes his own bullshit.

I’m not an impulsive person. If anything, I overthink, but today my decision is made in a split second. I’m not happy with him. I’m not happy here. I’m going home.

Tori has offered multiple times to let me stay with her if I decided to move back. She left Florida right after our graduation to move back home while I chose to move in with Wilson.

Tori picks up her phone after a couple of rings. “Hey, I just heard,” she says.

“Have you heard from either of the twins?”

“No, but Breanna told me Oliver is doing as well as can be expected. They’re dating now, remember?”

I didn’t remember but I’m glad to hear he isn’t alone. “And Alden?”

“No idea.”

“I’m coming home. For good.”

A squeal makes me hold the phone away from my ear with a giggle. “Are you serious?”

“I am. Still want a roommate?”

“Hell yes, but I won’t be home until Monday. I’m in Michigan, remember?” That’s right. She did tell me she’d be out of town this week on a getaway with work friends. “Nobody else has a key to let you in.”

“It’s no problem. I’m sure I can stay at my parents until then.”

“You’re leaving Wilson?” she asks, realizing he hasn’t been mentioned.

“Packing now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you Monday.”

After we hang up, I make a quick call home, and Mom gives me a squeal almost equal to Tori’s. It puts tears in my eyes. I’m lucky to have people who miss me as badly as I miss them. She rattles on about getting my room ready and what to make for dinner.

“Mom, it’s only for a couple of nights, then I’m going to move in with Tori.”

“But you’ll be a few minutes away, not days! Your dad is going to be thrilled. I can’t wait to tell him.”

We hang up and I sit on the edge of the bed, surveying the sudden mess I’ve made by starting to pack. This has become a much bigger job. I won’t be going home on a plane now that it’s permanent. A two day drive wasn’t in my plans, but it is now.

A few hours later—before Wilson has time to return—I’m on the highway with everything I own packed around me. As the sun starts to set, smearing streaks of blue and purple across the horizon, I roll down my windows and turn on some music. Despite the situation, a contentment settles over me. I feel free.

I’ve just left my boyfriend of nearly two years. I should be sad or crying. Will I miss him later? It’s doubtful. The truth is I wanted to love someone, and when he said those three words, I said them back. Maybe I even believed it was true for a little while. Just because it didn’t feel the same as it did with Alden doesn’t mean it isn’t love, I told myself. After all, don’t we all get that one intense teenage love that others struggle to live up to?

I don’t know. All I know is the trip away from Alden felt like part of me died. I missed him every single day and dreamed about him almost every night for over a year. I’d wake sometimes, confused about where I was, and think I heard my bedroom window slide up. Then fight back tears when I realized. He was a hard person to let go of, but I finally managed to move on.

That doesn’t mean I won’t be there for him now. And for Oliver.

Wilson starts blowing up my phone a few hours later, but I ignore it and turn my music up. It’s past midnight when I stop at a hotel to get some sleep, and I’m back on the road early. By late afternoon, I stop to gas up the car and change clothes. January is a lot colder in Indiana.

It feels strange to turn onto my childhood street. The Taylor’s painted their house blue. It’s always been yellow. Different cars sit in the driveways. The Underwoods have moved and there’s a for sale sign in the yard. Trees have grown and bushes have been removed or changed. Everything is similar but with enough small differences to make me feel like I’ve stepped into a counterfeit version of my old neighborhood. Or maybe I’m just tired after the long drive.

The Stokes house is dark and empty. It’s a stark contrast to my parents’ home that’s lit up and alive with voices that can be heard when I reach the porch. I let myself in, set my bag in the foyer, and step into the living room.

“Ella!” Mom cries, leaping up from the couch and rushing over to hug me. Dad follows suit while Mom fusses over me, asking if I’ve had dinner or want a drink.

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