Page 57 of Ms. Lead

“Okay. February 21st. That’s six months from tomorrow.” She is so determined, her shoulders set and squared to me, her voice more confident. “That’s when you’ll be hearing from me again. Okay?” She pulls on my shirt, yanking me to tear my gaze from the stars and face her. We’ve ignored the fire while talking, and it’s down to embers now. The pale moonlight shines off her dark hair that now looks like ink blending into the night shadows behind her. “Okay, Oliver? February 21st.”

I nod, not only not as confident as her but resigned to the fact that the day in question will come and go without incident or fanfare. It will be a regular day for both of us. One full of sunshine and happiness for her, and, well, not the same for me.

“Okay,” I finally give in, if only to appease her. I don’t want to argue on our last night together.

The day's exhaustion has caught up to me, and I am weary. Besides my heart being broken and dying inside me, I am beyond tired and worried I’m not thinking straight. I know I’ve done the right thing so far, but I still need to be cautious.

In my current state, I could give in to just about anything Bianca asks. I stand up carefully and hold a hand out to her, not wanting this night to end but resigned to my fate.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Chapter Thirty

BIANCA

JUST PRETEND

We lay in bed, holding each other all night. I doze occasionally but mostly stay up, memorizing everything about this night. The feel of his arms wrapped around me tightly while he sleeps, the sound of his deep breaths as his chest rises and falls beneath my head, resting on top.

Every sensory input I have hungrily absorbs everything about him. And in the back of my mind is a ticking clock, counting down to when he leaves, and I will have to say goodbye to him.

In my mind, it’s only temporary, just for six months, but I’m scared to death that in that time he will forget me. Any feelings he might have for me now will only weaken with that much time apart. My worry chases its tail in circles until I eventually fall asleep, holding onto Oliver for dear life.

I wake up with the sun slanting sideways through the bedroom window. I stretch lazily, feeling more refreshed than I thought I would with such little sleep. The sheets are cold as my arm hits the bed.

My eyes shoot open, glancing next to me for Oliver, then around the room for any sign of him. My ears perk up like antennae, listening for any sign of him, and it’s deathly silent in the house.

A deep chill snakes through me, making me shiver, and my hair stands on end.

Where the hell is Oliver?

Maybe he’s outside drinking his coffee. I jump out of bed and run into the great room, no sign of him. I look out of the windows onto the back deck, and again, no Oliver. I quickly check every other room in the house. There’s no sign of him anywhere.

No suitcases. No laptop bag. No toiletries in the bathroom.

He’s gone.

The sinking feeling that was spreading in my chest turns into a gut-wrenching sob, and the tears are a flood. I lean against the refrigerator and slide to the floor as it all pours out of me.

I am full of so many emotions right now. The deepest sadness I’ve ever felt, but also probably the deepest anger. Enzo is right. Everything is passionate with me, both good and bad. And now, I’m feeling everything all at once.

How could he just leave without saying goodbye? Without a single word? I must have scared him away when I told him I loved him.

My first instinct is to call or text to see if he’s okay. Check that he made it to the airport in time for his flight. It’s such a long trip for him to get home. I hope he’s getting through it alright. I know sitting for an extended time isn’t great for him.

And I need to stop that shit right now. He left. He left me. He left me here without a fucking word. Six months? How about six seconds? Decision made.

You don’t just up and leave someone that you know you’re not going to talk to for that long without saying goodbye. It’s just not right. It’s downright rude.

My eye catches on something sticking out of one of my bags by the door. It looks like a thin tube mailing container. I pick myself up and off the floor, approaching the bag tentatively. That tube isn’t mine. I didn’t get any souvenirs in a container like that.

It has to be from Oliver.

Carefully, I remove the plastic cap on the end and peek inside. Still unable to tell what it is, I upend the tube’s contents onto the kitchen counter. It’s a roll that appears to be a poster, and there’s a note attached to it, secured by a rubber band.

What the heck? I work the message free and unroll the poster. It’s a photo of the cutest little kitten hanging on a branch with the words “Hang In There!” in large type underneath.

The sound that escapes me is both cry and laugh, and it’s appropriate, too, since I feel both. It’s perfect. Memories of us at my apartment discussing my possible décor run like a movie in my mind. Then it shifts to other things we did there, and I have to shake it off.

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