And I wasn’t prone to melancholy. At all.
In fact, I prided myself on my upbeat outlook in dire straits. But something was eating at my insides, making it difficult to see a sunny outcome in spite of my cheerful surroundings.
I glanced up at the mistletoe hanging by a red ribbon from the chandelier in the foyer after Sam carried Lincoln to bed. For Pete’s sake, I should have been full of anticipation, not ennui. Something was definitely amiss with me.
I zipped my jacket and pasted a smile on my face when Sam came downstairs. “I should go. I have to be awake at—”
He pulled me into his arms and nuzzled my neck. “Don’t go.”
“Oh, no. I can’t sleep over with an impressionable tot in the house. We’ll have to wait till…” I frowned. “Till when?”
“Hmm. I have Linc this week ’cause I’m traveling on the twenty-fourth for the game on Christmas day. I’m hoping to spend some time with him before he goes back to school too. I’m not going to have a ton of extra time once I start my new project for work in January.” Sam furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “I guess that’s not really an answer, is it?”
My smile cracked and wobbled a bit, but I held it in place. “It is. You’re busy. Me too. I have my office party tomorrow, our Script Club holiday gathering the following evening, and…I offered to drive Asher and Blake to the airport. They’re going to New York to a lake house or something. Asher is excited, even though he professes to be nervous about meeting his beau’s family. I don’t know why he’s nervous. He’s very likable. And I’m sure Blake’s parents are lovely. Speaking of parents, my parents won’t be in town this year, but my sister wants to host dinner on Christmas—”
“What’s wrong?” he intercepted.
“Wrong? What do you mean?” I bluffed.
Sam didn’t buy it. He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “You only talk a mile a minute when you’re excited or upset.”
“Upset? Me?” I pushed my glasses to the bridge of my nose to keep them in place when I shook my head. “No, not me. I’m cool as a cucumber. Composed, unflappable, calm, collected, and level-headed. In other words, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Right. But if you’re feeling worried…don’t. Everything is okay.”
“We’re running out of time,” I whispered, mortified when my voice hitched.
“Hey, we’ll make time for each other, Chet.” He brushed my hair from my forehead. “We’ll find those extra Martian minutes and somehow—”
“That’s not really possible.”
“Sure, it is. Come by before your office party…”
I tuned him out as I pushed out of his arms, slipping my hands into my pockets and digging my fingernails into my palms. I hoped the sting might deflect the sudden well of tears gathering behind my eyes as the realization finally struck home.
It was over.
Not suddenly, but slowly…cordially.
And equally as painful.
“Um…I should go,” I said, turning to the door. “I’ll see you after Christmas. I’ll drop your gifts by the house tomorrow. I have everything wrapped and under the tree. I love wrapping. It’s an oddly soothing endeavor, especially when the boxes are roughly the same size or—”
“Hey, baby, look at me.”
I couldn’t. Those tears were close to brimming over now, and I didn’t want to make him feel bad or worse, feel sorry for me. Sam didn’t owe me anything. We were lovers with no timeline. I should have been okay with that.
But I was a planner and a list-maker. I was a gosh darn scientist who left nothing to chance. I had a sudden horrible feeling that I’d left “us” to chance and ignored the obvious. Our bubble would burst in the new year. Life would return to some new normal that we’d have to acknowledge or…not. I didn’t have it in me to pretend that I didn’t care if we faded to the background, letting careers and travel take over.
This mattered to me. He mattered to me.
“I can’t look at you. I’ll say something stupid,” I croaked.
“No, you won’t. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one in this. Time is scarce right now, but—”
“I know, I know.” I pulled away, swiping at my eyes. “I know a lot about time. More than most normal people. But like I told you, I’m not normal people. I memorized time zones, the periodic table of elements, presidents, and the chronological order of the British monarchy by age ten. I can confidently report that my tendency to list and itemize hasn’t mellowed with age. It’s probably gotten worse.”
He crinkled his forehead in confusion. “What are we talking about?”
“Time.” I hugged my arms around myself and sniffed. “I should go. I’m on the verge of spouting the history of our concept of time, which I might add, is extremely fascinating.”