“I’m running away?” I laugh. “You’re the one moving to the other side of the world.”
“For work,” she says, exasperated. “For months, all I heard from you was how pathetic I was. How I’ve let myself go. I’m doing this for me. Why can’t you see that?”
Not once did I call her pathetic. Yes, she’s let herself go, but she doesn’t need to go to London to find herself. The idea alone is preposterous.
“All you’re doing is running away. Like you always fucking do. I’m done, Zoey.”
“You’re done?” she hisses, crossing her arms as she takes a step back. “With what?”
“Done with all the drama you seem to bring along with you. I can’t continue feeling this way about you,” I throw back at her, admitting the truth.
“What way, Drew? We’re roomies,” she chokes, turning away and refusing to make eye contact with me.
“What’s the point anymore?” I put my hand in my pocket and pull out the small yellow box. “Here you go. Happy birthday, Zoey.”
I should turn away, get in the car, and drive off at record speed. Instead, I wait, almost holding my breath as she carefully opens the box and pulls out the gold chain with the pineapple pendant.
With downcast eyes and quivering lips, she remains quiet while removing the chain from the box.
“Drew,” she murmurs. “It is… it’s perfect.” She closes her eyes, clutching the necklace and holding it close to her heart.
And then it clicks. It would have been perfect if she wasn’t moving to London.
“I have to go,” I stammer, clutching the door handle and motioning for her to back away.
“Let me come with you. I’ll just tell Gigi and Mia—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I need to be alone.”
She doesn’t say a word and backs off. Placing my keys in the ignition, the engine roars to life. I could easily turn it off, walk to her, and tell her I’m sorry. But everything about tonight just hurts. Real fucking bad.
I drive straight to the apartment and throw some stuff into my bag. I don’t want to go back to Dad’s but have nowhere else to go. I pull out my cell and dial Kristy’s number asking her if I can crash at her place for a couple of days. It works out perfect since she’s heading out of town until the end of the week, so I will have the place to myself.
For once, Zoey doesn’t bother me. Not a single text or call to ask where I am or how I am. I don’t blame her. I’ve made myself pretty clear.
I’m done.
For the next few days, work keeps me occupied, and by Tuesday I make my way back home facing the inevitable.
Opening the door, it dawns on me that soon I will open this door to an empty apartment. That no one will greet me, hopelessly throw their keys onto the side table and miss every time, only to leave them sitting on the floor.
“You’re here.” She offers a faint smile, returning her focus to the television. The movie playing is Dirty Dancing—her favorite.
On the coffee table sits a bag of low-fat chips and a can of Diet Coke. I want to laugh, and normally, I would. I’d tell her that when it says low fat, it means it still contains fat.
Chips and Diet Coke are still junk food.
“I’m here.” It’s all I manage to say.
“Can we please talk, Drew? I gave you some time, but I really need to talk to you.”
I sit on the sofa purposely keeping my distance. She pauses the movie right before Johnny teaches Baby to dance in the studio. My God, I have seen this movie way too many times. Someone, please hand me my balls back.
“I wanted to tell you. I really did,” she explains. “But Mr. Becker only sprung it on me a couple of weeks back and so much has been going on.”
She shifts around uncomfortably twitching as she talks fast. “It’s not an excuse. I want you to understand that I didn’t mean to spring it on you. I only accepted his offer last week, and things between you and me have been so difficult lately. I just wanted you to be proud of me for taking the offer.”
“I am proud of you…” I soften.