“You okay?” I ask. “I didn’t mean to bring the morning down.”
“No—I mean, yes. I’m okay. I guess. It’s just… I kind of got used to you being around.” She frowns. “And I was hoping to have some news to share next weekend.”
“About the job?”
“Maybe. I—I still don’t honestly know. Bo told me last Sunday that he’d like to be a partner in the diner. He just wants twenty-percent in, but that would really help. And it—”
“—relieves a lot of the stress of it,” I finish for her. “That’s amazing. Why didn’t you tell me?” I can’t help feeling a slight sting, still wishing I was that person she wanted to call first when good news like this comes.
“I—” She hesitates. “I figured I’d surprise you next week and we could celebrate—either a new job or a new ownership for the diner. And I—I thought you’d be here,” she adds.
I’m momentarily appeased, until I realize I won’t be here to celebrate with her.
Hell, I might be on the other side of the world by the time she makes the decision.
“I wish I could be. From what I’m hearing on base, we really might be called away. And I’d need to get to base quickly. With holiday weekend traffic…” My voice trails.
“Of course. It’s too risky,” she finishes for me. Her sigh is deep, and she sends me a forced smile. “And that’s what we planned on, anyway. It’s okay.” She presses her lips together for a beat. “Umm, you should get out and enjoy your last morning surfing. And I need to open the diner.”
I feel like I’m being dismissed as she stands, looking awkward and a little confused.
“Okay.”
She nibbles her lip for a moment watching me get dressed. “You’ll stop by work before you go, right?”
“Of course. I have to leave around lunchtime though,” I remind her. “I’ve got some things I need to do on base before rotation shifts over at midnight.” And as I say it, I can’t help frowning at the things I have to do. Things like finding someone to take care of my stupid houseplant when I deploy. Securing my equipment so that I can be ready with just two hours’ notice. Checking to make sure my will is updated and filed where someone could find it easily if the worst happens.
Yeah. No wonder she doesn’t want any part of this, I can’t help thinking.
“Is it okay to show up then?” I ask. “I know you’re still busy at lunch.”
“I’ll make time,” she answers, and as she does, I’m wishing we hadbothmade more time. More time for each other this summer.
Because if we had, maybe we wouldn’t be saying goodbye, after all.
I slip away while Millie disappears into the shower and head straight to the beach. I usually love watching the sunrise over the Atlantic, preferably as I’m enjoying the waves beneath me. But this time, I set my board down in the sand and just watch how the first light of dawn is almost teasing me, peeking timidly above the horizon as though it knowsexactlywhat I’m thinking right now.
That I don’t want this day to come.
Maybe I should ask her if I can call her next weekend if I’m still around. Dammit, after a summer together, don’t I deserve to know whether she’s going to take that job in Savannah or buy the diner? I feel like she’s been such a part of my life lately—that I’ve been such a part of hers—that I should be able to call her.
But again, just as the sun’s rays expand in front of me, heralding the onset of my last day with her, I play out the scene in my head.
And in it, I tell her that I’ll call her next weekend.
And then, thanks to the decision of some four-stars, I don’t call.
No, I won’t be selfish.
I won’t be like my parents. Not with her. Not with anyone.