“Mike . . .”
I stop myself, unsure of how to finish that sentence. Before last night, I would have talked him out of it. I would have felt guilty that he offered to help, and I would have rejected the favor . . . But I really don’t have anyone else to keep her, and she’s on his lap. The dog who wouldn’t let anyone else touch her is sitting on his lap, wagging her tail excitedly. I don’t know if it’s because she got used to his scent by living in his house before he came home, or if it’s just because Mike is impossible not to like, but she’s clearly as in love with him as I am, and who am I to take that away from her?
“Are you sure?” I ask, giving Mike one last out, and he glances at Phoenix only to get a surprise lick to his nose.
His answer comes in the form of a deep, happy laugh, and I fall even more in love with him. “Yeah,” he says as he wipes Chow slobber off his face. “We’ll share her, okay?”
“So we have a dog?” I ask, and I don’t know why that question stokes the butterflies inside of me, but their silken wings tickle the inside of my stomach.
“We have a dog,” Mike confirms, tugging me down next to him.
Mike and I pack as many laughs, smiles, and kisses as we can into the forty-five minutes we have before he has to leave. I lament that he has to spend Thanksgiving so far from home, but he assures me that waking up with me in his arms this morning more than made up for it. I make him promise to try to track down some turkey lunch meat in Dublin so that he and the guys can at least have turkey sandwiches, and we make plans for me to try his mom’s green bean casserole next Thanksgiving.
He gives me a nice kiss before he gets in his truck to leave, and then he gets back out of it to pin me against the door and kiss me breathless. I’m a boneless mess when he finally drives down the dark road, through the trees that separate his house from the city. I watch him disappear, touching my fingers to my lips and closing my eyes, smiling in the dark.
Just a few hours ago, nine days seemed insurmountable, and I didn’t feel like I could get through them. Now, I can actually breathe when I think about them. Nine days—it’s not that long. Mike knows I’m waiting for him, and now I know I’m waiting for him too. I’m not waiting to give him up—I’m waiting to launch myself into his arms and pay him back for how flustered he made me against the side of his truck.
In his living room, I sit on his overstuffed couch with my legs pulled under me, and I bite my thumbnail between my teeth. With my decision made, there’s just one big detail to take care of.
Danica.
I’m supposed to meet her at our place in a few hours so we can carpool to her parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was her idea, not mine, and I frown as I think about how nice she’s been recently. It started with her taking me on that shopping trip, and then it became me helping her with her homework; her excitedly asking me about my smoke-and-mirrors boyfriend; us watching TV together on the same couch. When we’ve talked about boys, I’ve pretended that her Mike wasn’t my Mike, and I’ve ignored the guilt that knocked against my stomach with every little lie I’ve had to tell.
I haven’t worried about Mike wanting her back, since he’s made it very clear that will never happen—with me or without me—but that hasn’t stopped Danica from trying. She’s changed her phone number at least three times since he keeps blocking her, and she has all sorts of grand plans for when he comes home from his tour. I’ve listened helplessly as she’s shared them with me—how she plans to bake him his favorite cookies; how she’s going to give him a scrapbook of pictures of them in high school; how she plans to be in the front row of his next show at Mayhem, wearing the lowest cut top I’ve ever seen in my life.
In a way, I feel sorry for her. She lost the best man she ever could have had, and even though she already regrets it, one day she is going to regret it to her core. I don’t think she truly loves Mike—not like I love him—but one day she is going to realize that he loved her, and she’s going to know that it’s her fault she lost him.
He’ll be with me. Maybe we’ll even have our white picket fence by then. And even though I feel bad for the heartache and regret she’ll feel about that, I’m not willing to sacrifice him for her. If he wasn’t with me, he still wouldn’t be with her. She lost him twice, and that’s not my fault. She doesn’t deserve him—she never deserved him. And even though I’m not sure I deserve him either, because he’s a fairy tale prince in a rock star’s body, I’m keeping him.
I tell myself that over and over again as I drive to my apartment in the same clothes I wore to Mike’s house two days ago. Danica will think I spent both nights at Leti’s, and I’ll let her think that until after Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t know how she’s going to react when I tell her that I’m in love with Mike and that we’re in a serious relationship, but I know I don’t want to find out until after we no longer have to be in a closed space together. She deserves a nice, drama-free holiday with our families as much as I do, so I’ll tell her after we get home. And I’ll pack up my things beforehand, just in case she decides to go crazy again. If I have to live at Mike’s, I know he’ll be okay with it. And if I have to drop out of school for a while, I know I’ll be okay with it. I can find a job around here until I find some way to re-enroll—because there has to be a way for me to do it on my own. I have to believe that, and I have to believe I’ll find it. Eventually.