Page 98 of Weekends with You

It took more resolve than I was proud of to keep the distance between us, but I was determined to do what I thought was right. Even if it hurt like hell. I offered no more than a curt smile before brushing past him to leave the kitchen, careful for our shoulders not to touch.

I slipped into Raja’s room instead of my own, needing to unpack Henry’s news if I was to function as a normal person this weekend. Or ever again.

“I was sleeping, you know,” she said as I climbed into her bed.

“Henry’s staying in London,” I said.

“He’s what?”

I gave her the same spiel he gave me, at which she sat up and turned on the light. “So, does this mean he’s, like, going to be in the flat all the time? Starting when?”

“I don’t know,” I said, flopping onto the pillows. “I didn’t ask any questions. I was so bloody bothered that he thought that was enough to fix things, and I didn’t want to think about having to see him every day, and I just wanted the conversation to be over.”

“Wow,” she said, laying back on the pillows with me. We stared at the ceiling in silence, contemplating the news. “And what does this mean for the two of you?”

“Nothing,” I said, but I couldn’t even muster enough conviction to sound like that was what I wanted. “I can’t do it again, Raj. It’s too complicated. Especially now that I’m taking over the Lotus. I’m not sure I can afford the distraction.”

She turned out the light again and snuggled up to me. “It’s okay to still have feelings for him, you know. You can be excited about your new gig and sad about Henry at the same time. Last time I checked, conflicting emotions were allowed as part of the human experience.”

I was glad she had turned out the light before she said that, because it made my bottom lip start to quiver. Fighting emotions was most often harder than feeling them, and I regretted spending the past few weeks trying to pretend I felt fine. At the end of the day, lying to myself felt worse than lying to anyone else.

At some point, I would have to decide where to live, I would have to address that Henry would be back in the apartment full-time, and I would have to properly distance myself if I wanted to avoid further heartbreak. But it was late, and I was tired, and I didn’t have to do any of those things until at least the morning.

So, I focused on Raja’s breathing, letting mine match her pace until I dozed off beside her.

“Do you guys have any idea what we’re doing today?” Liv asked, turning on Raja’s light.

“Sleeping,” Raja moaned, pulling the covers over us both. “You should be doing the same.”

“It’s nearly ten,” Liv said. “And Hen won’t tell us what we’re doing until everyone is up and moving, so. It’s time to get up and moving.”

Raja and I groaned in unison, Raja at the prospect of moving, and me at the sound of Henry’s name. A few hours of sleep had given me nothing by way of clarity, and I still hadn’t the foggiest what I was to do about him staying in the city. Which would make for quite an interesting day, wherever we ended up.

“First, we need coffee,” Raja announced, throwing on a sweater and heading for the kitchen.

“Just going to pop into my room first to change, but I’ll meet you down there,” I said, hoping I could buy a few minutes to collect myself.

“Roger that,” Raja said, then disappeared down the stairs. I shuffled into my room, rubbing sleep from my eyes and reaching for the light switch. When the dull fluorescent bulb cast its glow around my room, I couldn’t quite process what I was seeing.

An envelope with my name scrawled across the front sat in the center of my bed, and I made my way over to it in what felt like slow motion. I reached for the envelope with unsteady hands, breath held in my chest.

I slid my index finger under the flap, revealing a note on ivory cardstock and a dozen glossy photos. Of me. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering to the pictures until I knew what any of this meant, so I steadied myself as I read.

Lucy,

I will never be able to apologize enough for making you feel like I didn’t see you. I want you to know my greatest privilege was, in fact, getting to see you, especially in these stolen moments. In the fairy lights around the holidays, at work in your studio, making magic, the way you laugh, eyes closed, curls down your back. I saw you, Lucy. And it would be an honor to keep seeing you.

Hen x

I let the note flutter to the bed, bringing a hand to my lips. The words alone were overwhelming, and when I turned my attention to the photos, I ran the risk of unraveling entirely. Each was matted in white like framed stock photos in the shops, and they were stacked in a way that told the story of our time together.

I picked them up one by one, studying them as I went. It was only then that I connected nearly every Warehouse Weekend with the steady click of his camera, like a distant metronome. Had I heard it, had we both let it keep steady time, maybe we wouldn’t have been in this mess at all.

There were photos from the Jack the Ripper tour, my fingertips pressed up against old windows, my head on Raja’s shoulder as we shared a flask and huddled together for warmth. There were photos from the Christmas party, Liv and I on the dance floor, my hair masking my eyes, my body a blur under the twinkling lights. In my studio, where I was hardly more than a silhouette, backlit by the moon, the shadow of a bouquet in my hand. The axe-throwing anti–Valentine’s Day weekend, my knuckles white against the wooden handle and our smiling roommates in the background.

There were even photos from the market search back in April, ones of my face as I studied cheeses and chatted with vendors. My cheeks were glowing from the warm spring weather, and my eyes were almost golden in the sun.

And there were ones from Ireland. My profile as I watched Finn play the piano, Raja and me with our arms around each other in the center of town, beaming against the sharp Irish wind. My hair splayed across Henry’s pillow, my irises buried under my lashes, looking up at him.

---