Page 30 of Goodbye Again
“Originally from Rhode Island, but my family moved to Illinois when I was in high school,” he says, and I raise my eyebrows to which he asks, “What?”
“People actually live in Rhode Island?” I ask and immediately burst into laughter. “I think of Rhode Island as this fictional place without litter where they film movies and have town parties.”
He draws back with a disbelieving yet humorous smile on his face. “I’m sorry... what?”
“Rhode Island is smaller than King County,” I argue. “It’s just tiny and cute. A little state you could shove in your pocket.”
“Well, I’m glad you think Rhode Islanders are adorable.”
I nod, fixing my eyes back on the stars.
“I lived in East Greenwich,” he adds.
I roll over and prop my head on my hand. “There are parts of Rhode Island? It’s not just one place that holds hands around the town flagpole and sings songs?”
“What in the Grinch who stole Christmas?” he asks, craning his neck to look at me.
I bark out a laugh that hurts my stomach.
“You’re an asshole,” he responds, not missing my sarcasm, and it makes me want to bite his lip and suck it into my mouth. He makes me feel entirely unhinged.
“Washingtonians are mostly assholes. The Seattle Freeze is a real thing.”
“You’re not as rude as you want to be.”
I gasp. “I am too!”
He laughs. “Are you trying to argue that you have bad manners?”
“Oh, whatever. You saw me with my ex. I was so cold.”
“Like ice.”
His teasing makes me laugh, and I realize how silly and unimportant it all is. “No, Steven is just Steven. Always hanging on to the possibility of us.” I shrug. “But I don’t want to play games. I just want it to be over. I don’t have any messy breakups.”
“No?”
I shrug. “Once I’m done, I’m done.”
“That’s cold.”
I smile. “No, it’s not cold because it isn’t out of nowhere. There are a thousand reasons why I decide someone isn’t for me, but once I do decide that, I’m done. I’m not going to spend months crying over what could have been.”
“So you don’t believe in second chances?”
“Not really. I think there can be poor timing for relationships but full second chances... no. Why? Do you?” I ask, turning toward him, the starlight illuminating his face.
The breath he releases is heavy and I’m certain the memory of a woman is attached to it.
He will have just one.
“Yes,” he says simply.
My knuckles brush against his, coaxing him to elaborate.
“I dated someone for a long time, off and on since high school,” he continues.
“Why didn’t it work?” I ask, staring at his profile.
