Page 100 of Sad Girl Hours
Plus, my parents might be right. It might be good to have the time to focus on preparing for the meeting and studying, rather than just having fun up here.
God, it has been fun.
There are tears in my eyes as I get up carefully so as not to rouse Nell and start packing my bags.
“Hi,” Nell says, getting back from the bathroom a little later when she’s finally awake. “I’m sorry to be insufferable but I just remembered I wrote you something last night at the party and then forgot to show you when we came back up.” She’s grinning, her cheeks plump and red, and I know she’s remembering what made her ‘forget’.
“You did?” I say, glad she doesn’t notice how quiet my voice is (or my bags packed and ready to go behind me).
“Uh-huh. Here.” She hands me a piece of paper clearly torn from a notebook.
“Paper. Old school.”
“Sometimes thoughts come out prettier on paper and I really wanted this one to be pretty for you.”
It’s New Year’s Eve and it’s you and me.
We’re making promises into the unknown
stretching our hands into tomorrows
like we can touch them
like we can taste them
like the champagne fizzing in the flutes we curl our fingers around
gold swilling down our oesophaguses
plummeting into our stomachs in a heady haze of ‘I’ ll love you through all of whatever’s to come,’ of ‘what are you doing next year? Any plans?’
of ‘Just more of this. If you’re willing.’
We pour another glass.
Happy New Year, my love.
Drink up.
I read the last line and tears immediately start pouring, much more a storm than a shower.
“Saffron?” Nell’s voice is spilling over with concern. “What is it?”
“I have to leave,” I say, my eyes boring into hers in a desperate attempt to make her understand.
“You have to…” Her confusion is worse than if she’d immediately gone, ‘All right then. Safe travels,’ and not given it a second thought. How am I meant to explain this to her?
“My parents are coming to get me. They should be about—” I check the clock. “Ten minutes away now.”
“But…” She takes a step back, and I feel something snap. “Why?”
“It’s a long story,” I say. “If your dads aren’t around, will you tell them I’m so sorry to just leave like this and thank them, really thank them, for their hospitality. Hug the twins from me and tell them I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
I turn round under the pretence of going to grab my bags so I don’t have to look at her while everything feels as though it’s falling apart.
“Just hold on a minute,” Nell says, skirting between my retreating back and her dresser so that she’s facing me again. “You’ve not said why you’re leaving. You were meant to stay this whole time. I thought you didn’t want to be with your parents.”
“I don’t. But they’re still my parents.”
