Date Me Like You Mean It

by Grey, R. S.

  I’m just surprised by the timing of it all.

  “So then you’re leaving the trip?”

  “I mean…I have to, right?”

  His green eyes have never seemed so far away.

  “Absolutely, you have to go. It’s the Times.”

  “The Times,” he repeats.

  “Wow.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you feel?” I ask, aware that my voice doesn’t carry the exact right tone. I’m not masking my emotions enough. My worry is seeping through.

  “Like it’s not real. I mean, it’s not.” He shrugs. “I don’t have a job or anything. Just an interview.”

  He has to say that, but I know the truth. Aiden will get that job. This is his moment, the time and place he’ll look back on in a decade with a rueful shake of his head.

  “And then what?” I prompt, needing to know.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you be a Texas correspondent for them or something?”

  Aiden’s brows crinkle down the middle, and I have my answer. The last shred of hope I was naively hanging on to is crumpled up and thrown out.

  “The position is in New York,” he says lightly.

  I shake my head as if correcting my thoughts. “Of course it is. Duh. Wow, that’s…” I point behind me. “I was just coming in to check what you were up to, so I should probably alert the others—”

  “Yeah, okay.” He glances back down at his laptop. “I still have to figure all this stuff out and try to see if I can get a flight from El Paso or if I should try to drive back to Austin.”

  “Oh! Sure.” I take this as my cue to leave. “Okay, good luck.”

  I appear externally optimistic right up until I close the door of our bungalow behind me. Then, my shoulders sag, my smile drops, and I take in an unsteady breath. It feels like there’s a boulder sitting on my chest, like I couldn’t move from this spot even if I was being chased by a lion. I squint out at the desert landscape, trying to identify how this could possibly be happening. Aiden is interviewing in New York. If he gets the job, he’ll move.

  Just like that, poof. He’ll be gone.

  I feel sick with dread, not quite wanting to believe this could be happening so fast. Sure, Aiden has mentioned working for the Times, but it’s always seemed like a pipe dream, like some ten-year-old in a football jersey talking about starting in the NFL. I never thought he would actually do it.

  This is wrong.

  This isn’t how our lives were supposed to play out.

  Last night was the start of something. We both lost ourselves in the moment, sure, but doesn’t that mean something? Surely there are repressed feelings on his end too? You don’t kiss someone you find repulsive, right? So maybe he likes me? Maybe he wishes we hadn’t been interrupted by Stephanie?

  I’m in a full-on argument with myself now, walking back and forth on the concrete path out in front of our bungalow, contemplating my options in my head, gesturing wildly with my hands as if I’m a lawyer in a courtroom. I could go back to the pool, procure a bottle of vodka, and proceed to drink it down to the very last drop. Or I could go back in, tell Aiden the truth, and beg him to stay.

  Neither sounds especially appealing.

  There’s a reason why I’ve kept my feelings secret for all this time. If I were the type of confident live-and-let-live woman who proclaims her love for all to hear, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. I would have told Aiden I had feelings for him, oh, I don’t know…TWO years ago!

  I can’t do it. No way.

  On the other hand, if I don’t tell him now, what then?

  Oh, right: doom, misery, soul-crushing sadness.

  I can’t let that happen.

  I have to tell him everything. He needs to know!

  Without another thought, I turn toward the door and fling it open again. My heart is racing. My vision is clouding with premature tears. My legs aren’t even controlled by my brain anymore, just two limbs doing their own thing, carrying me back in front of Aiden just as he glances up and smiles.

  “I found a flight from Austin that would put me in New York tomorrow before noon,” he says, setting his laptop on the coffee table then heading off toward the closet.

  What?! Already?!

  “Oh, really?” I sound like I’m unimpressed. “Early morning flights are always tough because it’s like, do you go back to sleep? Do you ask for another coffee? But then what? That much caffeine? Phew. Good luck. You’ll have to ask your seatmate in the aisle to let you out to use the bathroom, and you know they always get annoyed—”

  He laughs. “It’ll be fine.”

  I squint. “Will it, though? I mean, what airline are you flying with?”

  “Delta.”

  “Delta?! Yikes. I mean, at least Southwest gives you peanuts.”

  “I think Delta gives out snacks too.”

  Shit. Do they?

  I hear him yanking clothes off hangers. He’s really leaving. Like right now. If he has an early-morning flight out of Austin, that means he has to drive home today.

  I bite down on my knuckles, fumbling for a plan. When I marched back in here, I thought he’d be sitting right where he was, having the same doubts as me. He’d see my expression, frown, shove his laptop aside, and say, Don’t worry. I know exactly how you feel, and of course I’m not taking the job. I’d never leave you.

  Then we’d kiss for soooo long and gallop off into the sunset on noble steeds.

  CRAP.

  “Aiden!” I call out suddenly.

  He comes back into the room, moving fast as he circles the bed so he can unplug his phone charger from the wall and wrap it up into a clean ball.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

  “About what?” he asks, not bothering to stop and look at me.

  Courage seeps out of me like helium out of a balloon.

  “The…flight.”

  He laughs. “Delta is fine.”

  Then I stand immobile as he carries his phone charger and laptop back into the closet so he can finish packing up.

  I’m not doing this right. I wrongly assumed binge-watching romantic comedies my entire life would have equipped me with better skills for this moment. I’m fresh out of grand gestures. I don’t have giant poster boards and a boombox à la Love Actually. I am not leaning casually against a red Porsche Sixteen Candles style. I don’t even have a microphone handy to croon “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” like Heath Ledger did on those bleachers in 10 Things I Hate About You.

  I look around me, uninspired by the decor in our desert bungalow.

  Here, Aiden, take this succulent as a token of my affection.

  I hear him zip his suitcase, and my heart shreds into tiny pieces. He emerges a moment later with his luggage in tow. He’s flustered, looking around to confirm he has everything he needs.

  “I’m sure I’m forgetting something. Will you just bring it back to the condo when you get—” His gaze finally snaps up to me. “Crap, I wasn’t thinking. How are you going to get back to Austin?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll have Stephanie coordinate it. Remember, there’s that fleet of SUVs out front.”

  He looks relieved.

  “Okay, good. I won’t be in New York for long. I booked a return flight for the day after tomorrow.”

  What does it matter?

  “You’re not mad I’m leaving, are you?” he asks, his dark brows scrunched together in concern.

  I train my face into a neutral mask that shrieks, I couldn’t care less!

  “Pfft. No! Of course not. I mean”—I point toward the door—“yeah, it’ll suck without you here, and…”

  This is it.

  THE moment.

  “And…I really hope you don’t take the job.”

  Those are the words that hang on the tip of my tongue.

  Then fists pound on the door and a drunk Stephanie lets herself in.

  “Where have yo
u two been!? No sneaking off to have sex in the middle of the day.” She wags her finger back and forth as if chastising us. “This is a party!” She hurries over to me so she can grab my arm and start to drag me back out the door, then she pauses when she sees Aiden’s suitcase. “Why do you have that?”

  He frowns and glances down. “Sorry, Stephanie. I have to head back to Austin.”

  “He has a job interview,” I volunteer, preprogrammed to come to his defense. “It’s a last-minute thing he can’t pass up.”

  Not even for me.

  Stephanie karate chops the air like the words I’m saying are boring her. “Boo! No talk about work. Go if you have to!” She whips around to look at me, her eyes wide in panic. “YOU! You aren’t leaving, right? Just because he is?”

  “No, but I’ll need a ride back to Austin in a few days.”

  I grimace because I hate being a nuisance.

  “Of course! You let me worry about that. Bye Aiden! Have fun doing that thing that shall not be named!”

  Then we’re moving, her with a tight grip on me, tugging me along, not giving me the option to stay.

  I glance back to look at Aiden standing with his suitcase by his side in the middle of the room. Last night we were kissing by the pool, and now he’s leaving.

  He looks sad, watching me go, but he doesn’t ask me to stay, and that’s what gnaws at me the most. Sure, I didn’t say anything to him about my feelings, but he didn’t confess anything either.

  And that, sadly, is all the answer I truly need.

  If Aiden loved me the way I love him…if he had any real feelings for me, he wouldn’t be leaving right now.

  I watch from the pool deck as he rolls his suitcase to his Jeep and loads it into the trunk. I stand paralyzed as he circles around to the driver’s side door and tugs it open. I hate that there’s any hope left inside me, some tiny morsel that refuses to give in to reason and common sense. He slides into the Jeep and closes the door behind him. I hold my breath. This could be it, the moment he shakes his head and comes to his senses. Now.

  Then his tires spin and he kicks up dust as he starts down the road. It’s too easy for him to drive away; it’s like he doesn’t even realize he’s pushing my heart through the blades of a shredder.

  Watching him leave, I discover then how fragile love can be. There’s really no way to protect it, no way to preserve it in bubble wrap and keep it safe. One long drive down a dirt road is all it takes to crush the fantasy I’ve held close to my heart for all these years.

  Aiden and I are not meant to be.

  This is not how things were supposed to go for us. I had a loose outline in my head for what our future should have been. We’ve been best friends, slowly working toward the most epic romance ever, right? It was supposed to be a fireworks-in-the-sky sort of fairytale. Jobs shouldn’t factor into that. Real adult life? Um, no thank you! Throw caution to the wind! Quit your job! Go broke!

  But Aiden doesn’t turn around, and my slow-rolling sadness is a cloud casting a shadow on anyone near me. I can’t even muster a half-assed smile for the group. I can, however, consume alcohol. Dante supplies me with drinks and listens as I moan on and on about missing Aiden.

  “Isn’t he just going to be gone for a day or two?” he asks, trying to curb my mood.

  “Yeah and then FOREVER, Dante. Forever.”

  He’s thoroughly confused by my hyperbolic breakdown.

  “Maybe it just feels like forever?” he suggests while frantically looking around as if hoping to find some backup on this one.

  I lean back on the lounger by the pool and toss my arm over my eyes to keep the bright desert sun from blinding me. The weather here is clashing with my mood. I need burning candles and overcast skies. I need blistery snowstorms and darkness. I should be in a hovel somewhere.

  “He’s moving to New York,” I lament. “Just watch.”

  “How do you know that?” Dante asks.

  “Because…I know.”

  Later in the evening, some schmuck sets up a The Newlywed Game activity for Stephanie and Elliot in which they sit in the middle of the living room, back to back, while holding two paddles. One paddle has Stephanie’s face on it, the other has Elliot’s.

  Cadence reads questions from a cue card. “Okay, which one of you is most likely to leave dishes in the sink?”

  Instead of paying attention to which paddle they hold up in reply, I answer the questions in my head as if I were playing with Aiden.

  “Who’s most likely to have a temper?” she asks.

  Me.

  “Who’s more organized?”

  Me.

  “Who has better hair?”

  Aiden.

  “Who snores the loudest?”

  Sadly…me.

  “Who makes the best breakfast?”

  Aiden. His pancakes are perfect.

  The game is too easy for me. I know Aiden better than anyone. I know which of us is more likely to do or say anything, but then Cadence switches to more romantic topics and suddenly I’m punched in the gut by the cold hard truth.

  “Who said ‘I love you’ first?” she asks Stephanie and Elliot.

  No one.

  “Who made the first move?” she continues.

  How much alcohol can I consume without ruining Stephanie’s night?

  “Who is more romantic?”

  I don’t know, okay?!

  I’ll never know.

  Chapter Ten

  Maddie

  The next day is an epic disaster as I try to put on a brave face for Stephanie while checking my phone every few minutes wondering if Aiden will reach out to me. He doesn’t. Not one time all day. I mostly manage to not cry publicly, but there are a few times I excuse myself to go back to the bungalow and wallow in isolation. Now, I’m lying in bed hugging the pillow Aiden used before he left. It smells like his cologne, and I shamelessly inhale like the scent might bring him back to me. With my other hand, I scroll through Facebook, rapid-fire skipping over the wedding and baby announcements that litter my feed. I’m going so fast, I breeze past a picture of Aiden before realizing it and backtracking.

  It’s a little blurry, as if the person who took it wasn’t trying very hard. Even still, it’s easy enough to tell he’s standing in a bar with a group of people. They’re all about his age, some slightly older. They crowd around him and hold up their drinks in salute for the camera. Aiden is smiling from ear to ear. The caption reads:

  Congrats, Aiden! NYT’s newest hire!

  No.

  That can’t be right.

  He’s already accepted the job? Just like that?

  He was only going for an interview. Sure, I assumed he’d get an offer and probably take it, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this fast.

  I read the comments from all his family and friends. Everyone is congratulating him on his huge accomplishment. He hasn’t responded to anyone yet.

  I guess he’s still at the bar.

  I don’t want to cry. I really, really don’t, but well, tears slip out whether you want them to or not.

  I toss my phone onto the bed and hug his pillow tighter before realizing what I’m doing.

  Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I toss the pillow halfway across the room in an effort to distance myself from it.

  Fuck Aiden.

  Fuck him SO MUCH.

  My phone starts to ring. Aiden’s name is illuminated on the screen in my room as if he heard me silently cursing him all the way in New York.

  I don’t want to answer, not in this state, but the rings taunt me, echoing in the quiet room, bouncing off the concrete floors.

  It’s just about to cut off and go to voicemail when I give in and swipe my finger across the screen.

  Noise bombards me from all directions once the call connects: loud chatter, clinking glasses.

  “Maddie?” he shouts. “Can you hear me?”

  I sniffle, trying to dry up the last vestiges of my tears. “Yeah, I can. It’s just a little loud.�
�

  “Sorry, I’m not back at my hotel yet. Some guys from the Times forced me to go out.”

  “Cool,” I say, not making an effort to push the conversation along. It feels good to be a little petty.

  “How’s the desert?”

  “Oh…hot.”

  He laughs, assuming I’m making a joke.

  My passive-aggressive tone must not be evident. That’s probably for the best.

  “New York is good,” he volunteers when I don’t immediately ask him the same question in return. “I had my interview earlier.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It went really well.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, ashamed of the tears collecting in them again. I don’t want to cry on the phone with him. I don’t want him to know how upset I am.

  “Maddie? You still there?”

  I hold the phone away from me and suck in a deep, calming breath. “Yeah, sorry, I think we’ve got a spotty connection.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. The cell service where you are isn’t great. I tried to call you twice today and the calls wouldn’t go through.”

  Did he?

  “That’s great about your interview,” I say, knowing it’d be weird if I didn’t mention it. “So what next?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t accepted the job yet.”

  “Oh? I just saw a picture on Facebook of you and your new friends at a bar. It sounded like you did accept.”

  He groans and then there’s more noise filtering in through the phone, as if he took it away from his ear to check his Facebook feed. A second later, he curses. “I didn’t realize they posted that. Crap, everyone’s already seen it.”

  Yeah, including me.

  “So which is it? Did you accept or not?”

  “It’s not official…”

  His voice drops off.

  Why are we doing this, prolonging the inevitable? It’s miserable being in this constant state of flux. Will he? Won’t he? Are we ever going to end up together?

  Enough.

  “I think you should take it,” I say, sounding definitive. “It’s a great opportunity and you’d regret passing it up.”