Page 159 of Just One More Thing
In the way where I stand in the middle of something extraordinary and keep telling myself it’s temporary because temporary feels safer.
Jake looks over at me. “You okay, Mo?”
There are so many answers my mouth would trip over all of them.
I’m terrified.
Relieved.
Not ready for this to be over.
Standing here with the words on the tip of my tongue I should’ve said ten years ago instead of thank you.
“Just tired.”
He watches me for a second. That careful, quiet look like he can see straight through the lie and is kind enough not to embarrass me with it. Then he nods too. “All right,” he says softly. “I guess I’d better go. Will I see you later?”
“I don’t know.”
Something shifts in his expression. Not hurt exactly. Recognition. “You don’t have to run every time something gets close,” he says gently.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
“Of me?”
“Of…” I swallow. “What happens if I’m not temporary.”
Jake steps closer and puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me directly in the eyes.
“You think I don’t know there’s a clock on this?” he asks quietly. “I wake up every day counting how many mornings I’ve got left with you here.”
“I don’t want to make this harder,” I whisper.
“Mo.” His voice stays soft. “It’s already hard.”
Then Jake lifts his pinky.
I stare at it because suddenly I’m seventeen again, sitting beside him on the dock, pretending promises can protect people from anything.
Then I hook mine with his.
“No running,” he says.
I exhale slowly. “No running,” I echo.
We don’t kiss.
We don’t move closer.
We just stand there in the middle of Holey Moley with our pinkies linked like two idiots making childhood treaties against heartbreak.
Jake lets go first, but doesn’t pull away. More like giving me room to decide what I’m going to do with the promise I just made.
“I’ll see you later,” he says softly. Not a question this time.
Then he turns and walks out with Hank waddling behind him.
And I stand there staring after him, understanding something I should’ve understood a long time ago.
