MEMENTO
I finished coloring in the sky, capped the marker, and tossed it onto the coffee table with the rest of the Sharpies. I was glad to have been given the chance to talk some of our stuff out, but now that that was done, we both knew it was time for goodbye.
I stood and held Trip’s jacket out to him. He hauled himself off the futon, took it, and let me lead him to the door, all the while admiring the artwork I had tattooed along his entire cast.
He stopped and said, “Oh hey. I brought you a present.”
Rummaging around in his jacket pocket, he came up with a leaf from my tree.
It was the tree I practically lived in when I was younger, the gazillion-year-old Magnolia that sat on my father’s front lawn. Trip knew that a day never went by without me pulling a leaf off of the darned thing. Living away from home, I wasn’t able to indulge that compulsion on a daily basis any longer, but I still managed to snatch one whenever I was back in town.
I ran my fingertips over the waxy, football-shaped surface and said, “Ha! Guess what?”
Leaning past him toward the coat hook next to the door, I grabbed the leather jacket I’d worn to the engagement party the previous Friday, dug around in the pocket, and came up with a twin leaf. I’d been unable to stop myself from nabbing one when I was at my dad’s the other night. Yeesh. Twenty-six years old, and I was still emotionally attached to a tree. I sandwiched them both together and stuck them to my fridge with a magnet, then met Trip back at the door.
It was good that we got the chance to clear a few things up, say a proper goodbye. And as bad as it sucked, that’s what this was. It was goodbye. Because the next time we saw each other—if at all—we’d be married to other people. The past weeks had been a whirlwind, but I was happy to have had them. Happy to have reconnected with a very dear, old friend.
A friend who, right at that moment, couldn’t seem to find a way to tear his gaze from my lips.
“Well, it was good to see you, Trip. Keep in touch.”
I was going through the motions of walking him out, trying to keep things light. If I truly allowed myself to think about what was really happening, I would have been more of a mess. I had my hand on the doorknob when Trip’s words stopped me in my tracks.
“I’m breaking it off with Jenna.”
I died. No, I mean seriously, I actually died. Heart stopped beating, blood stopped pumping.
“You’re what?”
Okay, fine. I’m exaggerating.
His voice was soft, almost pleading, when he answered, “Yeah. I was all ready to do it last night, had the phone in my hand and everything.”
“You were going to do it over the phone? How old are you?”
“I just didn’t want to wait. I’m done. She has a right to know. That way, she’d have a few more days out there in Milan to get used to the idea before she came home.”
“But you didn’t go through with it?”
“No. It just felt… tacky. But I will. As soon as we’re both back in L.A.”
I was speechless. Trip was, for all intents and purposes, single.
But I was still very much engaged.
“I’m sorry. That must have been a hard decision for you.”
“Not really.” His eyes locked onto mine, the real words he wanted to say stuck somewhere behind the expectant look he was aiming at me. “I just kept thinking about what you’d said to me in the hospital. You’re right. I deserve better.”
“I…” I didn’t know what to say. I felt guilty that my words were the ones that had caused the breakup. But I can’t say I was saddened by the news. The underwear model was all wrong for him; Trip loved too deeply to be stuck in a relationship with someone so self-centered. He deserved nothing less than someone who was going to be good to him, someone that could give him her whole heart. “Well, you do. Deserve better.”
He was looking at me with barely restrained longing in his half-lidded eyes, gratitude written on every feature. I was torn in two; not wanting to care, but feeling my heart go out to him anyway. He swallowed hard and I watched his lips press into a tight line, a muscle twitching in his jaw… his hand lifting up to touch my face...
I jerked back involuntarily, causing Trip to freeze for a second, before slowly raising his hands in a soft gesture of defense, as if I were a stray, rabid dog to be approached cautiously, his pose trying to convey I’m not going to hurt you.
If that were true, then why was my heart in so much pain?
His mouth curled into a sultry grin as he held my gaze, daring me to look away. I knew that look all too well. Things were about to get ugly.
Facing off against that incredible mug of his, my heart started to beat wildly, my breath coming in short bursts. The standoff was brief, Trip and I fixated on one another, stuck in a squaring-off situation like two wrestlers in a ring, sizing up the competition, trying to figure out who was going to attack first. The question was: Did I want to wrestle?