‘Are you kidding?’ He looked down at her, hoping he’d miss his turn. ‘Yes.’
Eleanor ‘It just makes more sense,’ she said. And then she bit her lip. The only way she was going to get through any of this was by force of will.
The houses were starting to look familiar – big gray and white clapboard houses set far back on their lawns. Eleanor’s whole family had come up here for Easter the year after her dad left.
Her uncle and his wife were atheists, but it was still a really fun trip.
They didn’t have kids of their own – probably by choice, Eleanor thought. Probably because they knew cute kids grow up into ugly, problematic teenagers.
But Uncle Geoff had invited her here.
He wanted her to come, at least for a few months. Maybe she didn’t have to tell him everything right away, maybe he’d just think she was early.
‘Is that it?’ Park asked.
He stopped in front of a gray-blue house with a willow tree in the front yard.
‘Yeah,’
she
said.
She
recognized
the
house.
She
recognized her uncle’s Volvo in the driveway.
Park stepped on the gas.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Just … around the block,’ he said.
Park
He drove around the block. For all the good it did him. Then he parked a few houses down from her uncle’s, so they could see the house from the car. Eleanor couldn’t look away from it.
Eleanor She had to say goodbye to him.
Now. And she didn’t know how.
Park
‘You
remember
my
phone
number right?’
‘867-5309.’
‘Seriously, Eleanor.’
‘Seriously, Park. I’m never going to forget your phone number.’
‘Call me as soon as you can, okay? Tonight. Collect. And give me your uncle’s number. Or, if he doesn’t want you to call, send the number to me in a letter – in one of the many, many letters you’re going to write me.’
‘He might send me home.’
‘No.’ Park let go of the gearshift and took her hand.
‘You’re not going back there. If your uncle sends you home, come to my house. My parents will help us figure it out. My dad already said that they would.’
Eleanor’s head fell forward.
‘He’s not going to send you home,’ Park said. ‘He’s going to help …’ She nodded deliberately at the floor. ‘And he’s going to let you accept frequent, private, long-distance phone calls …’
She was still.
‘Hey,’ Park said, trying to lift up her chin. ‘Eleanor.’
Eleanor Stupid Asian kid.
Stupid, beautiful Asian kid.
Thank God she couldn’t make her mouth work right now, because if she could there’d be no end to the melodramatic garbage she’d say to him.
She was pretty sure she’d thank him for saving her life. Not just yesterday, but, like, practically every day since they’d met. Which made her feel like the dumbest, weakest girl. If you can’t save your own life, is it even worth saving?
There’s no such thing as handsome princes, she
told
herself.
There’s no such thing as happily ever after.
She looked up at Park. Into his golden green eyes.
You saved my life, she tried to tell him. Not forever, not for good. Probably just temporarily.
But you saved my life, and now I’m yours. The me that’s me right now is yours. Always.
Park
‘I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,’ she said.
He smoothed her hair off her face. He’d never seen her so fair.
‘Then don’t.’
‘But I have to go …’
‘So go,’ he said, with his hands on her cheeks. ‘But don’t say goodbye. It’s not goodbye.’
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘That’s so lame.’
‘Seriously? You can’t cut me five minutes of slack?’
‘That’s what people say – “It’s not goodbye” – when they’re too afraid to face what they’re really feeling. I’m not going to see you tomorrow, Park – I don’t know when I’ll see you again. That deserves more than “It’s not goodbye.”’
‘I’m not afraid to face what I’m feeling,’ he said.
‘Not you,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Me.’
‘You,’ he said, putting his arms around her and promising himself that it wouldn’t be the last time, ‘are the bravest person I know.’
She shook her head again, like she was trying to shake off the tears.
‘Just kiss me goodbye,’ she whispered.
Only for today, he thought.
Not ever.
Eleanor You think that holding someone hard will bring them closer. You think that you can hold them so hard that you’ll still feel them, embossed on you, when you pull away.
Every time Eleanor pulled away from Park, she felt the gasping loss of him.
When she finally got out of the truck, it was because she didn’t think she could stand touching and untouching him again. The next time she ripped herself away, she’d lose some skin.
Park started to get out with her, but she stopped him.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Stay.’ She looked up anxiously at her uncle’s house.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ Park said.
She nodded. ‘Right.’
‘Because I love you.’
She laughed. ‘Is that why?’