"Was that a really an option for you?" he asked, incredulous. "You say it like you thought it over, like it could have gone either way?"
"No." I saw the discussion getting away from me. It was going as badly as I'd anticipated. "No. I never thought of that. We'll be together, of course, but long distance. Until you finish here. Then you can come live with me, and in the meantime, I'm not putting my dreams on hold for yours."
It was bad. He didn't take it well. In fact, he refused to talk about it for days, simply telling me it wasn't an option.
Gently but firmly, I replied that it wasn't a question either.
It's an awful thing to realize that even the love of your life can't make you complete, not when you're as fucked up as me, but I was resolute. It would be torture to be away from him for such a long time, but there was no doubt in my mind that we would find our way back to each other. I had absolute faith in that.
A month later I was packing my things, a sullen but resigned Dante hovering over me.
Just setting up the move made me feel a little more hopeful. I'd saved all of my waitressing money—every cent because Dante never let me pay for anything, and put it toward first month's rent on a small studio apartment in an area I couldn't have paid for by myself. Dante put down the last month's rent. Yes, he was helping me. That was the only way he'd let me go without a harder fight. That and weekend visitations whenever he could manage to fly out or fly me back. Money had its perks, that was a fact.
He came to visit exactly one week to the day I flew away. He came with Gram's ring in his hand and a proposal on his lips.
Well, it wasn't so much a proposal as him telling me that of course we were getting married.
I put on the ring and didn't so much as consider turning him down. This had been a long time coming. Some promises are made before you ever say the words.
"Your mom is going to lose her mind," I told him later, after our third round of celebrating.
He stiffened, the chest under my cheek going stiff, and I knew I'd struck a nerve. "I won't be telling her. No reason to."
I couldn't blame him but a part of me wanted to tell her myself just to see the look on her face. That part was quickly overruled by any common sense I might have had. Even I knew better than to tangle with his mother.
For a time living apart didn't seem to so much as put the tiniest crack in our foundation. I missed him, of course I did, but I had a purpose now. I started to land small roles my first week, and just kept at it, feeling certain that it was my destiny.
And when he did visit, or I visited him, the reunions were a powerful, heady thing. We were combustible together on a normal day. Add a little deprivation to that and it reached atomic proportions. Addictive stuff, that.
We lasted over a year like that. I can't sugarcoat it. We had our ups and downs. It was as tumultuous as we were volatile. Two insanely jealous people living apart while engaged did not make for a smooth romance. More often than not when he left me or I him, he had scratches on his back from shoulder to ass.
It wasn't that I thought he'd be unfaithful. It was about ownership, marking my territory.
I trusted him almost blindly, but it took a lot less than the thought of actual infidelity to get me hot with temper. Him talking to other girls, being friends with them, popping up in pictures with them on Facebook, studying with them, you name it, I lost my mind.
Needless to say, he was just as out of hand.
If Dante had had his way, we'd have been married the day we were engaged, but I wanted to wait until we were living together for good. Some strange last throwback to hold onto, I guess, something to save special for after the wedding.
On his birthday weekend, roughly a year after the move I'd saved up enough money to buy my own airline ticket and surprise him with a solid three-week visit starting the Friday before his birthday. I had to be crafty to surprise him, so I showed up at his apartment unannounced and let myself in.
I wasn't certain of his everyday schedule. I could guess based on experience, so at six p.m. I figured he'd be home soon, and I simply waited.
And waited. It was midnight when I decided to go out to find him. I was still trying hard not to ruin the surprise. One text inquiring where he was would surely do that.
I started with the closest bar, the rowdy little place I used to work, and there he was.
But whom he was with could not have shocked me more. He was sitting a table, drinking a beer, and sitting across from Tiffany.
I don't know how long I stood there and stared. I was so shocked that I wasn't even angry at first. What could this be? What could it mean?
And as it started to seep in, still, I wasn't angry. I was hurt. And confused.
It didn't take me long to decide to just walk in and confront them.
I wanted to see what he had to say for himself. Needed to.