Mike and I pack as many laughs, smiles, and kisses as we can into the forty-five minutes we have before he has to leave. I lament that he has to spend Thanksgiving so far from home, but he assures me that waking up with me in his arms this morning more than made up for it. I make him promise to try to track down some turkey lunch meat in Dublin so that he and the guys can at least have turkey sandwiches, and we make plans for me to try his mom’s green bean casserole next Thanksgiving.
He gives me a nice kiss before he gets in his truck to leave, and then he gets back out of it to pin me against the door and kiss me breathless. I’m a boneless mess when he finally drives down the dark road, through the trees that separate his house from the city. I watch him disappear, touching my fingers to my lips and closing my eyes, smiling in the dark.
Just a few hours ago, nine days seemed insurmountable, and I didn’t feel like I could get through them. Now, I can actually breathe when I think about them. Nine days—it’s not that long. Mike knows I’m waiting for him, and now I know I’m waiting for him too. I’m not waiting to give him up—I’m waiting to launch myself into his arms and pay him back for how flustered he made me against the side of his truck.
In his living room, I sit on his overstuffed couch with my legs pulled under me, and I bite my thumbnail between my teeth. With my decision made, there’s just one big detail to take care of.
Danica.
I’m supposed to meet her at our place in a few hours so we can carpool to her parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was her idea, not mine, and I frown as I think about how nice she’s been recently. It started with her taking me on that shopping trip, and then it became me helping her with her homework; her excitedly asking me about my smoke-and-mirrors boyfriend; us watching TV together on the same couch. When we’ve talked about boys, I’ve pretended that her Mike wasn’t my Mike, and I’ve ignored the guilt that knocked against my stomach with every little lie I’ve had to tell.
I haven’t worried about Mike wanting her back, since he’s made it very clear that will never happen—with me or without me—but that hasn’t stopped Danica from trying. She’s changed her phone number at least three times since he keeps blocking her, and she has all sorts of grand plans for when he comes home from his tour. I’ve listened helplessly as she’s shared them with me—how she plans to bake him his favorite cookies; how she’s going to give him a scrapbook of pictures of them in high school; how she plans to be in the front row of his next show at Mayhem, wearing the lowest cut top I’ve ever seen in my life.
In a way, I feel sorry for her. She lost the best man she ever could have had, and even though she already regrets it, one day she is going to regret it to her core. I don’t think she truly loves Mike—not like I love him—but one day she is going to realize that he loved her, and she’s going to know that it’s her fault she lost him.
He’ll be with me. Maybe we’ll even have our white picket fence by then. And even though I feel bad for the heartache and regret she’ll feel about that, I’m not willing to sacrifice him for her. If he wasn’t with me, he still wouldn’t be with her. She lost him twice, and that’s not my fault. She doesn’t deserve him—she never deserved him. And even though I’m not sure I deserve him either, because he’s a fairy tale prince in a rock star’s body, I’m keeping him.
I tell myself that over and over again as I drive to my apartment in the same clothes I wore to Mike’s house two days ago. Danica will think I spent both nights at Leti’s, and I’ll let her think that until after Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t know how she’s going to react when I tell her that I’m in love with Mike and that we’re in a serious relationship, but I know I don’t want to find out until after we no longer have to be in a closed space together. She deserves a nice, drama-free holiday with our families as much as I do, so I’ll tell her after we get home. And I’ll pack up my things beforehand, just in case she decides to go crazy again. If I have to live at Mike’s, I know he’ll be okay with it. And if I have to drop out of school for a while, I know I’ll be okay with it. I can find a job around here until I find some way to re-enroll—because there has to be a way for me to do it on my own. I have to believe that, and I have to believe I’ll find it. Eventually.
Positive thoughts: I’m confident, I’m powerful, I’m strong . . . I’m also fifteen minutes late since my feet aren’t as brave as the rest of me.
“I was just about to call you,” Danica says when I finally gather the courage to step inside our apartment. She smiles, and I force a smile back.
“Sorry,” I say as I head toward my room. “I just need to change real quick, and then I’m ready to go.”
“Busy night?” she teases as she follows me, and I swallow my nerves.
“Yeah, sorry. I overslept.”
Danica plops down on my bed as I pull clothes from my dresser, and when she makes no attempt to give me any privacy, I take them to the bathroom in the hall.
“Were you at Leti’s?” she asks through the door, and my throat thickens as I slip a fresh top over my head.
I glance in the mirror and release my lip from my teeth. “Yeah.”
“When am I going to get to meet him?”
I hop into a clean skirt and force a brush through my hair. “Uh, soon.”
“You should go on a double date with Mike and me when he gets home,” she says, and I hesitate with my hand on the knob. God, how can I face her? Mike is on my skin. He’s in my body. I should have showered before I left his place, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to erase the memory of his touch so soon.
I take a deep breath, forcing another smile as I finally open the door. “Ready to go.”
Danica grins and follows me to her car. I try to turn on the radio, but she stops me. “Let’s talk,” she says, pushing my hand away from the dash. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, glancing into her mascara-framed eyes.
“I want to talk about Leti some more,” she says, the corners of her mouth turned up.
“Oh . . . what about him?”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time at his place,” Danica notes, and I straighten my skirt.
“Yeah.”
“It’s like you’re practically living there.”
“I guess . . .”
“Seems like things are really serious between you two.”
“Yeah . . .”
“Are you in love with him?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Uh, I . . . um . . .”
Danica pats my knee. “Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. Of course you are.” I search her expression, and she gives me a sad smile. “You two have been inseparable lately.”
My toes curl painfully in my special-occasion flats, matching how uncomfortable I am.