It took a minute for everything to come into focus. Jamie was floating above me, holding a huge white paper cup.
“Issit morning?” I asked.
“Yeah, technically,” he said, with more energy than I could have dreamed of mustering. “Get up. There is a couch to sit on.”
I closed my eyes. Bright green spots popped behind my eyelids. “I can’t. Someone’s there.”
“He left.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. Jamie was right. There was no one there anymore. No man in skinny jeans. “Did he leave because of me?” I asked. “Did I scare him off?” And more importantly, had I been snoring? Or drooling? I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand just to make sure. It came away with a final, faded smear of red.
“No,” Jamie said. “He left because I gave him a green tea latte. By the way, I’ve only got one left. We’ll have to share.” He reached down to help me up. Jamie’s hand was warm. And he must have shaken out his hair because it wasn’t pushed off his face anymore. It fell in a rumpled mess of curls around his ears, making him look cozy and tumble-dried.
I collapsed onto the soft maroon cushions. All the bones and muscles in my body ached, and sitting down was miraculous. I was about to say that to Jamie when I realized my hand was still tangled with his. Neither of us had tried to let go.
My heart pounded. I quickly checked my reflection in the window and—yikes. Orange hair escaping from my ponytail, shirt dank and crumpled, and blobs of mascara beneath my eyes. Not to mention the fact that I probably smelled like a sticky floor.
But when my gaze found Jamie’s, none of that mattered. The distant hiss of the coffee machine and the sleepy conversations at surrounding tables faded. All I could see were the lights of the crossing below and Jamie sitting next to me. I wanted to keep touching him. Maybe the exhaustion was finally taking over, but I didn’t care. I imagined touching the spot where the hollow of his neck met the collar of his T-shirt. Tracing the line that led from his jaw to his ear with my fingertips.
“Jamie—” I said.
I’m falling for you.
My watch emitted one quick chirp. I jumped in my seat.
“Everything okay?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “It just does this sometimes. When the hour changes.” I let go of his hand and fumbled with the buttons on the side of my watch. The display blinked. It was four in the morning.
Three days.
I had three days left—and then I was gone. Just like that, all the awful feelings, the ones I’d tried so hard to ignore for the past few hours, came rushing back.
“God,” I whispered. “This is so pointless.”
“What is?” Jamie sounded worried. He put the latte on the ground and inched toward me.
I focused on the crossing below. It reminded me of a living tide, all these people moving over it in waves. The trains hadn’t started yet, but there were some early-morning commuters mixed in with the remains of the night crowd. The same ebb and flow that would go on week after week after week. Without me.
“It’s almost over,” I said. “This night, this week. All of it.”
“It’s not over yet,” he said softly.
I sat forward, agitated. “But it will be. And I keep telling myself to deal with it. I should be able to deal with it, right? I’ve left places before. I’ve left people.”
He shook his head. “It still sucks, though. It always does.”
“And the worst part is there’s nothing I can do about it. I want so badly to stay, but I can’t. And I know this is going to sound dumb, but I keep thinking about—about black holes. About how I’m stuck on this trajectory, being pulled toward something I can’t stop and eventually I’m going to get—” I squeezed my hands into fists; the words caught in my throat.
“Crushed,” Jamie said.
“Yeah.” I slumped back. “Crushed.”
We both watched the crossing for a minute. Jamie had his hands on his knees and was twisting the leather band on his wrist around his index finger. He twisted it and let go, twisted and let go. It was the longest we’d gone without talking all night. But I was still so aware of him. His knee rested against mine. And his hair smelled like rain—like our whole night together.
But the night was almost over.
“In three days, I’ll be gone, and it’ll be like the last four years never happened,” I said. “Every time I feel like I belong somewhere, it goes away.”
“Not always.” He pushed his leg against mine.
I shrugged and rubbed my eyes—they were undoubtedly bright red.
“And at least you know you belong somewhere,” Jamie said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that way.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, pushing the heels of my hands into my forehead. “I shouldn’t have brought all this up. I’m just making us both miserable.”
“No.” His tone was insistent. He turned to me and didn’t try to look away. “What I was going to say is, I never really felt like I belonged anywhere. I always felt like I was half in one place and half somewhere else. Like I was never exactly where I should be. Except—now. Except being here, with you.”
I closed my eyes, and a few tears spilled down my cheeks.
“I think you choose,” he whispered. “I think you choose where you belong, and those places will always be there to remind you of who you are. You just have to choose them.”
I opened my eyes again, and I saw green taxicabs washing over the crossing and a city that burned like a glowworm cave and Jamie’s reflection laid over it all. I reached out for his warm hand at the exact moment he reached for mine. “I think I already have.”
CHAPTER 19
THURSDAY
A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR LATER, the sun was up.
No more insomniacs at the counters next to us. Just businesspeople in snappy outfits, sipping lattes and reading the newspaper. Jamie stretched. His eyes were barely open. He was a puffy, confused kitten.
“Why does it sun?” I asked, rubbing my face.