If I Stay

One

He texted me around lunchtime—see you soon—and I clutched my phone to my chest, chewing on my lip. Andy. Here. In a couple of hours.

We hadn't seen each other since that awkward Christmas party four months ago. We'd bumped into each other in the hallway while I was carrying a plate of crudités out to the living room—because apparently once you've been a waitress for long enough, you can never get it out of your system again. He'd just looked at me for a second, a smile softening his mouth. But all he'd said was: You look different.

He was the one who'd looked different, not me. Not his clothes or his hair or the gauges in his ears or the dark tattoos covering his arms, but his expressions, his eyes, were different.

"Grab a drink, Kaye?"

I looked up from my desk, confused, to see my co-worker, Genevieve, leaning against the half-wall of my cubicle. She grinned at my bewildered expression. "Got time before your friends get here, or no?"

I tried to shake off thoughts of Andy at Christmas. But that just left with me with the thought of Andy here, in Boston. In—Jesus—half an hour. How did that happen? I jumped to my feet, sweeping a hand across my hair. "I should go, sorry. He's on his way."

"I thought you had a whole group of friends coming?"

"I did, but then my friend Alice sprained her ankle. And so...I'm not sure why this is, but now Violet isn't coming, either." Vi did what she wanted; there wasn't really any arguing with her, or even understanding her reasons. "So it's just my friend Andy."

Staying with me, in my apartment, just the two of us. All weekend.

Genevieve raised her eyebrows. "We still on for brunch tomorrow, then? Or will you two want to be alone?"

I ducked my head, blushing. "It's not like that, Gen. We're just friends."

"All I know is you talk about this Andy character a lot. But suit yourself, Care Bear. None of my business." She waved to someone on the other side of the office and walked off before I could correct her. I didn't talk about him that much—it was just impossible to mention home without mentioning him. We'd been friends for years and housemates for two. I'd grown closer to Andy than I was to Alice, or even Vi.

I slung my camera bag over my shoulder and hurried out of the building. The whole time I was on the train, I thought about texting him. Finding out how much time I had before he got here. But I'd been texting him since I'd moved to Boston in September, and he'd hardly ever responded. Once Vi had cancelled on me, I'd been wondering all week if Andy would cancel on me, too.

At Park Street Station, I jogged up the stairs into the Boston Commons and looped around the Public Gardens to my neighborhood. As soon as I reached my block, I saw it. His truck. A bright red splash of country among all the chic black Maseratis and Audis.

Andy.

The door of his truck slammed shut—you had to slam it, or it wouldn't quite close. My throat constricted.

He turned towards me with a slight, hesitant smile. I hadn't forgotten how handsome he was, but after four months, it was like turning on a lamp in the middle of the night, and I had to blink, a few times, adjusting to the sight of his warm brown eyes and olive skin. He was a little taller even than me, which is saying something, and his parka—as red and as country as his truck—hugged his athletic, graceful shoulders.

I closed the last few feet separating us and started to reach for him, as if we were going to hug. But at the last moment, I stopped myself and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my down vest, my heart racing.