I press my lips together.
His shoes are now on his feet, and he stands, eyeing me. “Wishful thinking, I guess.” He points at my front door. “I’m gonna leave now.”
I nod. It’s probably for the best. I just ruined every good thing about last night.
Actually, he ruined every good thing about last night. I walked into my living room accepting that I’d never see him again, and he ruined it by assuming I wanted him to stay and cook me breakfast.
He reaches for the front door, but before he opens it, he pauses. When he turns around, he stares at me for a moment, then walks back over to me. He stops about two feet away and tilts his head. “Are you positive you don’t want to see me again? There’s no wiggle room for me to convince you to give this one more shot?”
I sigh. “I’ll be dead in a few years, Jake.”
He takes half a step back, but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Wow.” He brings a hand to his mouth and runs it over his jaw. “You’re really using that one?”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.”
“A fact I’m very aware of,” he says. His jaw is hard, and now he’s mad. See? If he would have just left before I woke up, this would have ended perfectly! Now, when he leaves, we’re both going to be frustrated and full of regret.
I take a step forward. “I’m dying, Jake. Dying. What’s going to come of this? I don’t ever want to get married. I don’t want children. I have no desire for another relationship where I’ll eventually become someone’s burden. Yes, I like you. Yes, last night was incredible. And that’s exactly why you should have left already. Because I have things I want to do, and falling in love and fighting with someone about how I live the last few years of my life is not something that’s ever been on my bucket list. So, thank you for last night. And thank you for attempting to cook me breakfast. But I need you to leave.”
I blow out a frustrated breath and then immediately look at the floor because I hate the look in his eyes right now. Several seconds pass and he doesn’t respond. He stands there and soaks in everything I said. He eventually takes a step back, and then another. I look up and he looks away, turning toward the front door. He opens it and steps outside, but before he closes it, he looks straight at me.
“For the record, Maggie. I was just making you breakfast. I wasn’t proposing.”
He shuts the door, and my house has never felt emptier than it does in this moment.
I hate this. I hate everything I just said to him. I hate how much I wish it wasn’t the truth.
I hate this stupid fucking illness.
And I hate that I said all that and made him leave before he could even finish cooking the damn bacon. I stare at the pan and then walk over to it and throw the entire pan in the trash.
I lean against the bar and can’t help but pout. Is Jake ending a relationship twelve years too late better or worse than me ending a relationship completely and entirely too early? He’s someone I could love. If I had the life to love him in.
I bring my hands up to the back of my head and press my elbows together, bending over. I try to stop myself from being so disappointed. But the fact that I’m disappointed over a guy I met twenty-four hours ago disappoints me even more. I take a few minutes to recover, then force myself upright.
I grab the box of waffles I had intended to have for breakfast from the freezer. Only now, I’m not nearly as excited to eat them.
Sydney swings open my bedroom door. I’m sitting at my desk, finishing up a website for a client, when she goes straight to my bed and falls face-first onto the mattress.
Rough day, I guess.
It’s probably my fault because I stayed another night at her house last night. Maybe I should give her a night to catch up on her sleep. Outside of her job, we’ve been together almost non-stop since Tuesday. I know it’s only Friday, but we get exhausted being together. In the best way.
I’ll make sure tonight is a little more relaxing than the last few nights. We can take the chill out of Netflix and chill and literally just watch TV shows all night. Then I’ll let her sleep in as long as she wants tomorrow. Hell, I’ll probably sleep in with her.
I walk over to the bed and lie down beside her. I brush her hair out of her face, and she opens her eyes and grins at me, despite looking exhausted.
“Bad day?” I ask her.
She shakes her head and rolls over onto her back. She lifts her hands to sign, but whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t know how to sign. “Midterms,” she finally says.