Page 56 of Don't Go
"Beau, go home. I can't stand here with you any longer tonight. Please."
He looked at me for a long moment.
He nodded, he didn't push, and he didn't argue.
Just turned, and walked out of the alley toward the sidewalk. The car door opened and closed. The engine started. The soundof it was loud in the small alley because the street outside was empty.
I stood in the alley, watched the taillights turn the corner, and went inside.
It had been almost two weeks since I'd heard from Beau Cross.
Two weeks since the alley. Two weeks since the moment he'd said, "I can't promise you that," and I had said, "Then we can't do this." He had walked out and turned the corner with my hands still cold from the wall and my mouth still wet from his.
Two weeks ofnothing.
Under any other circumstances, "I can't promise you I'll not fall in love with you" would have been a sentence a woman could roll her eyes about for a week and read again at three in the morning when nobody was looking and treasure for the rest of her natural life.
But I knew men. Men made promises they couldn't keep. Beau Cross had said, "I can't promise," fluently, sincerely, in the moment, and not when it counted. And besides, I had this conversation with myself on the seventh night of pretending I wasn't waiting for a phone to vibrate.
Beau wasn't meant for me. He'd realize that down the line. There was someone out there for him, richer, prettier, the right woman for the right life, and that woman wasn't me.
Definitelynot me.
Pickles was on my chest, staring into my face, until I rolled over and got up. I had given up on the sleep-in. I had also given up on the version of my morning where I wasn't yelled at by a cat before I had touched the floor.
I got out of bed. I fed Pickles. I got Bonnie ready for school.
She brushed her teeth with the timer. Got dressed without being told. Then came to the table for the half cup of orange juice I let her have, and sat with Walter on her lap. Her hair was already in a ponytail, and her water bottle filled.
She poured the syrup on her pancake. "Mom."
"Yeah, baby?"
"Will we see Beau again?"
The pancake was already on her plate. The syrup was making a lake. I didn't turn from the counter right away.
"I'm not sure, baby. He's been busy."
I turned my head halfway. She had the fork in her hand. But was looking down at Walter. She put the fork down on her plate.
For one second, I thought she was going to ask me what I had done.
She didn't.
"Okay." She picked up the fork again. "Okay."
I walked her to school.
The walk was four blocks. She held my hand the whole way. Didn't let go, even at the corner where she usually let go to wave at her friend Mira. She held it across the street, onto the school steps, and at the door of her classroom.
"Bye, Mom."
"Bye, baby. I love you. Be good. Don't argue with anyone over a straw man."
After dropping her at school, I came back home.
The apartment was empty. Pickles was on the couch, licking himself.
