One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,56

have happened, but I don't.

When we pull into the station in Chicago, Jess leads the way to the Amtrak platforms. “I've done this part before,” he explains. We go find customer service, and miraculously our bags are still being held for us. The clerk seems bemused by my amazement at having my bag back (and Jesus, none of my money stolen), and points out that their policy is to hold claimed baggage for forty-eight hours, and this has been far less than that. To me it feels like it's been so much longer.

We grab some food at Union Station, since we have another few hours before our train leaves at nine-thirty. I am dismayed to discover that it's another twenty hours to New York from Chicago. It's nothing compared to the days I've already spent traveling, but at the moment it seems impossibly long. After we finish eating, Jess and I sit in a Starbucks reading books we found at the newsstand, though I can't concentrate. I debate leaving Jess behind and trying to catch a plane to New York, but even if I paid cash there's no way they'd let me on the plane without showing I. D. Obviously I could just stay here in Chicago, but I have this obscure feeling that despite wanting to get away from Jess, and despite the fact that New York was a completely random choice anyway, I have to get there. New York is all I have left.

My ticket still qualifies me for a roomette, but they're all taken on the next train out. The attendant says that if we waited for tomorrow night's train we could probably secure one. I laugh hysterically, and Jess explains wearily that we'd really rather just get moving. Jess and I find seats in coach—together, naturally—and he shoves his duffle on the shelf overhead. It occurs to me that I have been wearing these same clothes for six days. The first thing I'll do when I get to New York is go shopping. Right after I figure out a place to stay, that is.

I am such an idiot. What the fuck am I going to do when I get to New York? Somehow, that part always seemed like the next step, like the thing I would figure out on the way there, but now the trip is finally ending, and after all this time I don't have a clue what I'm going to do.

Suddenly I'm exhausted, and I pull down my tray and bury my head in my arms. I feel Jess's hand on my shoulder, and for the first time I don't pull away. I'm just too tired. “Bee…” he trails off. There's a long pause, but I don't look up. “I wish you would let me explain,” he says finally.

I snort and raise my head. “I wasn't actually thinking about you at that precise moment,” I say dryly. He frowns, and opens his mouth to ask what was wrong. I wave him off, and look away. “It doesn't matter. I'll be fine.”

“Will you let me explain now, anyway?” Jess asks softly.

I shrug, and continue to look anywhere but at him. Jess gently takes my chin and turns my head to face him. His eyes hold mine, earnest and very serious. “I don't regret anything,” he says firmly. “And to answer your question from this morning, I would love to have you take me out to dinner, even if we went to the scariest-looking restaurant in Chinatown. Isn't it obvious to you by now that I would go anywhere you were going?”

I want so badly to believe him. I bite my lip and feel my eyes starting to water. “Then why—”

“I was trying to get you to think about what you need. And I…I didn't say it very well,” he says ruefully. “I'm sorry. I don't exactly like the thought of never seeing you again, and that's what's going to happen. I was…upset, and I said things all wrong.”

I shake my head and wipe the tears away. “But there's no reason. Why would we never see each other again? I'll figure things out in New York, somehow.” And at that moment, I'm absolutely sure that I will.

Jess opens his mouth to say something else, but then he closes it. He looks out the window for a second, and I crane my neck trying to read his expression. He turns back to look at me and smiles. “You're right,” he says, and pulls me to him.