“I’m not sure,” he says.
I close my eyes. How could he not know the answer to that question? What kind of excuse is that?
“I want you to have this,” he says.
I open my eyes again. He’s struggling to remove a manuscript from his bag, and now I can see that it’s the reason why it’d been so bulky. The papers take up the entire thing.
My heart breaks. This is why he wanted to meet me tonight.
Against my better judgment, I hold down the bottom of his bag so that he can pull it out. He clutches the manuscript against his chest before presenting it to me with shaking hands. I don’t know if they shake from nervousness or from the weather.
I take it. There’s a new title. Spaces.
“You were right,” he says. “About…a lot of stuff. I’ve been working really hard on it, and I’d love your opinion. On the changes.”
Please don’t make me read this again. “Um, okay.”
He turns hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sure.” The weight of his work grows heavier in my arms. “Uh, when would you like this back?”
“Oh, no. That’s yours. To keep.”
Silence.
“Okay,” I finally say.
He tucks his hands back inside his coat. “Will you call me as soon as you’re done?”
I’m startled. “You want me to read it now?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. You don’t have to. But I’m leaving tomorrow—”
“No, it’s okay. I can read it now.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“All right. So. You have my number.”
This now ranks as the most awkward conversation that we’ve ever had. It’s way worse than anything before we dated.
I nod. “Yep.”
Josh leans in for a hug. He hesitates, just as I’m leaning in. So he leans in again. The manuscript sits cold and heavy between our bodies. And as he awkwardly pats me on the back, I realize that this is the last time that we will ever touch.
Chapter thirty-two
I set the manuscript down on my bed. I’m exhausted.
I remove my wet shoes, my coat, my leggings.
I wash my face.
I brush my teeth.
The manuscript’s paper eyes bore into the back of my head. I stare at it in the mirror’s reflection above my sink. It seems both tragically dead and frighteningly alive. And I have no choice but to climb into bed with it. I fiddle with a stubborn wave of hair. I poke at the pores on my nose. I take a long time turning on my lamp.