you just can’t let go of, it’s all about seizing the moments while you have them. Those two people exist, right?”
She shakes her head, but I can see that the gears are turning in her mind. “It’s all made up. Emma and some accountant started this thing…”
“And how did things turn out for Emma? Did she and this other guy end up together?” I wait a few seconds for a response that never comes. We both know the answer to my question, so it doesn’t surprise me when Hope stays quiet. Which is great because now isn’t the time for the two of us to get involved in a long, drawn out dissertation regarding some story about two people who couldn’t get their shit together. Now is the time for me to reach for her hand and pull her aside so she’ll look at me, once and for all.
In one ninja-swift motion out of a Fred Astaire routine, I grab her wrist and wheel her out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, twirling her into the doorway that belongs to an emergency exit for one of the older buildings.
She tries not to laugh at the sudden spontaneity of my motion, frowning and giving me that faux pissed-off glare of hers instead. “Cameron!”
“Hope, shut up for a minute. Just look at me.” She stays quiet, so while I catch my breath, I nudge her chin upward with my hand. “Please. Just look into my eyes.” She complies, and I smile softly. “There, how’s that? Better?”
She hesitates before her shoulders slouch. “I can’t do this.”
“You can do this,” I insist. This is my last fucking card, and I have to play it. It’s now or never. “We need this day. Just the two of us. I’ve made all of these arrangements for today, and I swear, if it’s the last thing I do for you, for the woman I love more than any human should be allowed to love, that’s fine.” I reach out and nudge her chin again, forcing her to stare straight into my eyes. “Hope, please.” I motion at the space between us. “This is the worst kind of love out there.”
I can practically feel her heart pounding, and all I’m holding is her hand. I know this because my chest wants to burst, too.
“Cameron,” she whispers, but I can tell she’s given up. She will call in sick today.
“This love,” I tell her, “is the kind that destroys people. Give me this one day, Hope. This final day. If you give me this, and you still get on that plane next week…”
“I am getting on that plane,” she says, her voice about as convincing as a two-year-old telling you he didn’t shit himself despite the sagging diaper around his waist.
“…then I will give you the freedom you’ve asked for.” I release her hand and place mine over my left breast. “I will stop fighting for you. I will let go. Forever.”
Her pretty hazel eyes dance across my face as she calculates her risks like any good accountant would.
I make one last plea. “Hope, this is our story. Let’s write it together.”
At last, she gives a long sigh and shakes her head at me. “Damn you, Cameron.”
I hand her my phone. “I’ve programmed your boss’s number. Just press SEND and you’re set.”
She slaps my hand away. “You better pull through and give me that freedom once today is over.”
“I promise.” And the promise I make to my heart is that I won’t let go again.
Shaking her head again, she reaches into her bag and retrieves her phone. I watch her scroll through her contact list and find the right number before pressing the phone to the side of her face. “Cameron…” she sighs.
“Should’ve just used my phone. We’ve already wasted a minute, at least.” A minute to those in the crowd could mean a crazy market fluctuation, a late slip, a lost paycheck. A minute waiting for Hope meant more wasted moments, memories that would never happen.
“ Shh! ” she scolds me. And then, “Hiya, Ian? Sorry to do this on a Friday before the long weekend, but I’m really not feeling well.”
} i
She shakes her head, but I can see that the gears are turning in her mind. “It’s all made up. Emma and some accountant started this thing…”
“And how did things turn out for Emma? Did she and this other guy end up together?” I wait a few seconds for a response that never comes. We both know the answer to my question, so it doesn’t surprise me when Hope stays quiet. Which is great because now isn’t the time for the two of us to get involved in a long, drawn out dissertation regarding some story about two people who couldn’t get their shit together. Now is the time for me to reach for her hand and pull her aside so she’ll look at me, once and for all.
In one ninja-swift motion out of a Fred Astaire routine, I grab her wrist and wheel her out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, twirling her into the doorway that belongs to an emergency exit for one of the older buildings.
She tries not to laugh at the sudden spontaneity of my motion, frowning and giving me that faux pissed-off glare of hers instead. “Cameron!”
“Hope, shut up for a minute. Just look at me.” She stays quiet, so while I catch my breath, I nudge her chin upward with my hand. “Please. Just look into my eyes.” She complies, and I smile softly. “There, how’s that? Better?”
She hesitates before her shoulders slouch. “I can’t do this.”
“You can do this,” I insist. This is my last fucking card, and I have to play it. It’s now or never. “We need this day. Just the two of us. I’ve made all of these arrangements for today, and I swear, if it’s the last thing I do for you, for the woman I love more than any human should be allowed to love, that’s fine.” I reach out and nudge her chin again, forcing her to stare straight into my eyes. “Hope, please.” I motion at the space between us. “This is the worst kind of love out there.”
I can practically feel her heart pounding, and all I’m holding is her hand. I know this because my chest wants to burst, too.
“Cameron,” she whispers, but I can tell she’s given up. She will call in sick today.
“This love,” I tell her, “is the kind that destroys people. Give me this one day, Hope. This final day. If you give me this, and you still get on that plane next week…”
“I am getting on that plane,” she says, her voice about as convincing as a two-year-old telling you he didn’t shit himself despite the sagging diaper around his waist.
“…then I will give you the freedom you’ve asked for.” I release her hand and place mine over my left breast. “I will stop fighting for you. I will let go. Forever.”
Her pretty hazel eyes dance across my face as she calculates her risks like any good accountant would.
I make one last plea. “Hope, this is our story. Let’s write it together.”
At last, she gives a long sigh and shakes her head at me. “Damn you, Cameron.”
I hand her my phone. “I’ve programmed your boss’s number. Just press SEND and you’re set.”
She slaps my hand away. “You better pull through and give me that freedom once today is over.”
“I promise.” And the promise I make to my heart is that I won’t let go again.
Shaking her head again, she reaches into her bag and retrieves her phone. I watch her scroll through her contact list and find the right number before pressing the phone to the side of her face. “Cameron…” she sighs.
“Should’ve just used my phone. We’ve already wasted a minute, at least.” A minute to those in the crowd could mean a crazy market fluctuation, a late slip, a lost paycheck. A minute waiting for Hope meant more wasted moments, memories that would never happen.
“ Shh! ” she scolds me. And then, “Hiya, Ian? Sorry to do this on a Friday before the long weekend, but I’m really not feeling well.”
} i
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