The Last Time He Looks at Me

It’s a Friday afternoon. I look down at my phone after I finish parking the car in his driveway, making sure the date is correct. June 6th, 2024. The last day I’m going to be at James’ house. 

I take my time walking through the first floor of his house once I let myself in. I know James is here, waiting for me upstairs in his bedroom, but I need to take my time right now. With each step I take, I feel as if the floor will fall through. I fidget with my hands as I examine each wall and room, catching small details that I’ve never caught before. 

I take comfort in how his house is in a secluded part of town. This is where I always wanted to live. In my nineteen years of living in Redbrook, I always felt as if I was meant to live in these grand houses with modern-style kitchens and big backyards with pools and big swings that hang from trees. The perfect reading spot. That’s what I think whenever I look out the big window that faces James’ backyard in his living room. 

Walking past his bookshelf always gives me comfort. I take a few minutes to look through it once more. I notice that a few books that I’ve recommended to him have been added to the collection. Maurice and The Joy Luck Club. I don’t even love those books that much. 

When I get to the staircase, I don’t want to move past the first step. I’ve never walked up these steps by myself. It’s always been me behind James, my left hand in his. Every week on Tuesdays after film club, always lying about not having a ride home when it was me getting into his car and coming to his house. Sometimes on Fridays and the weekends, but I needed to work. I still do. I called in sick today, and Fridays are the days where I work longer hours. 

I blink when I take my second step, and I’m transported. I’m back in the town bookstore in September, standing in front of the new nonfiction collection, and James accidentally bumps into me from behind.

“I’m so sorry,” he said in a rushed voice.

I fixed myself quickly. “It’s okay.” 

“I think you’re in my calculus class, right?”

“Yeah. You’re James?” 

“Yep. Sorry, I forgot your name,” James chuckled quietly at himself. 

“Don’t worry. It’s only the first week. I’m Olivia.” 

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” 

There was something in his tone that made it seem like he was being overly-friendly on purpose. I couldn’t help but match him.

“Nice to meet you too, James,” I said.

He smiled at me. “Do you have any good recommendations for me?” 

“Well, what do you like to read?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

I considered his words. I wish I had a recommendation for him. I tried thinking back to what got me into reading, but I cringed at the middle school fantasies that I knew I wouldn’t re-read again.

“I think you should ask Francine at the counter. She should have something for you,” I ended up saying. 

James gave a fake pout. “What a shame. I guess I’ll see you on Monday?”

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”

He laughed at my repetition as he walked over to Francine. I blushed, overthinking about our conversation and how I acted and what I said. I was blushing on the walk home. I was so embarrassed for myself, and all I could think about was Monday. 

It was strange how I only met James in my last year of high school. Our last year of high school. I have known of him ever since elementary school, but not once did our paths cross. He hung out with a crowd that I didn’t pay attention to. I guess I can say the same thing about my own friend group. 

I blink again, and I’m back in the house. The navy-carpeted staircase sits in front of me, and I’m not sure how much time has passed. It’s golden hour from the way the sun shines through the small window that’s on top of the front door across from the stairs. 

I take another step, and I’m transported somewhere else. I remember what happened in the girls bathroom. James was in front of me. His hands were on either side of my head, trapping me there.

I wasn’t afraid though. Anybody else I would’ve been, but it was like I was waiting for this moment to happen.

“Don’t you think it’s better if nobody knows?” He asked.

“Yes,” I answered quietly. I had thought about it for a few days at that point. We exchanged numbers after class that Monday. 

He was self conscious around his friends, and I was self conscious around mine. It made sense to answer his question that way. 

“I’m glad you agree,” he said before kissing me. I clutched the sleeves of his white button up shirt, forgetting where I was and where I needed to be. 

James has a strange way of grounding me. Whether it’s by kissing me, holding my hand, or even just by looking at me. We haven’t even been together for a full year and he already knows how to make me forget about all of my problems for a moment or two. 

I blink again, and this time I know I have to make it past the steps. I move quickly, taking a left once I reach the top so I can have a look around upstairs. I breathe slowly, taking everything in as much as I possibly can. The only room up here that I’ve been in is James’ bedroom. A sense of guilt washes over me when I open the door to what I learn is his parents’ bedroom. It’s perfectly put together, and I don’t even allow myself to go inside. I stand at the doorway for a few moments before I finally head over to James’ room. 

His door is closed. I stand in front of it, forcing tears back as I hesitate to open the door. My hands are shaking. We agreed on this moment. I knew this was going to happen eventually. No changing minds here. No changing hearts. 

When I open the door, I see James sitting at the foot of his unmade bed. He must have taken a nap after school. The digital clock reads five o’clock. He stands up slowly, looking at me with a small smile on his face. He wears a white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. I don’t even know what face I’m making right now, but whatever it is, it makes James smile.

“How was your day?” He asks softly, running a hand through my long brunette hair. I decided to finally grow it out this year. So much has changed since September. 

“I think we should just get to the point,” I mumble. I look at his chest, avoiding eye contact.

“Listen, Olivia.” There’s a hint of demand in his voice. I look up at James. “We agreed on this for a reason. It’s for the better, right?”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s for the better.” 

Next year we won’t be a ten minute drive away from each other. We wouldn’t be able to see or touch or do anything else with each other. Nothing at all. 

James nods. “I’ll be in Washington.”

“And I’ll be in Massachusetts,” I nod as if I’m confirming this piece of well-known information. We won’t be across town. We’ll be across the country. Leaving Connecticut won’t be easy for him, and the thought of him being overwhelmed about the move hurts. 

He pulls me in a tight embrace, and I hug him back. A large part of me doesn’t want to let go, and just by this hug I can tell he doesn’t want to let go either. There’s a brief moment of silence, and I decide to break it. 

“Can't I just kiss you one more time?” I whisper. 

“Olivia,” James sighs. He sounds resigned. 

“I know you want it too.”

He leans back, looks at me for a long moment before softly kissing me. I kiss back, not engaging too much, because that will lead to more regret. More than I already need right now. After a minute or two or three I pull away.

“Thanks,” I say.

James shakes his head with a laugh. “Don’t thank me for that.” 

It’s only getting darker in his room as time passes. There’s a part of me I still can’t hold back, which leads me to saying, “you know you’re the only one I want.” 

He looks at me longingly. I swear I see tears in his eyes  “You have to find someone else to want,” he whispers back. 

Something snaps in me. If James is able to push me away like this, then I should be able to do the same. I should be able to say something similar, but I can’t. Nothing is entering my mind. 

“Fine,” I grumble, looking at the floor. “You’re right.” 

“I don’t want to be,” he quietly sobs. 

“I know,” I take a step back. I’m not touching him anymore, and I immediately regret stepping away so quickly. “I’ll be in Massachusetts.”

“I’ll be in Washington.”

I can’t bring myself to say goodbye, and neither can he. I feel as if I want to pack all of his belongings, like I was staying in this house the past nine months. All I’ll be leaving behind is my ghost, and there’s a small part of me that takes pride in that.

I turn around and exit the room. There is nothing slow about my exit. I run fast down the stairs, not allowing myself to look at anything. I make sure to not slip on the carpet on the stairs, moving faster than I ever have before. 

I jam my car keys into ignition, making sure to never look back.