I released her from my hold so quickly that I almost fell backward, and Laura pressed her back firmly against the fence.
“Laura! Is that you?”
She panted, panicked, and whispered, “That’s my dad.”
I nodded in reply, recognizing his voice from prom night.
“Laura!”
She winced. “Ihaveto answer him.”
“Okay.”
Laura cleared her throat and stepped away from the shadows. Reluctantly, I followed.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry. I, um … I know it’s late.”
Her father—wearing an open bathrobe and an undershirt and boxers beneath—squinted at his daughter and me, standing behind her. He nodded knowingly, a scowl tugging at his lips.
“Hi, sir,” I greeted hesitantly, stepping further into the light. “I’m sorry. We—"
“You’re that kid who took her to the prom,” he interjected with a grunt, disapproval in his tone.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, not allowing myself to waver, though I couldn’t blame him in the slightest for being unhappy.
I’d be unhappy too, if I were in his shoes.
“Laura, say good night,” her father said before abandoning the doorway but leaving it open.
She sighed and nodded—to him or herself, I wasn’t sure—then turned to face me.
“When do you leave?”
“Day after tomorrow,” I answered, simultaneously itching to get out of town and wishing so much that I could stay forever.
She faltered in her nod. She sniffled, tried to blink away the tears flooding her eyes, then licked her lips. “A-and when do you come back?”
“Don’t know,” I replied with a shrug, trying not to acknowledge the ache in my chest. “Probably around six months. Give or take.”
Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “Six …months?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice scraping against my dry throat.
“Jesus.” She sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself, turning away in time for a sob to escape her lips. She swallowed, bit her bottom lip, and shook her head. “I-I hate this. You’re always just passing through now.”
“I know.”
She held her arms tighter to her middle as her eyes met mine. “I told you, Max, I won’t be here forever.”
I nodded, my heart splintering. “I know.”
“Iwillfind someone else.”
“I know.” I hoped she would, but, God, I didn’t want her to.
She swatted at a tear as it trickled down her cheek. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered, taking a step toward me, her arms still tightly wound around her middle.
“I know,” I replied.
