I come back from the kitchen and find June’s seat empty. Thinking she must be in the bathroom, I sit down and order another drink. People have been coming to the table all night, and now is no exception. I’m forced to smile and talk with a few people, but with every minute that goes by without June returning to the table, a sense of foreboding builds.
Finally getting a break in conversation, I text June to make sure she’s okay. I’m half-expecting a text saying she’s sick, because of how long she’s been in there. Five more minutes pass and still no response.
Enough is enough.
I make my way to the women’s restroom and crack the door open. “June. You okay in here?” It feels uncomfortable calling out in a bathroom like this, but what else am I supposed to do?
“Uh, no one else is in here but me,” says a lady who is definitely not June.
I let the door close, feeling even more concerned now. If June is not in the bathroom, where is she?
As I’m turning a circle in the hallway and scraping my hand through my hair, Noah comes out of the men’s bathroom. “Why are you hovering outside of the ladies’ room?” he asks, smirking in a way I don’t appreciate.
“I thought June was in there.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, she left, like, thirty minutes ago. I assumed there was some sort of emergency with how quick she was moving out the door in those heels.”
“What?” My voice is so stern the walls rattle.
Noah’s head kicks back, and he steps away, accurately interpreting my mood. “Calm down, man. I’m sure she’s fine. Come sit with me and Gazel and have another drink. Maybe I can get her to convince you to take the position at Bask.”
I’m not interested in a drink.
“What did you say to June?” I say, grabbing Noah by the front of his shirt and backing him up against the wall.
“N-nothing!”
“Not buying it. I know you talked to her. Tell me what you said.” I put a little more pressure against his chest.
“It was nothing. I just told her that I thought you were making a mistake by passing up the job. Because you are!”
I shove Noah while releasing his shirt and stepping away. I start to walk away but then turn back and point. “Did you imply that she was getting in the way of me taking the job?”
His eyes widen, and his Adam’s apple bobs over the top of his dress shirt, telling me everything I need to know.
What I want to do is ram Noah into the wall and make him physically pay for meddling in my life, but June is more important than vengeance right now, so instead, I make my way to the front door at a clip that is sure to garner some whispers.
Before I leave, the hostess stops me. “Sir,” she says, sounding awkward. I turn around. “You’re Mr. Ryan Henderson, right?” I nod, and a new dread fills my chest. “Here. The lady you were with left this for you. She asked me to make sure you got it when you were ready to leave.”
I take the note and nod with a polite smile to put her at ease, because it’s not her fault that I’m dateless right now. Once I’m outside and away from prying eyes, I open the letter.
I’m sorry, Ryan. I had to go. You can’t give up your dreams for me. I won’t let you. By the time you read this, I’ll probably already be at the airport.
Please don’t follow me. It’s easier if we just cut things off like this.
You deserve more.
- June
I crumple the paper and jog to my truck. After checking on my phone for flights out of Chicago to Charleston, I learn that the last one takes off in half an hour. There’s no way I’ll make that in time, but I’ve got to try.
The whole drive to the airport, my anger simmers—torn between hurt and disappointment. I thought we had a good thing going. I thought June and I were finally on the same page and she trusted me. It’s disheartening that one conversation with Noah shook her so fully. But then again, maybe it’s my fault. I didn’t expound on my decision enough. Tell her my plans. Tell her that I’ve been unhappy for a long time, even before she made it clear for me what my next step in life should be.
I don’t know. These thoughts all race through my head during the drive that feels like a lifetime. When I finally put my truck in park at the airport, I jump out and sprint toward the main entrance. I could probably just wait until June makes it back to Charleston and talk with her over the phone, but I don’t want to. I’m scared to let too much time pass between us.
My dress shoes are clicking over the sidewalk as I’m running toward the entrance, and all I can think of is how much I look like a bad romantic cliché of a groom chasing after his bride who split before the ceremony. I’m not the only one thinking it. Everyone I pass gives me some major side-eye and pitying glances. I should have left my suit jacket in the truck.
I make it to the main sliding doors of the airport and freeze.
Walking out of the airport, holding her heels in one hand and black clutch in the other, is June. She looks up and spots me frozen fifteen feet away from her and smiles tentatively. Her breath clouds in front of her face before she bends down to slip her heels back on. She stands up, and emeralds stare back at me.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths.