Broken Rules

Chapter Forty Two

Juniper: Thai food or pizza for dinner?

Me: You should definitely do pizza.

Juniper: Good, I was hoping you'd say that.

Me: Wish I was there to eat with you.

Juniper: Me too.

I slide my phone back into my pocket, gripping the bar above my head on the subway as it sways along the tracks. It's been over two weeks since I left Juniper in Seattle, and I miss her even more than I did the day I left.

I didn't want to leave her and I certainly would have stayed if she had asked me. I would have found another job in Seattle. I would have made things work. But she insisted multiple times that I couldn't pass up The New York Times. And I knew she was right. I knew I couldn't pass it up. It was my dream. Everything I've worked for has been for this.

If my love for her were any less, I'd be attempting to convince her right now that she should move, that she could be happy here with me. She has no idea how badly I wish all of this could be enough for her. I wanted her to tell me to stay, or to tell me she wanted to come with me. But, she didn't. I know her world is in Seattle, and I didn't want to be the one pressuring her to move on my account.

I also knew that the next few months were going to be a challenge. Having worked in New York as a journalist before, I knew the likelihood of twelve-hour-plus workdays was great— the researching, conducting interviews, writing articles, all while adjusting to a new job. It's going to be exhausting. It is exhausting.

And the idea of missed calls and unanswered texts, canceled visits —all of it loomed in the back of my mind. I was already going to be stretched thin and the time difference only added to the tension. To have her as mine but not really have her at all, the thought was unbearable.

So I told her, let's give it a few months. Let's settle in, figure things out, and reevaluate our situation in a few months. And even that killed me just to say.

Despite our agreement, I've been texting her daily, and she's been doing the same. What initially began as just one text has now become a constant exchange, filled with messages like:

Juniper: I still have your NYU shirt. Do you want me to send it back?

Me: No, I want you to keep it.

Juniper: Okay, good, because it still smells like you.

Or:

Me: How is the apartment search going?

Juniper: Terrible. How's your first day?

Me: Good so far. I just wish I could see you after I get off.

Juniper: You miss me, Mr. Hansen?

Me: I always will miss you, Jenkins.

Juniper: Me too.