Tabitha Stay With Me Now

“Then let me be late,” I say. “Let me be late and awful and whatever else I’ve been. But don’t leave. Don’t get in that car. Because once you do—” My throat closes up. I swallow. “Once you do, you take everything. The good mornings. The burnt toast. The way you hum when you think no one is listening. You take all of it, and I’ll be standing in this doorway for the rest of my life, saying it to no one.”

“That’s the problem.” She shakes her head, a small, tired movement. “You’re always here now. But ‘now’ is always too late.” tabitha stay with me

This time, she does.

“You don’t get to say that anymore,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but the rain makes everything louder. “You had a thousand mornings to say it. A thousand nights when I was right there, in the bed next to you, and you chose the other room. You chose the TV. You chose the goddamn crossword puzzle.” “Then let me be late,” I say