“So this is it, isn’t it. This is where it’s going to end.”

“Stop. You’re worrying for nothing; nothing’s ending.”

“Yeah it is.” She forced a smile, though her eyes were dark with something deeper. “It’s ok. I know that’s how this friendship goes. It’s good while it lasts and then we don’t talk for forever.” She chuckled, trying to keep the tone light. “I’m used to it by now.”

She turned away from him and stared at the dashboard in front of her. Outside, a gentle rain began to fall, and he shifted in his seat and flipped on the windshield wipers. Soon she was watching them, the steady rhythm that rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth — clearing the tiny drops of water that blurred the world for moments at a time.

“What are you thinking?” His voice was low, gentle, so gentle that she almost didn’t recognize it, and when she turned her head, she almost didn’t recognize him.

She shrugged.

“No, you do know. What are you thinking?”

She hated this about him — the way he pushed her and made her talk when he knew there were words she couldn’t bring herself to say.

“I’m thinking…” She paused and glanced out the front window again. “I’m thinking it’s really late. I should get going.”

She wanted him to stop her. She wanted the night to freeze, wanted this moment with him to go on forever. She wanted to remain in this car, under the parking lot lamp, where it was just him and her and the changing tracks of his radio.

“Ok.”

She nodded. “Ok.”

She gathered her purse and scarf, her hand hesitating on the door handle for a moment. She wanted him to reach out and take hold of her arm, tell her to wait, tell her-

“Thanks for coming to dinner. It was good seeing you.”

She smiled, words bubbling up from somewhere inside of her, words she wanted desperately to say, words that hung on her lips.

“Stay safe, ok?”

His eyes locked on hers as he nodded slowly. She opened the car door and stepped into the chilled air, pulling her car keys from her coat pocket. She heard his car shift into gear behind her, and she stood still for a moment as she heard the tires drive across the gravel, as he drove away from her.

She wished he would turn around and come back. She wished she could have said what she had really been thinking.

But he wouldn’t. She knew him and knew this. He would keep driving, and maybe he would call her on his way across the state line, but then those calls would become few and far between, like their visits, like they’d been for the past few weeks. Soon they would stop completely. And she would call him to share good news or seek out a needed friend, but she would hear his familiar recorded voice, promising a call back as soon as possible. He wouldn’t call.

He would forget her for those long winter months, and she would try to forget him until that one day when the trees began to show evidence of life and the weather turned warm again. His name would light up the screen on her phone, and she would hesitate and then answer.

She shook her head and crossed to her car, the lights from the alarm flashing twice as she unlocked the doors and sank into the front seat. She placed her key in the ignition, the radio clicking on automatically, but she didn’t follow him. She wanted a moment — a moment here in the solitude of the empty parking lot, illuminated by the single lamppost that loomed above her car. She watched as the raindrops fell across the windshield, fewer now, as if the rain cloud had passed, leaving only a gentle fog across the landscape, extending to the farmland that bordered the pavement.

She sighed and switched her car into drive and turned the radio up, turning the wheel towards the exit and pressing lightly on the gas.

She thought it had been different this time. She had let down her guard with him and laughed and cried. She had been the person he called when he needed to vent, needed an ear, needed a friend. He had been the first person she called to share good news; his was the number she reached for when she needed someone to lean on. And he had been there. It had felt different this time, like there was a chance.

A pair of headlights swept through her car as she crossed the parking lot. She slowed and glanced in her review mirror, watching as his car passed, red brake lights filling the night.

Her cell phone rang, his name lighting the screen. She glanced back in the mirror, saw him stepping out of the car, and she put her car in park and picked up the phone.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Why do you think that is?”

“What? I thought you were on your way home?”

“Why do you think that is — that we don’t talk. Why do you think that is?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

He was still there, still in the review mirror. She lowered her hand; a moment later, she was crossing the parking lot towards him, stopping just a few feet away. She had a question in her eyes, but her lips remained closed, unable to form the words, unsure of what to say.

He opened his mouth, paused, then shifted his weight and placed his phone in his back pocket.

“Why did you say that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s true. You and I — we’re locked in this permanent cycle where we get close and then I don’t hear from you for months. I hate that. I don’t get that. I didn’t want that to happen again this time.”

“Neither do I.”

She looked at his car, at the gravel that scattered the ground, at the dark horizon. Anything but him.

“I got attached,” she admitted. “I got attached, and I liked you being there. And that’s going to change again. I’m not ready for it.”

He crossed the space between them and touched her arm; she could feel the weight of his fingertips resting on her coat sleeve. She didn’t move away.

“I’ll be here-”

“No you won’t.“ She knew it as a matter of fact and couldn’t change it, though she wanted to. “You won’t because that’s just who you are. You’ll go away and you’ll forget about me for awhile. I don’t want to be forgotten again. Just — not this time.”

He put his arms around her, pulling her closer against him. She buried her nose against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt as she rested her head on his shoulder. His arms held her tightly, and her fingers tenderly touched the back of his neck. She closed her eyes, her heart sinking.

“So, this is goodbye. Isn’t it?” She hated the way her voice sounded — the hope that resided on the surface. She knew he could hear it, knew he would recognize every other emotion that was flooding through her right now.

“No.” She heard him say quietly, felt the faint shake of his head. “It’s not goodbye. I promise you. This isn’t goodbye.”

He held her tighter to him, and she inhaled slowly, suddenly unafraid of the moment when she’d have to let go.