Dad and Jordan finalize the consulting project in the dining room.
I bring them coffee. The performance never stops.
Jordan reaches for his cup. Our fingers brush. Electricity shoots up my arm. My body remembers everything his hands have done.
I linger in the doorway. Can't quite make myself leave.
"How's the project going?"
"Good. We're almost done actually." Dad leans back. Satisfied. "Should have everything finalized this week. Then Jordan can finally get back to his own life."
The words land with weight. Jordan leaves and this impossible situation resolves itself through absence.
"Actually," Dad says casually, "why don’t you tell Maya you accepted that position in Providence?"
Providence.
The word echoes in my skull. Providence is where RISD is. Where I'm going in several weeks for orientation. Where I'll spend the next four years.
"Youth outreach coordinator for a community program there." Jordan's voice stays neutral. Professional. "It's good work."
My hands grip the doorframe. White-knuckled.
"That's great, Jordan.” Dad sounds pleased. “When do you start?"
"Early September. About three and a half weeks from now." Jordan shuffles papers. Still not looking at me. "I've already got an apartment lined up. Small place near the university area."
Near the university area.
The implications crash through me. He'll be there. In the same city. Near campus. Available in ways he isn't here. In ways he's never been.
"Well, that sounds wonderful." Dad stands. Shakes Jordan's hand with genuine warmth. "I'm glad we got to reconnect after all these years. You've been good for this family. For Maya especially."
The irony would be funny if it didn't make my chest constrict.
Jordan's eyes finally find mine across the room. Hold. There's something in his expression I can't read. Apology or invitation or goodbye or all three tangled together.
"I should let you two finish." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Dinner in an hour."
I escape before either can respond. Before the weight of Jordan's decision crushes me completely.
Providence. He chose Providence. The city where I'll be. Where we could theoretically see each other without sneaking around. Without my father three rooms away. Without the constant performance.
But Grant's ultimatum still hangs over me. Choose by Sunday or lose everything. And Sunday is two days away. Same day Jordan leaves.
The timing feels deliberate. Cruel. Like the universe forcing my hand.
Hours pass. Dinner comes and goes. Jordan and Dad discuss logistics. Mom talks about church committee business. I push food around my plate and nod at appropriate intervals.
After dinner, I retreat upstairs. Need space. Need air. Need to think without everyone watching.
I'm halfway down the hall when Jordan's voice stops me.
"Maya."
I turn. He's standing at the top of the stairs. Close enough to touch. Far enough for plausible deniability.
"Providence?" The question comes out whisper-quiet.
"It's a good job." His voice stays neutral but his eyes betray him. Raw. Wanting. "Good opportunity."
"That's where I'm going to school."
"I know." He glances toward my parents' room. Toward safety and exposure both. "Maya, I can't—we can't talk about this here."
"When? When exactly are we supposed to talk?"
"I don't know." The admission costs him. "I just know we can't do it here. Not now. Not like this."
"Then when?"
Footsteps on the stairs. Dad's voice calling up. "Jordan? Can you look at these donor numbers one more time?"
"Be right there." Jordan's eyes hold mine for one more heartbeat. Then he turns. Descends. Leaves me standing in the hallway with everything unsaid.
I lock myself in my room. Sink onto the bed. The belt digs into my hip. Reminder of cages visible and invisible both.
A sound near my door makes me look up. Paper sliding under the gap. White against dark wood.
I wait until footsteps retreat. Until I'm certain I'm alone. Then I cross the room and pick it up.
I can't say what you want me to say. But I can be where you need me to be. If you want.
I read it three times. Four. The words don't change. Don't become clearer. Don't resolve into anything concrete.
He can't say he loves me. Still. After everything. The words remain stuck behind whatever wall he's built between want and declaration.
But he can be in Providence. Can be near me. Can exist in the same physical space and let proximity stand in for confession.
It's not enough. Will never be enough. But it's what he's offering.
The question is whether I can accept that. Whether half-measures and careful distance satisfy the hunger he awakened. Whether being near someone who won't claim you is better than being without them entirely.
I fold the note. Slip it into my desk drawer. Try to imagine what September looks like. RISD orientation. New city. Fresh start. And Jordan somewhere in the background. Available but not committed. Present but not promised.
The fantasy dissolves before it fully forms. Because Grant's ultimatum still exists. Because Sunday is still coming. Because choosing Jordan means risking everything even if Jordan won't risk anything back.
I can be where you need me to be.
Not where he wants to be. Not where he's choosing to be. Where I need him. Conditional. Contingent. Based entirely on my want rather than his own.
It's the most and least he's ever offered. Proximity without promise. Presence without claiming. A relationship built on geography rather than commitment.
And I have two days to decide if that's enough. If half of Jordan is better than none. If settling for less than I deserve is worth keeping the door open.
The answer should be obvious. Should be simple. Should be no.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is him. In Providence. Near campus. Existing in my orbit. Available even if he won't be mine.
And I realize with sinking dread that I'm considering it. Considering accepting crumbs when I deserve the whole feast. Considering proximity as a substitute for love.
Because being near him feels better than being without him. Even if the nearness destroys me slowly.
Even if it means settling for wanting that never quite resolves into having.
Even if it means Sunday comes and I choose wrong anyway.