“I mean, in general, of course not!”
“But about this.”
Meg didn’t answer for a moment, which was obviously an answer in itself. “This was a bad idea,” she finally said. She looked around for the invisible audience again, hugging herself a little; Colby could see the goose bumps that had sprung up on her pale, bare arms. “God, what am I even doing here?” she asked, more quietly this time. “I’m just—I’m eight hours from my house, and nobody even—” She broke off. “This was a bad idea.”
Her voice cracked on the last syllable; she didn’t cry, though it looked like possibly she was thinking about it. For a second, Colby almost took a step closer, but that was stupid. She’d said it herself, hadn’t she? This had been a bad idea. “Yeah,” he agreed, jamming his hands into his pockets to keep from doing something idiotic like reaching for her. Never only just one feeling at a time. “Maybe you should go, then.”
Just for a moment, Meg looked at him like he was the most disappointing person she’d ever encountered in her eighteen years on this planet. Then she shrugged. “Yup,” she said. “Maybe I should.”
Eighteen
Meg
It was too late to start the drive home at this point, so Meg pulled up a map on her phone and drove to the closest hotel that was part of a chain she recognized. The parking lot was the quietest place she’d ever been in her life. “Hi,” she said to the clerk inside the empty lobby, clearing her throat and trying to sound as adult as humanly possible. “I’d like a room for tonight?” She hesitated. “Um. And can I pay with cash?”
The clerk gave her a weird look, but in the end all she did was ask for Meg’s ID, then hand her a key and direct her to a room on the third floor. Meg glanced over her shoulder as she speed-walked down the hallway, her backpack slung over both shoulders like she was about to hike the PCT.
God, why hadn’t she told anyone where she was?
Well, she knew why, but—
Ugh.
She couldn’t call her mother. She didn’t want to talk to Emily. The person she really wanted to talk to, infuriatingly, was Colby himself—but her Colby, not the sharp-jawed stranger from tonight, with his hard, hopeless-sounding laugh. It occurred to Meg that even after meeting him in real life—especially after meeting him in real life—she had no idea which one of them was actually real.
It didn’t matter, she told herself, methodically flicking on every single light in the hotel room. It was done now. He was the kind of person who’d be fine tomorrow, who would probably never think about her again.
So. That was that, she guessed.
The room was small and smelled vaguely of cigarettes, though she was pretty sure smoking wasn’t allowed in here. Meg bounced idly on the side of the bed. She was actually proud of the way she’d handled herself with stupid Micah, even if it had pissed Colby off: she’d said exactly what she’d wanted to say in the moment she wanted to say it, and she hadn’t gotten flustered or clammed up because she was afraid to cause a scene. Honestly, she wished she could be that direct with Emily or her mom.
That’s because I’m not impressive enough for you to actually care what I think, she heard Colby say, his voice in her head low and just a little bit hurt.
No, she told herself firmly, ignoring the uneasy part of her that worried maybe he had a point. It was just that some things were too important to let go.
She thought about taking a shower, but there was a hair that definitely did not belong to her stuck to the tile in the bathtub, so in the end she decided against it. Instead, she kicked the duvet cover onto the floor—she thought she remembered something about hotel duvets not getting washed that often—and curled up on the top sheet fully dressed.
Are you okay?
Meg dropped her phone on the mattress, like it had turned to a burning stone in her hand. She turned it over for good measure, facedown so she couldn’t see his message.
Flipped it back over again.
She thought about not texting him back, about turning her phone off and going to sleep and driving straight back to Philly in the morning. Nobody knew about him. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, their relationship didn’t exist. She could snip him right out of her life and literally nobody would know the difference except her, and the very thought of it made her want to burst into tears.
I’m fine, she typed, then deleted it letter by letter. The whole point of Colby was that she didn’t have to lie to him. She wasn’t about to start now just because it turned out he was a dick in real life. I’m safe.
Are you on the road?
She tugged at her lip again, considering. She watched six minutes of an Office rerun on Comedy Central. She tugged at her lip some more.
Meg, come on.
Then, a moment later: Or I mean, don’t text if you’re driving I guess.
Two minutes after that: Can we talk on the phone?
The bubble appeared again, then disappeared. Then appeared one more time: Meg?
Meg sighed. Garden Inn, she typed finally. 324.
He showed up at her door half an hour later holding three different kinds of chips and a banana. “I didn’t know if you ate dinner after you left,” he said, shrugging a little bit helplessly. “Gas station was the only thing open. And then I had to go walk Tris, so the banana is from my house.”
“Thanks,” Meg said, setting the food down on the dresser next to the complimentary eight-ounce bottle of water. She sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Colby nodded. “I’m sorry we fought,” he said, leaning against the wall next to an ugly print of an autumn forest and jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Meg shook her head, gaze flicking up at the popcorn ceiling. “That’s not an apology,” she said.
“No,” Colby agreed evenly. “It’s kind of not, I guess.”
“Then why are you here?” Meg exploded, flinging her arms out. “Like, if you don’t want to apologize to me, then—”
“If I don’t want to apologize?” Colby’s dark eyes flashed. “Why would I apologize when you’re the one—”
“What’s the deal with you and Joanna?”
Colby didn’t answer for a moment, the silence hanging suspended between them. He leaned his head back against the plaster with a quiet thump.
“Seriously,” Meg pressed. She hadn’t let herself think about it until she got here, not really, but as soon as Joanna had gotten out of the car it had felt like the numbingly obvious conclusion. Jesus Christ, she was going to feel so enormously dumb. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“Do you care?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Meg barked a sharp, mean laugh. “You let me drive all the way to Nowheresville, Ohio, and you think I wouldn’t care if—”
“First of all, that’s my fucking hometown you’re talking about, Meg. And second of all, I didn’t tell you to drive to Ohio!”
“Oh my God.” Just like that, Meg was up off the mattress, halfway to the door in two quick steps. “Okay. You know what, Colby? You can just go. Thanks for the chips. This was an adventure.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Colby said, holding his hands up; for the first time since he’d gotten here, the panic was visible on his face. “No. Stop. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Joanna isn’t my girlfriend. She wants to be, maybe. But she isn’t.”