Untangling my life from his now that we’ve only got a few weeks left feels harsh, but it’s necessary.

I saw his life in a new light this weekend. Seeing him with his ex-fiancée, even after everything he said to me about her, opened my mind to so many possibilities for how his life could have been. I believe him—she left, and he would never go back to her because of the way she abandoned him—but maybe that’s the direction his life was supposed to go. Maybe they were meant to be together.

And I’m just… in the way.

We were only ever supposed to be a summer fling. Did we let things go too far? We’re so much more than hot sex now. I care for him deeply. I know he cares about me. But there’s a time limit to this—to us—and there always has been. There are so many forces outside our control reinforcing the idea that we are not meant to be.

We’re on different life paths that just happened to spark together this summer, but our paths won’t ever cross again. We were a once-in-a-lifetime cosmic collision. A spontaneous supernova that exploded and shined so damn bright when things were good. But now we’re careening toward the inevitability of the end.

Maybe NYC was always supposed to be it for us—our final hoorah. I’ll be heading back to California in less than three weeks anyway.

Maybe it’s better if we let that trip be the capstone of our summer fling. The next few weeks might not feel so damn heavy if I end things now. We could go our separate ways. We’d think of each other fondly. This summer is already positioned to live rent-free in my mind for the rest of my life. Maybe there’s something to calling it off while we’re at our peak.

My phone rings in the house for the third or fourth time, so I paddle my float to the edge of the pool and call it a day. The sun’s low enough now that it’s probably dinnertime anyway. I might as well shower and order food, then put myself to bed early again.

I make my way through the sunroom and into the house, locking up and setting the alarm system as I go. Andrew Adley hasn’t tried to pull anything since Dempsey beat him in the back parking lot over a month ago, but it still makes me feel better to have the alarms in place.

I yawn at least three times as I make my way through the lower level of the house. I’m not really hungry, but I know I need to eat. I decide Mediterranean sounds good, and will reheat well tomorrow, too, so I find my phone on the kitchen island and pick it up to place my order.