With Me Portable - Tabitha Stay

“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.”

Tabitha, stay with me.

The rain softens. Just a little. Just enough to hear her breathe. tabitha stay with me

I flinch. She’s not wrong.

She doesn’t turn around. She is ten feet away, her back to me, the hood of her yellow raincoat already dark with water. The suitcase in her hand is the small one, the overnight bag she used to pack for her mother’s house every other weekend. It looks wrong in the rain. Too small for a whole life. “Then let me be late,” I say

“If I stay, you have to mean it this time. Every single day. Not just on the rainy ones.” Don’t get in that car

I cover her hands with mine. They are shaking.