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Ruby shakes her head and finally looks at me. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s different. I just…think…” She sighs and shifts on her feet. “I just think maybe we should pump the brakes a little bit, you know?”
My mouth falls open, shock ricocheting through my body. “No. I don’t know. Where is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from a place of reality, Boyd. We hardly know each other. Is this really something we can make work back in Boston?”
“Well apparently not if you aren’t on board,” I say, feeling incredulous that this is the conversation we’re having on the morning she leaves.
I regret the words as soon as I say them. They’re a heated, off-the-cuff remark in response to what I’m feeling, the first angry thing I’ve said to her, ever.
How am I supposed to respond, though? How am I supposed to feel in this moment when she’s shutting down something beautiful we’ve created because of some twisted narrative she’s created in her own mind?
“I think I should just…go,” she finally says. “It’ll be easier if I leave now instead of dragging things out.”
It feels like someone has wrapped a belt around my chest and cinched it too tight, the pressure caving in on my heart enough to wonder if it’s going to burst.
Or if it already has.
But instead of saying anything else, instead of trying to convince Ruby she’s making a mistake, I follow in her wake, carrying her suitcase as we make our way out to her car.
This is too fast.
It’s all happening too fast.
I woke up less than fifteen minutes ago, feeling in love and happy and like I was floating on a cloud.
Now I’m sending Ruby off to the airport in an entirely different kind of cloud, one that’s gray and storming and filled with strikes of lightning and rolling thunder that is enough to rattle my bones.
“Don’t go,” I say once she’s shut the trunk and stands before me, shuffling back and forth on her feet and looking anywhere but at my face. “I don’t know what happened, Ruby, but we can fix it. Don’t leave like this.”
She bats away a tear and gives me a sad smile before wrapping her arms around my waist and squeezing me tight.
“Thank you for making me feel like I’m not alone,” she whispers. Then she’s pulling away and turning to get into her car.
“Ruby, wait.”
I grab her by the arm and yank her back, crushing my mouth to hers.
It feels desperate, but I don’t have the right words. I don’t know what to say or do to convince her of how I feel. Clearly telling her I love her wasn’t it.
So I pour every ounce of the love and pain I feel into that kiss as I lick into her mouth, trying to prove to her that we are meant for each other, that she’s safe in my arms and this is where she belongs.
Her kiss back is painful, especially when I can feel the streaks of her tears as they hit my lips.
She finally wrenches away from me, gasping and upset, bringing a hand to her mouth and watching me with watery eyes.
“I have to go,” she says, yanking her car door open. “Goodbye, Boyd.”
Her car starts up and backs out of the driveway, and I watch in horror as the love of my life drives away from me with no intention of looking back.
* * *
It’s Briar who finds me later that day, drunk as a skunk and lying on my back in the heat of the sun on our dock.
After Ruby left, I decided it was time to enjoy the bottle of whiskey that has been sitting unopened in dad’s liquor cabinet. Normally, dad, Bishop, and I drink it together on trips home, but I guess I’ve been a little distracted this go-round.
Now, the expensive bottle rests on the dock next to me, half empty.
I can’t remember the last time I got drunk because I was upset. It had to have been in college sometime.
