“And it doesn’thave tomean anything. Or it can be the start of something, and if that’s the case, you’d have to have a conversation about it. Maybe you have one anyway, just to be on the same page.”
“You’re being very mature about this. I thought for sure you’d tell me to run in the other direction,” I say.
“I kind of want to. I’d punch a hole in his stupid face if he broke your heart again and I don’t really want you to give him that kind of access to you again. And! I believe people are capable of change. Even stupid boys.”
Hazel grew up in a conservative religious household, and when she came out to them, they practically disowned her. She still doesn’t talk to her parents, but her brother has been reaching out. He stopped going to church, and he and Hazel have had a lot of good conversations. He’s apologized, and he’s supposed to visit her and Winnie soon.
Hazel has always held out hope that her family would come around, and although she doesn’t try to reach out, if they did, I know she would open the door to them. Winnie doesn’t think she should be so forgiving given how they cut Hazel off, but Hazel sees the best in people, and she has a tender heart.
That tender heart is also why their house is practically a zoo.
As if on cue, a dog starts to whine. There’s a scratching sound, like one of her dogs is pawing at a door.
“Oh, hey, Abs, I gotta let Oscar out.”
Oscar is a dachshund, named after the hot dog brand. He’s a senior dog and has bladder issues sometimes.
“Go go go. I’ll text you. And I’ll see you in four days!”
Hazel blows me a kiss and hangs up as she’s climbing off the couch.
I had hoped we would talk a little longer so I could tell her about the community college application and decision, but I’m a little relieved we didn’t get to it. I’m still in knots about what to do, and time is ticking. I keep hoping I’ll just wake up one day and know the answer, but it hasn’t happened yet.
As for Miles, I feel clearer than I have in days.
I’m going to let myself want this, and more than that, I’m going to let myself enjoy it.
17
MILES
Whatever young, healthy version of me agreed to go on this lighthouse hike with Abby after dinner last night is not the same man who woke up this morning.
My bad knee was barking when I woke up, and the cloudy sky told me why. It’s going to rain today.
M: You sure you want to hike? Looks like rain.
A: It’s not supposed to hit until like 2:00 or something, we’ll be fine. Worried you’ll melt? Bring a raincoat.
A small part of me hoped she wouldn’t want to go on the excursion so I could rest my knee, but she must be more determined than ever to do her excursion since she missed the sail the other night. But whatever Abby is doing, so am I.
I’m not skipping out on time with her just because my knee feels like it can’t cooperate today. Work is slow the next few days because of the marble guy, so I gave everyone, including myself, a few days off. I don’t want to miss a single second of our time left together, so if she wants me to go on a hike with her, goddamnit, I’m going on a hike with her.
I’m not ready for her to go. I hadn’t realized how dark things had been until her sunshine smile and kindness were lighting upmy days. Thinking about spending evenings by myself again isn’t something I’m looking forward to.
Not to mention the unspoken conversation. What happens touswhen she leaves? Until her migraine the other night, I thought I might be okay if she left and we went back to our separate lives. But now I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep at night not knowing how she’s doing. I tossed and turned throughout last night, wishing I were sleeping next to her again, holding her.
Hopefully, this hike will be the right opportunity for me to talk to her and get on the same page.
I pop a couple of ibuprofen and stuff the bottle in my backpack, because I am going to get through today even if I have to do it completely medicated.
Abby and I walk to the lobby together, her in a maroon workout set that leaves very little mystery as to what’s underneath. I would admire it more, but I have to concentrate hard enough on not limping that I can’t think of much else. Abby doesn’t need to see me struggling before the hike even starts.
No one else shows up for the hike, presumably because of the weather. I don’t mind a little rain on a hike, but summer storms here are unpredictable. I almost say something to Abby, tell her we should reconsider, but there’s an energy about her that has only really emerged since after the magic show the other night, and I don’t want to be the one to burst her bubble.
“You okay?” she asks once we’ve settled in the van. “You seem…you’re quieter than normal.”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
