“You can’t mean that! You have a life here.”
“I can write on the road. I barely get paid at the bar, so it’s not like I’ll miss that.”
I can’t stand it, the abject terror, not of Manny, but of the possibility he keeps dangling between us. He’s giving me hope, the thing that’s hurt me so many times.
My defenses kick in, a last-ditch attempt to protect my heart. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escapes my lips. I pull back, creating a sliver of space between us on the bed.
“You don't know what you're saying,” I say, shaking my head, my voice strained. “This isn’t one of your books! You'll 'chase' me, sweep me off my feet, and we’ll live happily ever after. But it's not that pretty.”
I gesture to the space around us, the tangled up sheets, my messy hair, and the still steaming dish towel in the sink. “It gets messy. My baggage is old, ancient, and it fights back.”
Manny sits up, a fire in his eyes I’ve only seen when I’m on top of him. “There’s just one problem. I'm a writer. Maybe not famous, but I'm going to write the ending I want. And if that ending means chasing you to the end of the earth, then that's what I'll do.”
His face splits into a toothy grin as some thought plays behind his eyes. “Oh, this is going to be one hell of an epic.”
I stare, speechless. That toothy, ridiculously optimistic grin on his face should annoy me. It should feel naïve, unrealistic, foolish. But instead... It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He isn’t afraid of the mess, just like he isn’t afraid of me. He sees my messiness not as a flaw to bemanaged, but as a plot twist, a complication to overcome, a challenge worthy of his art.
The last brittle piece of my armor cracks and falls away. A watery laugh escapes me, a sound that feels like sunrise after a long, dark night. My hands grasp his face as I fall into him, a deep kiss straining our faces, depriving us of air in exchange for something greater. When I pull back to look at him, my eyes are shimmering, my own smile wide, as fierce and unburdened as the one creeping across Manny’s face. The voices are still there, but for the moment, they are finally quiet.
Chapter eleven
On The Road Again
The night was magnificent. Manny and I smoked hookah, ordered pizza, cuddled, and argued about our favorite books until we fell asleep in each other's arms. And then the sun rose, reality came crashing in, and so did the voices. I wanted to believe him, I wanted to believe every word he said last night, but I knew they were just small promises, the ones people make at the start of a relationship before they get to know me, before it all falls apart. So I did the cowardly thing. I snuck out, before he could wake up, before he could convince me to stay again.
“Where’s your boy toy?” V asks, as if she could be any more cruel in her words.
“It…didn’t work out,” I lie.
“He was nice,” Gabby assures me as they load our little luggage into the trunk, ready to leave this tourist trap of a city behind, finally. “Maybe you’ll see him again.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, the tightness in my chest crescendoing as I worry he’s going to appear from around a corner and undo my escape any moment.
“Well, let’s get going. We got a plane to catch,” V says, shutting the trunk lid.
The drive back on I-4 is exactly as miserable as any drive on any interstate, but it’s made all the worse when every sign and landmark makes me wonder if I’m getting that much further away from the life I actually wanted.
“Alright, Gloomy Gus,” V huffs as she kicks the back of my seat. “Out with it. You’ve been sulking for twenty exits. What did this guy do? Do I need to go back there and have second dinner?”
“V, stop it,” Gabby interjects. “If she wants to talk, she’ll tell us.”
“No, it’s okay,” I manage, heat building behind my eyes. “I think it just wouldn’t last. He’s got his life, I got mine.”
“Some life,” V mutters.
“Hey!” Gabby says, elbowing V in the ribs. “She didn’t mean it.”
Somehow, this old, cruel pattern feels good, not in a pleasant way, but in a familiar, nostalgic way. I know its ebbs and flows, I know what to expect. Maybe I won’t get as many highs, but at least I know I can manage the lows.
“I’m just saying, you’re better off without him,” V continues. “Take some time, clear your head, figure things out.”
Gabby goes to say something, but I cut her off. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was rushing into things too fast. Like with Chad. Maybe I’m not cut out for real love.”
I try to hide the single tear that finally looses, scrambling to play something on the radio. I don’t find anything. Instead, the rest of the drive is quiet, an awkward, resigned procession all the way to the Tampa airport. Even when we arrive five hours early for their flight, nothing about the mood feels worth prolonging our goodbyes.
“You’re not a burden, or a bad guy, or any of those things,” Gabby whispers as she pulls me into a tight hug. “We just miss you, is all.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “Maybe I’ll be back sooner than you think.”
