17
GWEN
We kissed a little more, and we talked a lot more.
Some of the girls at the ranch described Sebastian as a man of few words. They probably described me the same way. But Sebastian and I just talked in a language they couldn’t speak. We didn’t like simple conversations. If it wasn’t deep, if it wasn’t about something that was bigger than us, we got bored.
I supposed that was contradictory, given how elusive we both were about the details of our pasts. But it wasn’t that we were shallow about our pains, our traumas. We’d just buried them deep beneath the surfaces of ourselves. The things we discussed tonight were only topsoil, yet deeper and more vulnerable than I had gotten with anyone in ages. I imagined Sebastian could say the same.
It was almost 11 when Lizzie texted Sebastian to ask when he was coming to pick her up. I agreed it was time to get home.
The drive home couldn’t have been more different from the drive earlier, filled with laughter and the comfortability we had found in the last year of friendship. Neither of us knew how tomake that switch from friendship to romance. But we ended the night laughing, teasing one another, and with one more kiss.
Simone, who must’ve been peeking through the blinds, gushed about it. And even though I walked out of that truck with a smile on my face, chest fuzzy and warm with hope and excitement, the moment she wanted to gossip about it, the rest of this week came back.
I’d almost forgotten about David.
It only took a glance at Simone’s face, her swollen eye, her busted lip, for the memories to slam through my mind like a semitruck hitting a wall. The warm, cozy feeling vanished.
I put on my poker face and told Simone about the date. That we sat in his truck, ate subpar Mexican food and talked about our pasts, how we both wound up here. All I left out was the promise I made to keep Sebastian’s secret.
Only for her face to screw up in confusion. “That’s what you call a date?”
It was everything I wanted in a date.
Roses, candlelit dinners, ties and tuxedos—those were a performance. One I’d fallen for before. Troy got me flowers every time he hit me. He took me out to a nice dinner every time we made up.
If I was going to do this again, if I was going to love someone again, I wanted it to be real.
By the end of the conversation, Simone’s conclusion was, “I’m happy if you’re happy.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I was this happy.
This was the first time in years I had been excited for the future.
Excited, then terrified when I remembered what I’d done.
What if Sebastian found out? Would he understand?Couldhe?
What if someone else found the body? What if the cops tied it back to me? What if I had to decide to tell the truth and lose the little bit of a life I’d built since I came to the ranch, or run and start all over?
Sebastian wouldn’t join me. He couldn’t. He had Lizzie, and a business, and a life.
Where would I run to anyway?
How could I get comfortable in all this hope, all this joy, if I could lose it all?
I retired to my room, and Simone got comfy on the couch since we didn’t expect Rhiannon to show tomorrow morning. Sleep didn’t come. Not without the help of a joint.
Just before I dozed off, my phone dinged with a text from Sebastian.
Sebastian; I had a lot of fun tonight. We should do it again.
Gwen;So did I. Just say when.
The next morning, I woke to a text.
Sebastian;What are you doing Sunday? And good morning, by the way. Hope you have a good day.
