Page 63 of Hate You to Love You

I nod. ‘Thank you. And I’m sorry too, that I shut down when you left. I’ve always been scared,’ I say, my voice trembling, ‘that anyone who really gets to know me would eventually get sick of me. It’s like there’s this voice in the back of my head that keeps reminding me about how easy it was for my high-school friends to abandon me. I’ve never said it out loud because I was always comfortable with my sexuality, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some voice in the back of my head that told me I was hard to love after the way they treated me. If they could do it, I worried that meant others would too. I guess I was afraid of asking you to stay, and you still deciding to leave.’

‘But none of that means I didn’t care about you,’ he says.

I can’t look at him. I can’t. If my eyes meet his, there’s no way of knowing what I’ll say or how I’ll feel. We can’t go back to what we were. You can’t just turn back time.

‘I still believe you’ll get your happy ending.’

‘Sooner or later you realise that real life isn’t like the movies,’ I say bitterly. ‘I just wish it had hit me sooner.’

‘So, you gave up on romantic comedies?’ he asks.

‘It’s more like they gave up on me.’

‘Huh.’ Elliot pauses in apparent disbelief. ‘It’s hard to believe I’m having this conversation with you.’

‘Why?’

‘You were the most romantic person I’d ever met,’ he says. ‘I always loved hearing you describe the world around you. You always made life sound… like it was full of magic.’

‘Ha!’ I moan. ‘It’s fun to believe in magic, until you realise that in real life there are no grand gestures, no airport chases or epic proclamations of love. Life is just meeting people, and, sure, you might fall in love with someone, but then they leave or you need to move on. That’s what the movies lied about.’

The bus rolls to a stop as we pull up in Temple Bar. We’ve come to a rest by the River Liffey. Being honest feels like coming up for fresh air, and suddenly the tears I’ve been holding in for years start to fall down my face. An older couple sitting at the front of the bus put down the cameras and stare at me awkwardly, overhearing my sobs. It feels like my life has slipped out of my hands.

‘Hey,’ Elliot whispers quietly. ‘Look out there.’

He points out from the bus, and I turn and really look at where we are. My eyes trace the cobblestone street in front of us, the brightly coloured buildings. It’s early afternoon, but the pubs and restaurants are already buzzing. Live music plays from each open door, and chatter travels down the alleyways like choir song.

‘We’re here,’ Elliot says calmly. ‘No matter what’s happened before, we’re here.’

I focus my gaze on the view, and despite the tears, I realise I am happy to be here, with Elliot.

‘What’s that line from Sleepless in Seattle again?’ he asks. ‘The one about magic?’

‘Tom Hanks tells the radio host that falling in love feels like magic,’ I reply, wiping the tears that have streamed towards my chin.

‘Right. And what does he say about overcoming his grief again?’

I sniffle. ‘That he’s going to get out of bed in the morning. He’ll breathe in and out all day long. Because after a while, he won’t have to remind himself to get out of bed in the morning, or to breathe in and out. And that eventually he won’t have to think about how he had it great and perfect for a while.’

Elliot nods. ‘Because he embraces the chance for a happy ending.’

‘I haven’t watched that movie in years,’ I tell him, still sniffling.

‘Carlos,’ Elliot begins.

‘Yeah?’

‘You’ll find your magic again. I know you will.’

chapter twenty-eight

Elliot’s words are all I can think about for the rest of our bus tour. I think about them on the entire ride back to the hotel. It’s on my mind so much that I look away from Elliot as much as possible. Although my gaze catches fleeting glimpses of him admiring the view. I’m still thinking about his words by the time we return to our accommodation, and we break apart to our separate rooms for the night. And it hurts. Because this version of Elliot, the kind one, made me feel like I was back in the past. Even though I knew we’d never be able to go back there.

I need a distraction.

So I spend the rest of the evening poring over Claudia’s journal. When I open it up to the Dublin pages, Grafton Street is a major recurring location. There are old receipts, coasters and little entries about different restaurants and bars in the area. And on one of the last Dublin pages, Claudia has scribbled in handwriting: Last place I saw Alastair.

I’m getting closer to discovering what happened, I can feel it.