Page 67 of Chasing Clouds

She stays quiet but gives me a small smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“We’ll figure this out, together.” I nod, willing her to agree, but she folds herself into me, hugging me tight.

Right this moment, I’m ready to throw in the towel and say let’s do this, but I know I can be impulsive and we’re both caught up in this whirlwind of emotions. For once, I know I need to slow down and take a step back. I can’t just think of myself here, which is why I’m certain we can’t make any decisions today. We’ve just spent five weeks together, essentially isolated from everyone, and I need some time to think about this, to be sure, for both of us.

“I’m going to miss you,” she mumbles against the skin on my neck.

“I’m going to miss you, too.” I’m still in her; we haven’t moved, my arms are wrapped around her, and my eyes slip shut.

How do people survive these emotions? I don’t understand. I feel raw, vulnerable, exposed, and then to top it off, she slays me as she whispers, “My favorite thing we did was everything, because I got to be with you.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you let him go,” Clare says from the entrance to my workshop. I was wondering when she was going to show up. I thought it would be yesterday, but she’s waited two whole days.

I put down my paintbrush and turn to her. She’s wearing a long light pink dress. It’s loose and has spaghetti straps, showing off her perfect, flawless skin. Her hair is long and wavy, floating down her back, and my insides clench at the sight of her. She’s so beautiful. She’s also glaring at me.

Two mornings ago, I knew when I woke up he would be gone, and he was. I slid my hand across the sheets wondering if they would still be a little warm, but nope, they were cool and smooth like they had been unoccupied for quite a while. What I did find, though, was another paper airplane. He sure knows a bunch of different patterns for planes. Instead of picking it up, I decided to leave there, on his pillow, his side of the bed, his plane. I know it’s dumb, and it’s just a piece of paper, but it makes me feel closer to him.

“How do you know he’s not here?”

She cocks her arm on her hip and frowns. “Because he’s not.”

Letting out a sigh, I take my brushes over to the sink and begin to rinse them out. As usual, there’s no hey or nice to see you; it’s just straight into arguing. That’s one of her go-to moves: judge, argue, or evade. She hasn’t had an actual heartfelt conversation with me in years, and I don’t consider the five-minute you’re making the biggest mistake of life speech before my wedding one either.

“What did you want me to do, tie him down?” Maybe I should have tied him down; the thought of him still being here and up in the house has me smiling. Then my thoughts turn in a different direction and my smile widens. Yes, we’ve been creative over the last couple of weeks, but never in a million years could I see Reid restrained. Poor guy couldn’t sit still to save his life. Even his job involves him running, and it’s like it goes down to the core. Plus, he’s a very very involved participant. I feel my cheeks redden at the thought.

“If necessary, yes!” Clare yells, pulling me back to the present.

“Clare, he has a job to get back to, remember?” I move back to the project I was working on and start cleaning up. “I don’t think he even wants to be with me. This was only supposed to be a temporary deal—two months, that’s it, and then we separate.” We might have become friends—even more than friends—but he’s never talked about what would happen after our two months, and even when we returned to Savannah, there were no reassurances or plans made for us to even see each other again. If he wanted to be with me, he would have told me, right?

“Are you kidding me? That’s a lie and you know it.” She paces around the room.

“Do I? He’s been pretty up front from day one that he never wanted to get married, he has zero time for relationships, and this was just a means to an end for me.”

I turn away from her and walk to the little refrigerator sitting in the small makeshift kitchen space. I grab a bottle of water and take a few swigs. I don’t want her to see how the thought of Reid and me ending, just like that, really kind of devastates me.

“Did you tell him you wanted to see him again? Give you guys a real shot?”

“No. It can’t come from me. He knows I like him—that much is blatantly obvious—and he has to be the one to decide if we’re more or not.”

“Why? Why are you again letting someone else make the decision for you?”

Her words are like an arrow. She points her bow, aims, and takes her shot, right at my heart. I feel pierced, like I’m bleeding out on the floor. How can she say that to me? For weeks my backbone has been hardening to where I feel my spine is made of steel. I make my own choices. I determine what happens next in my life, and I’m not bowing down to anyone anymore.

“He didn’t make the decision for me—I made it for him! I feel bad enough that he’s already had to give me so much of his time. I’ve inconvenienced him in so many ways, from his family to his personal life and his professional life. I feel guilty enough, and I am not about to lay myself at his feet and beg him to stay. After all of this, it has to come from him. I deserve that. Don’t you think I deserve a guy who will fight for me because he wants me, not because he needs me in order to advance his career? Well, I do.”

“I still think you’re wrong,” she says in a much softer but still confident tone. “I think if you had asked him, things might have turned out different.”

As much as I want to be wrong, too, I don’t think I am.

Reid did text me when he got home, and I received five more yesterday and three so far today. The messages are pretty basic, surface level. He asks about my day, what furniture I’m working on, if I’ve talked to my family, that kind of stuff. In return, he tells me about Jack’s latest shenanigans and things going on with other teammates, basically giving me a play-by-play of his day. I think it’s sweet of him to reach out, I’m just not sure why he’s doing it. He hasn’t once mentioned missing me.

“And why would you think that? I haven’t talked to you in weeks. You know nothing about us, and quite frankly, I don’t think you know anything about me—not anymore.”

Anger I’ve been trying to suppress bubbles to the surface. What is with people always assuming they know me and what’s best for me? Just like everyone else in my family, Clare has never, not once asked me what I want. Maybe a few weeks ago I would have had a hard time articulating it, but I know now, and with that thought, the anger recedes and I’m left feeling detached from anyone, everyone . . . alone.

Before Reid, I was lonely, even though I was still a part of the family, the social scene, but now, after him, this is a whole new type of empty. I know I should be powering strong through my new wave of freedom and independence, but that doesn’t change how I was shown what a great life looks like with a great partner who lifts you up instead of tearing you down, and then it was snatched away, as if someone’s in the background laughing while saying, Just kidding. It feels like a punishment. Maybe it is.

“Camille,” she says, approaching me. Her eyes are large, and there’s a distant sadness in them that’s unavoidable. I don’t see her as much as I used to, and the older we get, the less often it happens.