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Just then, the skies crack open and rain dumps down on us. She gasps again, and I tug her closer, as if hugging her will somehow keep her drier. We both laugh, and I pull her toward my truck. It’s a weird instinct, to not go under the wide porch of the house where all the people who love us are. But I can’t bring her there yet, not until I know for certain, one way or another, which way we’re headed. We run down the pathway to my truck and I open the door. She tumbles inside, and then I go around the other side. We sit inside for a moment, both of us drenched. She looks out the window and starts to laugh.
“Perfectly good house…”
“Sorry,” I wince.
“It’s fine. This feels right for us.” She gives a gentle smile as water drips down her cheek. I reach for it and brush it away with my thumb. She shudders, and I turn the truck on, turning up the heater.
“I should have a towel or something in here,” I say, rummaging around in the back of the cab for something. I find a bag of spare clothes and when I turn back around, she’s staring at something she found in the glove compartment. The map.
“What is this?” she asks, absently unfolding the map, as I place a dry T-shirt on the seat next to her.
The map has been a work in progress, peppered with peach and black dots, with crudely written notes on strips of Rachel’s washi tape. Faye leans in and presses her finger next to two dots on Japan, along the southern tip of Hokkaido.
“The bar-tailed godwit migrates from New Zealand to Alaska every year. And in April,” I explain as she runs her thumb over where I know I’ve written that date, “they can be spotted near Hakodate.” Then she runs her finger along the little note where I know I’ve writtenbar-tailed godwit.
She turns and looks at me. “What is this?”
I take in a fortifying breath and clutch my towel like it’s a lifeline.
“I’m going to film a web series about obscure sports around the world.”
Her face splits into a grin, lighting her eyes.
“Zeke, that’s incredible!” Her voice is genuine, and I feel like I can finally breathe.
“I’m going to be traveling, filming. It’s a web series for now, but there’s an option for a network to take it into syndication.”
“This is…” she sighs, and I see a little shudder pass through her as she fights for the smile that she keeps on her face. “This is so perfect. I’m so proud of you.” Her voice is much softer, and I step closer.
“Since I’m traveling, there’s no reason for me to stay here anymore,” I say, and she frowns.
But she nods, biting her lip as she scoots back.
“That makes sense,” she says, turning her gaze back to the map, as if it will help her make sense of this.
“It doesn’t make sense for me to live here anymore because it’s not my home. Faye,” I say, waiting for her to look at me. “Youare my home.”
Her lower lip drops and her eyes go glassy and wide.
I can’t not touch her. I take her face in my hands, leaning over so we’re eye to eye.
“I’m miserable without you. You have to know how sorry I am. How I never meant to hurt you. It nearly killed me knowing I’d hurt you like that. And I understand now, that you never wanted me to be anything but myself. You’re so fucking smart, Faye, it’s one of the things I love about you, but I was so full of doubt that I didn’t hear what you were really saying. That you wanted me for who I am, not who I might someday be, not for who I used to be. Just me.”
“Of course I do,” she says, gripping my wrists.
“I believe you. I’m sorry I didn’t before. I’m sorry I got it so wrong. I never wanted that. I never wanted time apart. I felt like I was underwater every day, just trudging along, not really living because you weren’t here to make everything make sense.”
“Zeke,” she says, smiling. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst. I should have listened when you told me I was enough for you.”
“Babe, I don’t think that was ever a question. I told your parents I would spend every single day working to be worthy of you, and I’m going to tell you the same thing. This map, it’s just a start. It’s the places we can go together. It’s our lives together. I go where you go. Because this is it for me.”
“You did all this?” she asks, eyebrows lifted in surprise.
But then she turns back to the map and I see the moment it clicks. Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ and I stand back and watch her take it in. Competition Pillow Fights in Sapporo while The Bar-tailed Godwit is in migration. The Woodchat Shrike that leaves Mauritania at the same time the drivers in the Plymouth-Banjul Challenge race across the country. The dates of the Mongol Rally that coincide with the common cuckoo reaching their breeding grounds. The World Series of Birding in Cape May, New Jersey.
“Well, yeah,” I say.
Her fingers continue to ghost over the map, finding their way to where I have a single red dot, marking the Chapman Swifts in Portland. She looks at me, her gaze unreadable, and then, without hesitation, she sets the map down and presses her lips to mine.
