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“I am being serious! Nothing about my life is normal. Why would I want a normal relationship?”
I shake my head. “You deserve to be with someone who can do all the things you do. You deserve someone who can travel the world with you. Someone who can be there for you every day, no matter what city you’re in—”
“What about what Iwant? What about whatyouwant? What about whatyoudeserve? Stop thinking about what you can’t do. Stop thinking about what we can’t be. It’s been six months, and nothing has changed. I’ve met so many people, but I can’t even look at someone else. I can’t even think about thinking about someone else. It’s you, Jack. That’s all there is to it. So our relationship wouldn’t be normal. Who cares?”
“But I can’t give you everything—”
“Who can give anyoneeverything? Why does that mean we should have nothing instead? I hopped on a flight to Ireland at the first excuse I had. I would’ve come sooner. I wanted to. I can come more often.”
“But that’s not fair—”
“Not everything has to be fair. We just need... accommodations.”
“What?”
She sways from side to side in excitement. “Relationship accommodations! That’s what we need!”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone?”
“Clearly noteveryone, since I say it’s a thing. You give what you can give, and I’ll give what I can give. In some places, you’ll be the one giving more, and in others it’ll be me. And I’m not pretending it’ll be easy, because it won’t. But nothing ever is. Every relationship has these sorts of problems. Sure, ours might look a little strange to everyone else, but who cares? If we’re happy together, even if we aren’t always physically together, then what does it matter? And ifyou can travel sometimes, you will. And when you can’t, I’ll come home more often.”
I’m unsure what to say. Everything in me wants to believe she’s right, but the doubt... it’s right there on top, holding me down. Holding me back from saying yes.You can’t be enough for her, it says.You’ll only hold her back, it tells me. And it’s so loud. The doubt is so, so loud.
And what do we do with doubt?imaginary Martina says.
This isn’t an intrusive thought, I tell her. This is different.
It’s not that different, Jack.
Easy for you to say, Martina.
Raine’s words echo in my head.I’ll come home more often.I look up at her. “Home?”
The confidence in her expression slips, and she fumbles for words. “I didn’t... sorry, I didn’t mean to assume this would be home or anything. Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling. I don’t want to stop traveling altogether. But it would be nice to have somewhere to land now and then, for a few weeks or months or whatever.”
What do we do with doubt, Jack?Martina says.
Jesus, Imaginary Martina, you are rather persistent today.
Jack.
Fine.Fine.Acknowledge it. Accept it. Keep going anyway.
I look at Raine, and for a moment my only thought is that word,home. Home home home home.I try to make it fit, but it turns out I don’t have to try at all. The idea is already there. It’s her socks in weird places around the flat. It’s her cuddled up with Sebastian on my yellow couch. It’s her sitting in the strangest ways at the kitchen table. It’s happy tears, and sad tears, and tears for no reason at all.
And music. Everywhere, all the time. In her pockets—a tambourine that shakes every time she moves, the jingle of coins in that ridiculous Ziploc bag she uses as a wallet. It’s in her mouth—humming, and laughing, and singing. So much singing. Quietly, absentmindedly.Singing instead of thinking. Singing instead of talking. Singing instead of shouting. All that music everywhere she goes. All that music she leaves behind. I hear it even when she’s gone.
“Move in with me,” I say. “Make Cobh home. Travel all you want. Come back whenever you want, for as long as you want. But let’s maybe not go six months without seeing each other next time.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, but no sound comes out.
“Raine?”
“Do you mean that?” she says.
