“I’m happy for you.” It’s genuine, coming from a good place in my heart. The bad place, the small area called ‘Jealousville’ is rocking itself in the corner holding a voodoo doll with Joanna’s face on it.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he’s quick to ask.
“Uh, kind of. It’s nothing serious. Just someone I met in Dubai. He’s from Ireland and… he’s really nice.”
How many times could the both of us use the word nice?
“Does he make you happy, Zoey?” He’s watching me intently making me self-conscious. What’s he thinking? Oh, to be a fly on the wall of his brain right now.
“He’s the most uncomplicated person I’ve ever met. It’s refreshing.”
“And boring?”
“Hey.” I nudge him with my arm. “It’s nice to date a guy who has no baggage.”
There’s that word again. Nice.
The wind begins to pick up, the sun setting on the horizon. The elderly couple has left, and with the darkness upon us, we should both be heading home. Or to the hotel, in my case.
“It’s late, we should probably head back,” I suggest.
He nods his head in agreement, standing up and extending his hand for me to latch on to. “How long are you here for?”
“I leave tomorrow night.”
I can tell that something’s bothering him. With a frown, his forehead creases, and his smile disappears.
“I have to go to dad’s place tomorrow to get some paperwork.” Clutching the back of his neck, he rubs it nervously. “I don’t want to go—”
“I’ll be there, Drew.” I smile, holding his hand to calm his nerves. “You don’t even have to ask.”
***
Stepping into his dad’s house brings back a lot of memories. I’ve been here numerous times, and suddenly, the sadness of him being gone creeps in. Don’t cry. Be strong for Drew.
The musky scent inside the living room smells just like him, and everywhere you look, there’s something that has a story to tell. The stuffed fox fighting the rattlesnake that sits next to the television, something that always creeped me out. The large photo frame with a picture of him feeding a crocodile back home in Australia.
And then, there’s a picture of Drew. Four years old, sitting on a bike next to his mother. The photo is old—sepia with corners fraying. I haven’t seen this picture before, and upon closer inspection, I look at the face that belonged to his mother. She’s beautiful. Same color hair as Drew and the lips do the same pose, curving to the left slightly when they smile.
“I’ve got the papers.” Drew stops just shy of where I’m standing.
“That’s my mother.”
“I kinda figured that. She’s beautiful, and you’re the spitting image of her.”
My skin begins to tingle, goosebumps appearing up and down my arm. I can’t see him standing behind me, but I feel it. All over. Every inch of me senses the warmth of his body right there. So close that his shallow, uneven breaths warm the tips of my shoulder blades.
And this, right here, is everything I was afraid of.
The sole reason that for the past year, I’d blocked out everything about him. I can’t deny it anymore. I love him. I’ve loved him for such a long time, long before that night.
But is love enough?
Can I honestly give up everything I’ve worked so hard for because I love a guy?
Just because you love someone doesn’t mean it’ll end up with a ‘happily ever after.’
“Stay,” he says, barely above a whisper.