“Thanks, bro. I’ll shoot you a text with the shipping info. For now, I’m only sending clothes and necessities. When I find a place, I’ll have everything else shipped.”
Micah and I talk for a few more minutes, catching up on other things. After we hang up, I go into beast mode. By the end of the day, ninety percen
t of my house is packed into boxes. Lucky for me, I have never been a packrat. By no means am I a minimalist, but over the years I had no desire to fill my house with endless knickknacks. I suppose I always knew I would pack things up.
I call the shipping company and set up a time to have the boxes and my car picked up. After, I set up for the remaining boxes and furniture to be shipped to my mom’s house. When I told her how quick things were progressing with the sale of my house, she offered her unused two-car garage as storage space.
Everything came together with ease. How can I not believe in fate? Everything continues to line up for us to be together again. If it isn’t divinity, I don’t know what it is.
But as I lay awake in bed, I question how I will fix things with Cora. As smooth as things are going, a twinge of doubt lingers in the back of my mind. It taunts me and has uncertainty creeping in my veins.
What if she rejects me? Although the chemistry between us is more than obvious, I hurt her. More than once. Hurt like that doesn’t just vanish. What if she doesn’t forgive me? The possibility lingers in my thoughts and gnaws at my heart. Because as much as I have done to prove my promise to Cora, the possibility of her not letting me back in still stands. Which begs the question…
What if all this is for nothing?
Eleven
Cora
News travels fast in the photography and modeling circuit.
Only two days have passed since I sent over the finalized photos from Gavin’s shoot to the magazine. Riffling through thousands of images of Gavin wasn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but eventually I selected my top three from each look the magazine wanted. Most of the images I sent aren’t my personal favorites—those I kept all for myself—but they are notable and sales-worthy photographs.
As I sip on a cup of hot caffeine, I read the fifth email from a local company seeking my photography skills. And I am in complete awe. Doing this photo shoot with Gavin has already opened multiple doors for me. Some doors I wish would have remained closed. The doors trapping my heart and memories in the dark corners of my mind.
I keep thinking of Gavin’s promise to return to me. His promise to fix past mistakes and explain all the things I didn’t understand. But as each day passes, I wonder if he will follow through with his promises. If the perfume from days’ worth of flower deliveries was any indication, he plans to return. The only thought constantly rolling around in my head is how we move forward.
So much of our lives has changed. Adulthood changes people. But so much of what we once had remains untouched.
At one point in our lives, Gavin and I shared everything with each other. There were no secrets between us—intentional or by accidental omission. With the latest revelation—his supposed fake engagement to her—I wasn’t sure I could give Gavin my trust. I want to believe it is possible for us to get back to where we were years ago. The place where I knew every facet of his life and vice versa.
Because the end of us couldn’t be this—an ugly, painful, heart-wrenching reality.
The way things are now, they are so different from when we were younger. What I thought was pain at age sixteen is nothing compared to this vacant space beneath my breast bone. At least, back then, I experienced sensation where my heart resided in my chest. Now, my heart feels numb and hollow. The organ still beats, still pumps blood through my veins, but it only does so to keep me in existence. There is no life behind the rhythm. No real purpose. Just a machine doing its job.
My phone pings with an incoming text. Reluctantly, I glance at the screen. Although I haven’t responded, Gavin continues to text me updates. Last I heard, he fired his agent and broke off his friendship and fake engagement with her. That text brought an actual smile to my face. But we still have a long way to go.
Shelly: You, me, Jonas. Bar. Tonight.
Shelly has always known how to make me smile and laugh. Her simple text does exactly that. Her message short, sweet, and to the point.
As much as I want to be a hermit and hide in my shell of a house, Shelly has the right remedy. A night out with my friends is exactly what I need to boost my mood. To sit amongst the crowd, sip on a beer and listen to people belt out karaoke. The solution to every bad day in history is awkward karaoke.
Cora: Sounds good. What time?
Shelly: Six. We need to grab a good table before the crowd arrives.
Cora: See you at six.
I read through the emails again and decide to accept two of the offers. Respectfully declining the others, I tell them to reach out in the future and check my availability. The two I accept are in the Bay Area. One is for the city of St. Petersburg, who has requested for me to do a cityscape with some patrons. The city is looking to update images for tourism since the city has changed so much in the last five years. They want to show off city life and all the wonderful things the area has to offer. The other offer is for boudoir photos of a couple in Tampa. Details are vague, but enough for me to be comfortable and accept.
After I respond to the emails, I make the mistake of opening the file on my laptop titled “DO NOT OPEN.” Because, for some reason, I am a glutton for punishment.
For the next hour, I scroll through photo after photo of Gavin. From the photo shoot, and times when he wasn’t paying attention. Frame after frame after frame. Years ago, I had photos of us from high school digitized. Those same images were now parked in this folder. And I cannot force myself to look away.
Click. Click. Click.
Cue the tears. And the burn in my nose. Followed by the clog in my throat.