When the guy from behind the bar hands me my beer, I take a long draw, but it hurts to swallow past the lump in my throat that reared itself at the mere mention of her. Setting the bottle down, I turn and say with irritation, “Yeah? And what if I don’t want her to be?”
He sighs when he responds in a matter-of-fact voice, “It doesn’t seem to be about what you want. She holds the cards on this one because you handed over that power when you fell for her.”
He’s right. I’ve always called the shots with chicks until Candace. It sucks to have someone else dictating your destiny, but with her . . . I wouldn’t have it any other way. If this is what she needs, to be away from me, then I’ll stay away.
“You wanna know what’s gonna make you better? Make you forget?” he asks me.
“What’s that?”
He lifts his arm, beer in hand, and points over the crowd of people as he says, “Take your pick.” When he turns to look at me, he gives a smirk and adds, “Just like old times.”
I might not know what my life is right now, but I do know that it isn’t this. It vanished when I met Candace. She made me see this for what it is. She showed me a different version of myself—a version that I was happy to be. So this? This is nothing but a distraction that I no longer want.
Before taking a sip of his beer, he mutters, “I never understood what you saw in her anyway.”
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing. Just being honest. She was just so different than your normal type. I didn’t get it.”
Tossing a few bucks on the bar, I get up and tell Gavin, “I’m going home.”
“Ryan,” he calls out as I make my way to the door, but there’s nothing here for me. Who am I kidding? No matter where I am, my misery follows, so I might as well be home.
When I was hanging out with Jase the other night, he told me about his plans to go over to Westport for a day trip to get some surfing in. Needing the headspace, I decide to tag along. He met me at my place earlier this morning, and after several hours of driving, we unload my jeep and zip up our wetsuits before heading out into the water.
For the first time in a while, I feel good. If only for a moment, being out here in the water, my head finally settles as I simply enjoy the breaking waves as I ride them. The salt on my face and the sun that’s starting to break through the clouds is freeing in a way. Being out of Seattle and away from the gloom that seems to follow, I take a break as I straddle my board and stare out over the endless water.
“The breaks are pretty decent today,” Jase says as he paddles over to me.
“Yeah. The tide is starting to come in.”
Shifting himself to sit up on his board, he asks, “You doing okay?”
I nod my head, but I know he isn’t just talking about surfing, and curiosity gets to me when I decide to ask, because I just can’t avoid it. No matter what she says or what she does, I can’t forget about her. I can’t stop caring about her, so I go ahead and ask, “How is she?”
Running his hand through his hair, he says, “She’s better.”
“Yeah?”
“She started seeing a therapist a couple weeks ago,” he tells me. “She’s been going a couple times a week.”
“That’s good.” It relieves me to hear that she’s finally talking to someone, but at the same time, it’s hard to not be there to support her.
“Yeah. She’s been working really hard, trying to sort everything out.”
When I don’t respond, he questions, “What about you?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m f**kin’ stuck. Like I’m just waiting for something I’m not sure is gonna happen.”
“With her?”
Nodding my head, I ask hesitantly, “Should I be?”
“Waiting?” he questions.
“Yeah.”
Looking out over the water, avoiding having to face me, he breathes out, “I don’t think so.”
It’s the reality I’ve been trying to hide from. I’ve been hanging on to a thread of hope, but hearing those words from Jase, they hold an honesty that there’s no more hiding from.
“She’s working hard on pulling herself together, to make sense of the madness she’s been living in. Maybe you should do more for yourself too. I hate to see you stagnant, waiting for something that doesn’t seem likely to happen at this point.”
I hear his words, and they’re hard to take. I don’t want to accept them, but he makes it clear what I should do when he adds a hard truth to my reality, saying, “I think it’s time you just walk away from it. She seems to have.”
How do you walk away from someone that still occupies so much of your heart? To be so certain about something just to turn your back on it? And how can she move on so quickly when I’m still in pieces over here? It sucks to have all these questions that I can’t get any closure with. To constantly be wondering and hoping.
“I’ve tried talking to her, tried telling her how you feel about everything, but she shuts me down. She said she just needs to be on her own.”
“No, I get it,” I mumble. “You don’t need to say anything to her. If she’s happy . . . that’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.”
“Sorry, man.”
“It’s life,” I say as I lie down on my board and paddle back out.
“So, I’m planning on leaving here next Friday morning,” my mom tells me as I sit in my office at home.