“That’s exactly why I wanted to give him that time,” I said in little more than a whisper. “And myself. I needed the time too.”
“But you never forgot him?” Jake asked. “You never stopped loving him?”
“No.” The word hollowed me out. “I never stopped loving him.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Jake said. “I just pray he shows up.”
I took in a deep breath then. “You know, if he doesn't, that's okay too. In some ways, that will help me move past this whole chapter, if I have to. So either way, if he's not there in two days, then at least I’ll know he's happy without me.”
“Or dead,” Jake said without hesitation.
“Jesus, brother! That isn’t helping.”
“Have you never looked him up?”
“A few times in the first few years but he's not his sister. There wasn't much to see. And then it didn't make me feel good, so I stopped.”
“I wish I could stop doing things that don't make me feel good. Sorry, did I saythings? I mean,men. I wish I could stop doingmenthat don't make me feel good.”
“Jake-”
“No, not now. No time to discuss the tragedy that is my love life when you are literally living out the climax to an early 2000s rom-com, airport and all.”
“Yeah, speaking of which, my flight’s boarding now. I'll miss you in Crete,” I said starting to collect my belongings.
“I'm going to ask all the staff and Matthias to keep an eye on you,” he said.
Matthias is the manager of the neighbouring resort - a tall, silver-haired German with piercing grey-blue eyes. It's his third season working in Crete and we’d met a few times before.
“Please don't,” I said. “I don't need looking after.”
“We all need that, Jenna. Isn't that why you're doing this? Because part of you wants to look after Marty and part of you wants him to look after you.”
“Well, now who sounds like he knows what he's talking about?” I laughed before hanging up.
After arriving at the resort, I spent many minutes walking through the villa looking at, touching and reliving the places Marty and I made love. When that made me so horny and dizzy I could barely breathe, I focused on unpacking, and then went to the gym for an hour before I swam and sunbathed. I passed the next day in much the same way.
Today has been different.
All day I've been looking out for him. In the gym, on the beach, in the lobby when I had to dash to the bathroom for my fourth nervous poo of the day. I look for him on my way back to my villa to get ready, and after on the way back down to the bar where I can’t help but feel pulled to be. I look for him as I think about how familiar the sun's warmth is on my skin, how I can smell sea salt in the air like I did five years ago, how there are the same uneven tiles underfoot and I am wearing the same style of Birkenstocks on my feet even though they're a newer pair, this time patent white. As I wonder if he still wears sandals like this, I feel a wave of sadness crash into me, slowing my stride. What if I never find out?
What if he doesn’t come?
I haven't heard from him in two years.
He probably isn't going to come.
This is what I'm telling myself as I walk into the bar.
This is what I tell myself as I sit at the only available table and peruse the drinks menu, not really looking at the words, only keeping my eyes busy so they don't do what they really want to do which is scour the crowd for him, for Marty.
He probably isn't going to come.
This is what I tell myself as I order a virgin mojito because I will save drinking alcohol for when he doesn't show up and I can numb the sharpest edges of my pain.
This is what I tell myself as I sip my drink alone and almost can't bear how beautiful the sunset is. All clear skies that idyllically display the blue to purple to pink to copper red ombre shading of the sun’s descent. I feel the magnetic pull forMarty blast through my bones. He should be here. He should be here. But he's not.
He's not coming.
