There. He’ll tell me what’s up soon enough. While I give him time to respond, I scroll through social media to keep my brain distracted.
This is nothing. It’s probably nothing. I always make a big deal out of tiny things, so this is just another of those instances, right?
That’s got to be it.
That’s got to be it.
That’s got to be it.
Even though I try to keep myself distracted, I can’t help but notice he hasn’t responded yet. Maybe he’s busy; if he’s getting us breakfast, he might be grabbing everything and packing it up to bring back to my cabin. Or maybe he’s talking to a colleague he met along the way. There are a thousand reasons he might have to not be able to instantly text me back. Most of these reasons having nothing to do with me.
I put my phone in my pocket and start walking. It’s another beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Once again, I’m stunned by the beauty of the ocean and the cliffs in front of me. So I walk along the side of the cliff until I reach our little bench. The same bench we’ve been sitting at every single evening.
I sit there and look out towards the ocean.Think about anything else. Literally anything. Your client project. Your mom. God, even think about your dad.
Unable to keep myself distracted, I take my phone out of my pocket and send another text:
You ok?
Then I place it back in my pocket, expecting to feel his response vibrate anytime soon.
Time goes by as I lose myself in the soothing rhythm of the waves below. The sun is beginning to get a bit too hot on my skin without any sunscreen, but still, I don’t move. I stay there, mesmerized by the waves below me, because if I can lose myself like this, I don’t have to be stuck in my head. I don’t have to face the rising panic and dread that’s starting to creep through my body like poisonous vines.
I’m brought out of my reverie when someone calls out from behind me: “Alone this morning?”
I turn to see an older woman with kind eyes and copper skin, probably in her mid-sixties, standing just behind my bench. I’ve seen her several times during the past few weeks at the resort; she’s staying in one of the rooms at the lodge. Logan and I often see her eating lunch with her two friends—or two sisters, I’m not sure—while we’re eating, too. We’ve shared a bit of small talk here and there, but nothing beyond that.
“Guess so,” I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking.
“Where’s that handsome fellow of yours, then?”
I feel a ball choke at my throat. I wish I could answer her. Truth is, I have no idea where he is and why he won’t respond. Because maybe it won’t be okay. Maybe he got scared yesterday, and now I chased him away by pushing too hard on a subject he clearly wasn’t ready to talk about.
But then again, if he’s telling me the truth, why wouldn’t he tell me all of it? It doesn’t make any sense to me. I even offered to help. So if he didn’t take the help, it has got to be about me. Why else would he do this?
“Oh, he’s off working,” I say instead, averting my eyes so she doesn’t notice I’m lying.
“I see.” She approaches and places her hand on the bench. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you two are such a beautiful couple. The way that young man looks at you …” She sighs. “It’s easy to see he’s completely smitten by you.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say without meaning to. I almost cover my mouth in embarrassment.
The woman looks at me, intrigued. “If you can’t see it, you’re blind as a bat, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I sigh as well. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just a little anxious, is all.” Understatement of the century. I’m hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me alone. She’s kind, but I don’t have the emotional capacity to be around someone else and make small talk right now. To keep my mask up.
But she doesn’t take the hint. Quite the opposite; she sits herself on the bench next to me. “You remind me a bit of myself at your age,” she says with a kind smile. “I was a little ball of anxiety. Of course, that’s not what they called it back then. My husband—God rest his soul—used to say I would get hysterical.” A look of horror appears on my face, but the woman chuckles. “No, not like that. He would say it in a loving way. Not in any sort of demeaning way. We just didn’t have any other name for it. But he was always there for me, even when I had days—no, weeks— at a time where I couldn’t leave the house.”
She looks out at the ocean. “I was lucky enough to never be alone. I had my husband, and when he passed, I still had my dearest friends who understood me. Now, my wife is taking up this mantle.” She chuckles. “Imagine that … I got to find the love of my life, twice. But not everyone gets that luxury.” She turns to look at me; her gaze is intense. “And when you find someone like that, someone who will stand by you, someone who understands … The anxiety will try to take them from you. But you can’t let it.”
I slowly nod, suddenly feeling a wave of empathy for this woman. I can’t imagine growing up forty years prior. And I feel an unbearable sadness at knowing her loving partner is gone. I know that part of growing old with someone means running the risk of outliving them. The logical side of my brain understands this. But I usually try not to think about it for more than a second because I know how much pain I can cause myself for something that is likely more than decades away.
When the woman eventually bids me goodbye, I make my way back to my cabin. On the way back, I try to call Logan instead of texting him. Even though I secretly hope for him to pick up, I’m not too surprised when it goes to voicemail after several rings. At least he hasn’t blocked me. And seeing as it took a while before going to voicemail, he didn’t see my name and deny the call. So maybe he really is just busy.
So I need to do the same and keep myself busy. It just so happens I’ve got work to do, so I take a quick shower before making myself some coffee and setting myself up with my laptop on the small porch outside.
The first thing I do is check my email. I sift through the first few, which are junk, but stop at one of the subject lines:
Inquiry about your website copywriting services
