But I’m not on my own anymore.
Every single firefly lighting up around me is another reason I have to go back and work this out with him, rather than wallow by myself.
Isn’t that the point of love after all?
To share in the good, the boring, and the unthinkably horrible?
That things are just that much better when we’re together?
“Fuck,” I say to the empty clearing.
Sprinting back to my van, I know what I have to do and I send a text I shouldn’t have to because I never should’ve run.
Me
Meet me at our spot in three hours.
And then I get out my laptop.
If I was more patient,maybe I’d have had a better idea on how to show this man what he means to me. How all in on him, and us, I am. Maybe I would’ve gone and bought some paint for our place together, some other demonstration of the kind of permanence I want with him, our friends, the Heights period.
But now that I’ve realized where I belong, who I should be with, talking this out with… I did the best I could with the lack of patience I have, then tested the acceleration on the new engine and transmission to get back to him.
When I pull up to the empty field where we made memories to last a lifetime, I grab the extra blanket I keep in one of the wooden drawers and race to the grass to set it up before he arrives.
Placing the laptop on the ground, I prep myself for his arrival, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach. More than nerves, it’s excitement to share with him the things I realized in the thirty or so hours we spent apart.
When I hear another car in the distance, I turn to where I parked, breath held to see if the headlights bounce across the grass lot or pass by. As the beams of light illuminate the field, I run to where he’ll stop and park.
Weston makes it before I do, hopping down from his pickup and jogging toward me, stopping to brace himself in the beam of the headlights that silhouette him in the quiet night air.
Those strong arms are open and ready for me. He wraps me in them as I collide into him, enveloping me in his woodsy, masculine scent and that feeling of safety I’ve never found with anyone else, not since I was twelve. I didn’t think I’d ever feel itagain, but this man has shown me so much I thought I’d never get to experience.
“I’m so sorry, angel,” he whispers into my hair.
“I am too,” I murmur into his chest.
Lips pressed to the top of my head, Weston apologizes wordlessly.
“I shouldn’t have left,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to.”
Shaking my head, I step back, pulling him by the arm to follow me to the blanket where we can overlook the mountain range I’ve come to associate with a place to call home. Friends that feel more like family. Love.
We sit on the blanket, nestled close to one another but still facing each other.
Taking a deep breath, I go first. “I’ve been on my own for so long, only worrying about protecting my identity, staying safe. I haven’t had to think of anyone else but me in all this time. But I can see now that you do. You always think of me in your actions, Weston. We might handle things differently, and maybe we have some work to do in some areas, but you’re the only one I want to do this thing with.”
“This?” he asks, waving a hand between us.
“This,” I say emphatically, nodding my head. “Life, living, adventures, love, all of it.”
His throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and a weight leaves my shoulders.
“I have something to show you.” Pulling the laptop in front of us, I wake the display and the screen comes to life on a Pinterest page.
A new board, called “Finally Home.”
