If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately, it’s that there’s a freedom in realizing that you don’t have to define yourself by your past anymore. Of knowing that the unpredictable transience of life can be beautiful or devastating, but sometimes you can’t control your circumstances—all you can control is how you react to them.
“What are you thinking about?” Ambrose asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Just life.”
“Care to elaborate?”
I take a breath and consider my words. “It’s just crazy tothink about how much things have changed in such a short amount of time.” I don’t have to explain that he’s the catalyst for all of these recent changes in my life. He knows.
“Life is weird that way.”
“What do you think about when you come up here?” I ask, turning the focus of the conversation back toward him.
“The same sort of things you just spoke of. When you’ve been alive as long as I have, so many things change, but even those changes often become predictable.”
“What do you mean?”
“The most significant changes in humanity are momentous to those who experience them—births, deaths, war, volatile politics, poverty. But the longer you live, the clearer those patterns become. Growth then destruction, hope then dismay, progress then regression. Life is cyclical that way, and it all becomes dismally predictable.”
“So why do you continue to stay even after a century and a half? If everything seems repetitive at this point, what else is there to experience?”
“I had begun to wonder that myself until recently.”
“What changed?”
“You.”
My heart constricts in my chest. “I can’t possibly be the only reason you decided to continue living your life.”
“You’re right,” he agrees, “but finding you reminded me that I haven’t seen and experienced everything there is to offer. I had gotten so comfortable in the home I’ve spent most of my life in that I had forgotten what it was like to feel that spark of curiosity and novelty. You make me want toexperiencelife again rather than simply allow it to pass me by, to chase that spark instead of staying alive out of a sense of obligation.”
I turn to face him, and even though there’s affection inhis words, a bittersweet expression crosses his face when his eyes connect with mine.
“If you’re feeling such a renewed sense of purpose, why do you look so sad?”
“Because you’re not even mine yet and I’m already terrified to lose you.”
A deep, heavy ache settles in my heart.How devastating it must be to know that you’ll outlive everyone you’ll ever love.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because that’s all I can think to say. Then I look back out toward the mountains.
I can’t reassure him. He’s right on both accounts; I’m not his—at least not in the way he’s referring to—and hewilllose me one day. Whether he means immediately once I’ve fulfilled my end of our bargain or once I die, I’m not sure, but he’ll lose me all the same.
I used to dream about traveling as far away as I possibly could and starting a new life. Now, the thought of not having Ambrose by my side is strangely disheartening. I’ve come to appreciate his witty intelligence, his quiet intensity, and the low tenor of his voice as he reads to me in the evenings. Imagining a life without any of that feels… empty.
But I’m not going to waste my life away in the middle of these mountains after finally having the opportunity to figure out what I want and chase after it. No longer am I paralyzed by fear and indecision, and I plan on making the most of my freedom. It would be a disservice to myself not to.
My current life with Ambrose seems so juxtaposed to the future I’ve imagined for myself, yet it holds an appeal I’ve never felt—the appeal of beinghome. Is there ever a world in which those two things could possibly intersect? Is that even what I want, or have I simply found comfort and safety for the first time in my life with a man who I fully hated and resented up until very recently?
I have no idea.
“I’m still here, and right now is all that matters,” I tell Ambrose, though I’m not entirely sure I believe the sentiment myself.
The wind whips my hair across my face, and I push it back behind my ear. The shorter length still catches me off guard whenever I run my fingers through it.
“If I could live in this moment forever, I would,” he says so softly that I don’t know if I’m meant to hear it or if he’s thinking aloud.
I take a step closer to him, slipping my hand out of his so I can lean into his side. Instead, he turns and pulls me to him in a sudden movement, embracing me fully. I relax into him, lying my head against his chest while he holds me so tightly I fear I might break. There’s a raw, emotional intensity in the way he holds me that sinks deep into my bones and latches on to my heart.
