Me:
You think that’s a threat except I just got word. I’m heading out of the country on work assignments for the foreseeable future.
Holly:
Good for you. Be safe. Come by when you’re back for a stretch.
Still, I can’t help but smirk. Bryce Parry received his karma. Makes me wonder what’s in my future.
I guess I’ll find out.
7
COVERAGE: DEFENSIVE BACKS GUARDING RECEIVERS.
Mid-October
Within the privacy of my first-class cabin as I criss-cross the Atlantic, I take stock of where I am now versus when I was practically carried out of Bryce’s. I’m pleasantly surprised to find I’m doing okay. After all, fromthe moment I heard him spewing his version of “love,” we were done.
Finished.
As for me? Well, between my trip to China and covering World Skydiving Day in mid-July, my girls made certain I saw myself the way others see me. After spending a day being pampered at one of New York’s most luxurious spas, they arranged for a boudoir shoot—something I never could have predicted would have closed some of the gaping wounds Bryce left with his callous words.
Not only that, they forced me to sit for it without a lick of makeup on. As Amy said, “We want you to see yourself as we see you.”
Emery promised, “You’ll understand after.”
Even Christin’s eyes sparkled with a secretive gleam, as if they knew more than they were giving away.
In the end, they were right. Wrapped in nothing but a sheet, hair caught loosely in a clip, Marcel Beauchamp didn’t just photograph me provocatively, he reminded me of the power of the beauty I held. I may not be eligible to earn the title of a “Box Seat Barbie,” but Iambeautiful in my own special way whether that’s a curl that draped over a bare shoulder, the way my lips part when I’m surprised or the way I throw my head back in laughter.
My girls, using Marcel as the tool, showed me who I was when stripped to the core. Like the other fifty billion women estimated to have lived before me, I demonstrated my magnificence. Power.
Invincibility.
Mentally, I’m kicking myself for letting myself doubt that, even for a moment. Subduing myself to fit into Bryce’s world. Is he confident enough to stand still while having every possession he carried combed through by the Chinese Civil AviationAdministration, simply because he carries tens of thousands of dollars of camera equipment? Would he dare to leap out of a plane, well ahead of a platoon of pro skydivers simply to capture a world-record shot? Dare to walk the red-light district in Amsterdam? Travel via air, train, and bus to capture the mirror effect of the Uyuni Salt Flat in Bolivia?
No, that was me.
Once I stopped emotionally stunting myself, I recognized that, as much as Bryce was using me, I used our relationship as some sort of safety blanket. A talisman, perhaps, to keep me centered in the event I failed.
It was a ridiculous reason to remain in a relationship. It was, however, a perfectly reasonable reason to end one—cruelty notwithstanding.Had Bryce just ended things between us, there may have been some part of our history worth salvaging, I think not for the first time in the last few months. It would have hurt but shown he cared, in his self-absorbed, narcissistic way.
Before my mind can travel down that path, an announcement comes through the first class cabin. “Signore e Signori, stiamo per atterrare a Torino. Vi preghiamo di spegnere e riporre i dispositivi elettronici e di riportare gli schienali in posizione verticale.” I understand the gist enough from traveling to know the aircraft passengers are being advised, in conjunction with the gentle descent of the plane, to put away electronic equipment as we’re approaching Torino. Immediately, I close my laptop and slide it into my backpack.
Even as the entire world is watching my ex, I’ll be exploring southern Italy just for me. Not because I have to, but because I want to.
And it’s time to do something just for me.
Once I pass through customs, the persistent buzz of the airport dissipates. I collect my rental swiftly and leave the airport behind me toward a road that offers unspoken opportunities as the landscape changes from glass and steel to a softness my soul is more than ready for.
Over the ninety-minute journey, hills roll into one another, making a mockery of artists who try to capture their majestic beauty. I pass by vineyards, with grapes strung in careful rows caught in the late morning light. The air, a mix of earth and sweetness that can’t be bottled, seeps through my pores as I crack open the windows.
This was the right decision. I congratulate myself as I drive through yet another small town whose church steeple pierces like a dark lance pointed toward the heavens. Laundry flutters like welcome flags between the narrow balconies of buildings even as patrons linger at cafe tables butted up against stone storefronts.
I catch a glimpse of a ruined castle silhouetted in the distance while I weave my way through the Piedmont, as my driving skills are tested. I mentally mark the time so I can come back and explore the ruins at a later date.
After passing the sign for Canelli, I lift my printout of the email I received with the directions and warning me not to follow the GPS. “Once you pass the town sign, slow down. Approximately two meters past the sign, there will be a row of chestnut trees. The gates to Tenuta delle Ombre will appear at the end of the lake.”
