“This one’s for the people who left before they were ready. And the ones who stayed longer than they should have. May you both find peace in the pages.”
A murmur of applause rippled through the crowd. And with her words, Gale Stanton had wrapped every heart in the room in ribbon and thorn.
The interview continued with follow-up questions, but I was still swimming in her previous words, unable to focus on much else. Waves of emotions swarmed my heart and head, and I couldn’t place a single one.
But the last question—that one I heard. The last question stuck with me most.
“One last question, Ms. Stanton.You mentioned earlier that writing was one of your greatest fears, yet you’re now a best selling author, twice over. How were you able to face that fear?”
Gale smiled thoughtfully and looked at the crowd before she answered. “When you’re most afraid to fall, that’s when it’s most important to jump.”
It was a gut punch. It was having the wind knocked out of you, too stunned to breathe. It was like she spoke directly to me, like a preacher in church on a Sunday morning when the sermon fits just right.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel so confident about the life I’d been creating for myself. Suddenly, I felt the lie resurfacing, like a shadow rising with the setting sun. Suddenly, I was thinking about E.
I left the workshop in a dizzy spell, thinking more about my last time with E than any writing skill I was supposed to learn. I thought about the confessions we made. The look in his eyes when I said it back. I thought about the kiss that stole my breath away…
I thought about how much we were meant for each other, and how it was I who was keeping us apart.
And then I thought about the guilt. How horrible I felt for being unfaithful, even though I didn’t mean to be. But this time, it hit a little differently. A little… lighter. Because for the first time, I was starting to accept that I loved E. I always had. And while I loved Jake and didn’t want to hurt him, it was clear he was stuck in something he didn’t know existed. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault; it was just… bad timing.
I had met E when I was already involved with Enzo. When I finally wasn’t, he was involved with Emma. WhenI decided to give Jake a chance, not long after, E was looking for me. There was nothing that could be said for it other than bad timing. A series of unfortunate events. But maybe I had a chance to change that.
My heart shuddered when I imagined what I’d have to do to change anything at all. It would break Jake’s heart to leave him unexpectedly, and it would break mine, no doubt, but maybe that was fairest to all of us. Maybe it wasn’t fair to only give Jake part of my heart just because that was all I had left. Maybe the hurt was how we’d all heal.
By the time I got to my hotel room, it was after two. I contemplated taking a shower or a nap to relax my mind, but I couldn’t. I was spinning. Instead, I dropped my bag on the bed and walked right back out. I needed a drink.
I walked the downtown strip until I found a bar that felt like what I needed—dark, rowdy, and distracting, with lots of alcohol. The Prancing Pony fit the bill. It sounded ridiculous and had the Texas flair I’d grown accustomed to. The live band was wild and loud, and it was exactly what I needed to drown out my thoughts. I took a seat at the bar, ordered a Honey Jack and Ginger, and downed it in four seconds flat before asking for another.
What was I thinking, leaving Jake? Was I losing my mind? Jake was perfect. Sure, we didn’t like the same music or spend our free time the same way, but those differences made us whole. Jake was sweet, kind, and thoughtful. He put effort into us when I barely even tried. And he loved me. He really, truly loved me. Maybe more than I loved him, but wasn’t that a good thing? It seemed like it was. If he loved me more, that meant he could hurt me less, and that sounded like the only risk I was brave enough to take. E had so muchof me, and he was still hurting me. I mean, all those months had passed, and he never called me. Not even once.
Being with someone you loved too much was dangerous. You can’t bear to lose them, and when you do, you’ll undoubtedly fall, crumble. You’re left to die and be eaten by vultures. Add kids to that, and it’s just asking to be a heartbroken mess, bitter and resentful and unable to love like my mother. I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want that story. So I had to stay put.
I couldn’t deny the joy of that love—to truly be loved and to love that deeply in return… It really was something that felt holy. Something I knew I’d miss, but was willing to if it meant I’d survive.
Sorry, Gale.
I sat in a daze as I nursed my third drink, trying to find comfort in the mess of thoughts I was reorganizing. When the bartender came over for a second time asking if I needed anything else, I ordered a salad I pushed around just to seem like a responsible drinker. I went back to my hotel room, riding a nice buzz, and fell asleep by seven that evening.
The next morning, I woke up with less of a headache than I expected. I showered in my room's spa-like bathroom, enjoyed the complimentary breakfast and coffee offered in the hotel’s lobby, but no matter how easily the morning moved, I couldn’t seem to find the excitement I originally held for the day's event.
The seminar went by quickly. There were lots of speakers and presentations, of which I took little, if any notes. I spent the rest of the day wandering the downtown streets until I landed in Johnny Goyen Park, where I sat along the brackish brown water and watched as the sunlight danced along the tiny waves of the Buffalo Bayou.
When the sun dipped below the trees, I made my way back to the hotel, picking up an order of tacos from a passing restaurant. I changed into sweatpants before I ate them in bed while watching reruns ofFriendsuntil my eyes were too heavy to keep open.
I slept until eleven on my final morning. Minutes after opening my eyes, I called the front desk to request a late checkout—not because I needed it, but because I had become increasingly unmotivated to move. My body felt sluggish and my soul fatigued, though I hadn’t done anything to warrant it. I wasn't sure when it happened, but somewhere between my first hours in Houston and my last, a melancholy haze had settled over me, like a storm coming in to claim the sky.
By the early afternoon, I decided what I needed was a pick-me-up. The Honey Jack and Ginger danced on my memory’s tongue like a bell calling me in for supper.
I walked back to the Prancing Pony, ordered one, and then another. The whiskey warmed the back of my throat with its sweet twist, and I welcomed the relief that came after its zing. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, ready to shed the odd emotional wave of the days before when a beer bottle slammed down next to me with a loud thud, bubbles spewing out of its mouth.
“If it isn’t the Jersey Girl herself, live in Houston.” My eyes went wide, and my head spun to the voice that rolled through me, deep and rich, that I knew so well. It was like being awake inside a dream—that strange, disorienting blur where you know you’re alive, but it doesn’t feel like you’re truly living the moment your brain is experiencing.
“E…” It was barely a whisper. He grinned that crooked grin, and despite the shock my body and mind were in, I couldn’t help but smile back. “What are you doing here?”
He looked around the crowded space, then back at me. “It’s a bachelor party,” he said with his arms wide, emphasizing his shirt—an extremely lame printed tuxedo.
I smiled, and he stared as if he’d found what he’d been looking for, glassy-eyed and swaying drunkenly.
