“The perspective’s amazing,” he says, and I flush with pleasure at the pride in his voice. “You’ve really captured how it looks just before a storm.”
I carefully don’t let him see the other canvas, turned to face the wall, where I’m working on capturing the majesty of his kraken form – all powerful tentacles and fluid grace, his massive form seeming to dance beneath the dark waters.
“Your turn,” I say. “Show me what you found today.”
His face lights up as he holds various objects up to his camera – shells in impossible spirals, bits of sea glass smoothed by time and tide, even a tarnished lantern he found in an old sunken ship.
“I wish you could see it in person,” he says wistfully. “The hull is still mostly intact, but there are these incredible coral formations growing right through the deck, and schools of fish have made homes in the cargo hold. The whole wreckhas become this incredible artificial reef. The way the sunlight filters down through the broken masts, casting these ethereal shadows… I wish you could see it in person. My descriptions don’t capture how haunting and beautiful it is down there.”
“I’ve been researching scuba certification,” I admit, watching his expression brighten through my screen. “I know it’s not the same – I’ll never be able to dive as deep as you can or stay under as long, and I’ll always be restricted by equipment and human limitations. But…” I touch my screen where his face is, wishing I could reach through it. “I want to share your world as much as possible, even if I can only experience a fraction of it.”
“You’d really do that?” The hope in his voice makes my heart ache.
“Of course. And maybe next month I can start? I think I can make the trip work if… I can stay with you. I know you mentioned staying with you, but I don’t want to presume… The flight’s doable with miles, but a hotel…”
“Rose.” He cuts me off, his expression soft but serious. “I want you with me. Always. You don’t ever have to ask. And we’ll figure out how to bridge our two worlds, even if we experience them differently.”
After we hang up, I sit in my studio, staring at the lighthouse painting without seeing it. The sharp ring of my doorbell makes me jump.
Heather stands on my doorstep, Purl’s leash in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “It’s Friday,” she says when I blink at her in confusion.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” I step back to let them in. “I completely forgot about our weekly?—”
“Clearly.” She gives me a pointed look as Purl trots over to his favorite spot on my couch. “You okay?”
“Not really.” The admission comes easier than I expected. “I miss him so much it hurts. I can barely focus on anything else.”
“And how does he feel?”
“The same, I think.” I sink onto the couch, and Purl immediately puts her head in my lap. “I never knew I could love someone this much. Never knew it could physically hurt to be away from them. I thought movies were exaggerating.”
As I pout, Heather pours generous glasses of wine for each of us before sitting beside me. “Has he thought about moving here?”
“He can’t.” I scratch behind Purl’s ears, focusing on the rhythmic motion. “He would if he could, but he literally can’t leave the coast. It’s… complicated.”
“Then maybe you should think about moving there.”
I look up sharply. “What?”
“Rose.” Heather’s voice is gentle but firm. “You can do your work from anywhere. Nothing’s keeping you here except?—”
“Except you! And Purl!”
“Our friendship can survive the distance.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “What’s killing me is watching you be this unhappy. When was the last time you ate a real meal? Or slept through the night? Or painted something that wasn’t about Maine?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again.
“Just think about it,” she continues. She gives me her patented no-bullshit-allowed stare. “Is he worth changing your whole life for?”
“Yes.” The word comes instantly, without hesitation. “God, yes.”
Heather smiles, a little sad but understanding. “Then maybe that’s your answer.”
I look down at Purl, still contentedly resting her head on my lap, and then around my familiar living room, with its desert-inspired color scheme and collection of local art. I think about my sunny studio, with its natural light, and my favorite coffeeshop, where they know my order by heart. I think about the comfort of having my best friend just a few minutes away.
Then I think about Levi’s smile in the morning light, how he holds me like I’m precious, and how he shares every part of himself with me – both human and kraken. I think about the harbor fog and the lighthouse and the endless mysteries of the ocean which is as much a part of Levi as his laugh or his touch.
“Yeah,” I whisper, something settling in my chest even as my heart races with possibility. “Maybe it is.”
