I quickly realize that if I’m going to do it, I’ll do it for myself, not because my boyfriend wants to. I won’t go to Paris just because Alex wants to see me wandering down cobblestone streets or whatever. I’m not going to tailor my life to fit his dreams.
“What if I don’t want to study abroad in Paris? What if I’d rather go to… London? Or Mexico City? Or Tokyo? Or Istanbul?”
If I expected him to be disappointed by my response, I’m sorely mistaken. If anything, his eyes shine even more. He pauses the movie and opens a new tab in his browser.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to our study-abroad page and seeing what programs we have. If you’re dead set against Paris, we might as well see what our other options are.”
“I didn’t say that I’magainstParis.” I laugh. “I just—I want to keep my options open.”
I realize the possible double meaning of my words after I’ve spoken them, and I fear that he’ll read into it, think that in saying I want to keep my options open about studying abroad, I’m implying that I want to keep my options open abouthimand our relationship. But Alex must not be as much of an overthinker as I am because he doesn’t even blink.
“A smart decision. And even more reason to look into our options.”
“Oh,ouroptions, is it? Your goal of a Parisian excursion is forgotten so easily? Are you going to follow me to Istanbul?”
“I’d follow you anywhere.”
Maybe that’s a bit much. Didn’t I once read that intense words of affection and grandiose plans so early in a relationship can be a red flag? Maybe I did, but I can’t remember the details, nor can I make myself care.
The truth is, while the thought of tailoring my life to fit his doesn’t sound appealing, the thought that he’d shifthisplans to accommodate my wishes… well, I don’tdislike it.
Alex misreads my silence as hesitation. “Unless you don’t want to be followed. Which I get. I can do long-distance for a semester. You do Istanbul, I’ll do… Sofia. Or Athens.”
“You’re only saying those cities because they’re close to Istanbul,” I say with a laugh.
“You caught me. I just love the idea of traveling. Seeing the world. I want to goeverywhere. I’d love to do it with you, but if you want time alone to ‘eat, pray, love,’ and find yourself, that’s okay. We can always travel together later.”
“What if I study abroad and discover that I hate traveling?”
“I doubt that’ll happen.” Alex shakes his head. “Hating travel is like hating adventure.”
“Maybe I hate adventure.”
“You love adventure,” he counters. To my look of disbelief, he says, “You changed the plan you’ve had for your life since you were a child—a plan that was safe and reliable—and started over from scratch. Sounds adventurous to me.”
“Changing majors is hardly an adventure.”
“I think a dive into the unknown is the very definition ofadventure. Opening yourself up to new possibilities.” When I don’t say anything, headds, “You really mean to tell me that you signed up for archaeology—the career of Indiana Jones—and you’re not adventurous? Nonsense.”
I focus on the screen to hide how much his words please me. It’s a dangerous thing to like the way you look through someone else’s eyes. It makes you want to tailor yourself to better fit the image of you they’ve conjured up.
“Okay, maybe we canbothdo Istanbul. What are our options?”
As we scroll through the choices, debating the pros and cons of each one, I realize this isexactlyhow I want to spend this life. Seeing the world with someone who makes me happy, who pushes me to be a braver, more adventurous person. Who helps me explore new possibilities. That’s what my second life is about. New possibilities for joy, for adventure, for love.
And that’s when it hits me like a slap to the face:
I’m in love with Alex Aquino.
23
It’s strange to realize I’ve carved out a new life in the shell of an old one. The frame of it is the same as I remember, but it’s filled with entirely new decor. A new boyfriend, new friends, a new job, new classes.
Most of my professors assign a final essay in lieu of an exam, so as the semester winds to a close, there’s none of the late-night cramming I remember from college. I pick up shifts at the shelter, but with every day that passes with no Ruthie, I grow more convinced I’ve missed her.
I miss Madison, but I can’t quite get myself to return to my dorm room, anxiety plaguing me at the thought. It even sparks my first fight with Alex. One day, he asks if I want to spend the night apart, hang out in my room with Madison instead. I take offense to it, like he’s trying to get rid of me. Calmly, he promises that’s not the case—“Madison is your best friend,” he points out. I snap that Madison and I are roommates, not friends.
