“I’d fallen into the life I thought Ishouldhave andshouldwant,” I continue.“I’d created the stability I never had as a child: a good job, a nice condo, a loving boyfriend.But when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t picture what I wanted my future to look like.”
That’s not entirely true.There were a few times late at night when I attempted to conjure up images of my future.Instead of what I expected to see—a job I loved, finally feeling at home with Rodger in our beautiful condo in Toronto, feeling true happiness—I saw shadowy images ofthisapartment,thiscity, and the man in front of me.
Graeme’s fingers tighten briefly around mine, and then he releases me to pick up his tea.“What kind of future do you see now?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know,” I say.“Jobs in publishing are limited in Kingston.I’ve been on the hunt for weeks and have applied for various positions, mostly at academic publications and non-profits.A job is a job, and I’ll take what I can get, but I’m not excited about any of them.I keep telling myself the trade-off will be living in Kingston again and being close to Drew, Brodie, and Fern.”
Graeme’s gaze drops to the cookie in his hand.“I think you need to give yourself some grace.Knowing you, you have a bit of money saved, so you don’t strictlyneedto get a job straight away.You could take this time to figure out what youtrulywant.”
I nod slowly, taking a sip of my tea.“You’re probably right.I just can’t seem to get past that little voice in my head that tells me I’m a failure.That at thirty-five, I should have my shit together and should have accomplished more.”
“I hear a lot of ‘should’ in there,” Graeme says.“I’m going to tell you something my granny lived by.Are you ready?”
His cheeky smile draws a light laugh from me.“I think so?”
“Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye.”
My brain attempts to compute what he said.The way his accent wrapped thickly around the words makes me wonder if he was speaking Gaelic, but it sounded too much like English.
He chuckles and repeats the phrase more slowly.“Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye.It’s an old Scots saying.Means ‘what’s meant for you won’t pass you by’.”
“Oh.Ohh.Okay, I like that.”
“Thought you might.It’s not too late for you to make a fresh start and do things differently,” he says.“It’s also not too late to change your life completely...if that’s what you want.”
He gives me a pointed look as he salutes me with his mug and then gets to his feet.“Now, how do you feel about helping me make dinner?”
I blink at the abrupt change in topic.I’m reminded of the other night when I accused Fern of dropping a bomb on me and then walking away.Maybe there’s a part of me that expects my loved ones to have the answers since I don’t seem to have them myself.As nice as that would be, it’s neither fair nor realistic.They can help me along the way, but ultimately, I’m the only one who can figure out what I want.
And I can’t help but think what Itrulywant is staring me right in the face.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
Until recently, I don’tever remember waking up with a smile on my face, but it’s become a regular occurrence since I’ve been in Scotland.I lie in bed with my eyes closed, soaking in my surroundings with only my senses.Graeme’s arm is around me, and our legs are tangled.His chest hair tickles my bare back as he takes slow, even breaths.The glow beyond my eyelids tells me the sun is shining, and I can hear faint traffic noises and the occasional sound of raised voices from the Royal Mile.
And then my smile fades when it hits me that today is my last day in Scotland.Tomorrow at this time, I’ll be at the airport, waiting to board a flight to Toronto.The thought makes my heart squeeze with panic, so I shove those thoughts aside and focus on this moment instead.
