I’ve spent the past two nights with my mom at her hotel. Not because I wanted to, but because I know she wanted me to. Where I want distance, she wants closeness, and to balm my guilty conscience about moving so far away from her, I didn’t put up a fight.
Each night, I lay there—anxious—pretending to watch television until she fell asleep so I could use the light to get me through the night until the sun rose. When my mother started to stir, I rolled over and pretended to be waking as well.
She’s already worried enough about me; I don’t need to give her another reason to be concerned.
“It came together nicely,” she says as she adjusts a few of the throw pillows on my new bed. “What do you think?”
My vision dissolves out of focus for a moment before I blink a few times, bringing it back into clarity. “It’s perfect, Mom. Thank you for everything.”
She walks over to me and runs her hands down the length of my arms. “No thanks needed. I’m just happy I could come and help you settle in.”
Stifling a yawn, I look around the space. It’s completely decorated in warm-toned modern décor. Fluffy pillows fill the bed and line the plush loveseat, which is situated next to the tall floor-to-ceiling windows. They take up a whole wall, giving me a perfect view of the marina and pristine yachts that line the piers.
“You look tired.”
“You’ve worn me out,” I say with a weak smile.
“Well, take the next few days and relax, okay? You need to take care of yourself.”
“I am.”
She tilts her head slightly. “I see the dark circles under your eyes, and you can’t hide the fact that you’ve been dropping weight.”
“Mom . . .”
“I’m just concerned.”
“I know. But, I’ll be fine.”
She folds her arms around me in a hug, and I close my eyes as I take in the affection. I love my mother so much, and not having her around when it’s only been the two of us for a handful of years is going to be tough. But not as tough if I were to stay in Tampa.
“I’m going to miss you, Mom.”
At my words, she squeezes me a little tighter. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
The both of us have been treading carefully around what happened to me. Our conversation about Kason the other day at lunch is the closest we’ve come to touching the topic I’m so desperately trying to avoid. Still, in the constriction of her embrace, I can feel her pain and worry. It’s far past what words could articulate.
In a feeble attempt to soothe, I rub her back as we continue to hold each other. I then spoon-feed her words not even I believe are true. “I’m going to be fine.”
She pulls back with teary eyes and sniffs. “Promise me that you won’t wait too long to call Dr. Garrison.”
“I promise.”
My mother made a few calls before flying out here and found a psychologist she felt would be someone I could start seeing whenever I felt ready. She handed me his card yesterday morning when we were out at breakfast. I’d slipped it into my pocket, and she left it at that.
Honestly, though, I doubt I’ll ever be brave enough to face this head-on. I’m so ready for things to go back to normal so I can get on with my life and forget all this ever happened. I love my mom and I need her, but she has to go because she only reminds me that this did happen.
Her having to leave is still bittersweet. It’s an ugly tango, not knowing exactly what it is I need. I want to be consoled, but at the same time, I want to be left alone. It’s a push and pull that only makes me feel worse, leaving me helpless. I get one thing and wish for the other, only to get that and wish for the opposite. Then I grow frustrated and pray for an escape I can’t seem to find. I’m stuck in perdition’s labyrinth with no way out.
The sound of Micah and Trent coming home pulls our attention, and when I step out of my room, the two of them are rifling through the fridge with their wetsuits peeled down to their waists.
“Where’d all this food come from?” Trent remarks as he pulls out a bowl of watermelon my mother chopped up while they were surfing.
“I couldn’t leave here knowing all you’d be left with was old boxes of takeout,” my mom says as we walk into the adjoining living room.
“Sweet, Mom,” Trent boasts before popping a chunk of watermelon into his mouth.
She’s humored by his demeanor, but I can read through her thoughts that say, “Are you sure you want to live here with these boys?”
“He’s a good guy.”
Micah looks up from the bowl. “Thanks for the provisions.”
“You’re welcome,” she says and then looks my way. “We should probably get going.”
I give her a nod and walk into the kitchen to grab my car keys.
“You leaving already?” Micah says.
“I have to get back to work.” She then joins us in the kitchen to give Micah and Trent hugs goodbye, telling them both, “I’m counting on the two of you to look out for Ady.”
“No problem, Mom,” Trent smarts with a smirk.
“I’m serious. She’s my favorite thing in this world.”
Being the sound one, Micah assures her, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ms. Rees. Trent may come off as a careless ass, but—”
“Dude! Where’s the love?”
“But he’s a solid guy.”
Mom looks between the two of them with a hint of apprehension.
“Mom, stop worrying. Everything’s going to be fine.”
She lets go of a worried sigh, which is loud enough for all of us to hear, and with reluctance, slowly makes her way to the door.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” I tell the guys.
They say their last goodbyes to my mom and then we are on our way to the Miami airport. My mother holds my hand for the duration of the drive, causing me to dwell on the fact that she will be all alone back in Tampa. I tried to live there as long as I could, but I couldn’t do it any longer.
I give her hand a little squeeze and repeat my lie. “It’s going to be okay.”
Her smile is uncertain. “Look at you, trying to assure me when it should be the other way around.”
The weight of somberness fills the air, and all too soon, we arrive at the departures lane. We both get out of the car for one last hug, and her eyes fill with tears.
“Mom—”
“I know.” She sniffles. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“It will be.”
She draws back, and my heart coils when I see her sadness. “Promise you’ll call me every day.”
“I promise.” And with a tight twist to my arteries, I force myself to ask, “And your promise?”
Her eyes soften. “I’ll always be there for him, and I’ll keep my word that I won’t ever mention him around you.”
Her words are the final nail in the coffin, but I had to hear them once more because I can’t risk her forgetting how much I need to sever my ties with him—to save him—to save me.
She runs her fingers back through my hair before kissing my forehead at the same moment some guy blast his horn and yells, “Move your car, blondie!”
We both glare at the man. Miami is crazy. It’s a thousand times more congested than Tampa. It’s buildings upon buildings and people on top of people, half of them not speaking English. It feels as if this city should be a world away from where it is.
“I’ll call you when I land. I love you,” she says, giving me one last hug before grabbing her suitcase.
“I love you, too, Mom.”
Then she’s making her way inside the terminal.
Another blaring honk stifles out the sadness. The guy is practically hanging out of his window, and I snap, “Okay!” while tossing up my arms in surrender. “I’m leaving.”
I fight traffic all the way back to Coconut Grove—my new home. Once I arrive at the stark white high-rise, I take the elevator to the fourteenth floor and walk into the condo. I never would have thought that I would eventually be living with Trent and Micah. But then again, I never thought I would’ve been without Kason. None of this was ever supposed to happen. But it did. And it’s landed me here.
This is home now. I just wonder how long it’s going to take to actually feel like it.
The two of them are in front of the television, neither one watching it since they’re both buried in their phones.
“That took you forever,” Micah says as I walk through the open space.
“Traffic.”
The snick of a lighter draws my attention to Trent as he brings it to the joint that’s between his lips.
“Dude,” Micah snaps. “Not around Ady.”
“The girl knows we smoke,” he says before turning to me. “You’re chill, right?”
“It’s fine,” I mutter as I continue back to my room, feeling the hollowness return. The distraction of my mother being here helped mask all this pain.
But she’s gone.
And he’s gone.
Even I feel gone.
With hardly any sleep these past couple of days, I crawl on top of my new bed and stare out of the large windows over the blue water that sparkles with the sun’s reflection.
I miss my old view.
My chest tightens, and I will that thought away.
“Everything okay?” Micah says from the doorway.
“I’m just tired.”
He steps into my room. “There’s a party tonight that we’re going to. You should come with us.”
“That’s okay. I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“You sure?”
I nod, and he comes closer, eventually sitting on the edge of the bed. He stares at me as I continue to gaze out the window, but the moment I look up at him, I know he sees the heartbreak I’m trying to hide.
“Is it because of him?”
Another yank at my heartstrings, and I nod again.
“I don’t have to go,” he says. “If you want me to stay—”
“No. You should go. I’m fine. I think more than anything I just need to get some sleep.”
His eyes stay on me for a moment, as if he’s trying to read into something deeper, before he disengages and stands. “Well, if you change your mind . . .”
When he starts walking out of my room, I push up on to my elbows. “Micah.”
He turns back.
“Thanks.” I pause for a second. “For all of this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
The corner of his lips lift slightly before he closes the door behind him.
With the safety of the bright sunlight filling my room, I keep my thoughts under control by counting the yachts that line the docks. I count them forward and backward, over and over, until my lids begin to grow heavy and eventually fall shut.
I spend the rest of the afternoon dozing in and out of superficial sleep. Each time I wake, my heart weighs a little more and the sun had dropped a little lower. The next time my eyes open, the sun is long gone and prickles of jittery anxiety ghost over my skin.
I reach over to the nightstand and turn on the lamp before scanning the room.
Everything is in its place.
I pick up my cell that reads 9:54PM, and I call out, “Micah?”
With no response, I slip out of bed and open my door to find the condo is pitch dark. My stomach tingles in fear, and I move from room to room, flicking on lights and making sure everything is locked.
I leave the lights on and return to my room. When I slip back under the covers, I grab my cell in an attempt to quell my nerves. I surf around the internet, but find nothing engaging. Eventually, I slide the phone under my pillow and stare out at the moon.
In a single slip of a second, I’m taken back to all the times Kason and I were tucked beneath its silvery glow. It was witness to our first kiss, to so many declarations of our love that it feels like it was a part of us. The moon saw everything: every touch, every kiss, every drop of our hearts as we fell for each other. It heard every whisper, every secret.
Before I even know it, I pull up his contact on my phone. I may have a new number, but the phone is the same. It holds photos that I’ve stored away in a separate folder, and all of our old texts that I’ve filed away, too. Abandoning all strength, I begin to read old messages from before everything fell apart. I read and read, each one carving a new scar into my soul. Scars that I swear will forever feel like kisses.
Kason: I love you from a place I never knew existed, from a place you helped me find, from a place that’s ours and ours alone.
Kason: Tell me you love me, baby, and I’ll tell you that I’m yours.
Kason: You’re it for me, you know that?
Me: Promise me forever.
Kason: Forever. Until the sun dies.
Text after text after text, I read, until I’m typing my own.
Me: I miss you.
I look down at the words, my heart beating from the depths of my gut, before deleting each letter—one by one.
I set the phone on my nightstand and roll over, giving our moon my back. Cradling a pillow against my chest, I cry as shards of our love impale me deeply, reminding me of all this world stole from us. Memories bleed from my tear ducts, the ache radiating from the crux of my being. It’s a pain so excruciating that you don’t want to believe it exists. But it does, because I’m living within its cage.
I keep my back to the window for the rest of the night because it isn’t just my moon out there watching over me.
It’s his, too.
It’s seen too much and heard too much. It knows my soul as it is stripped down to its core—it knows his, too. At this point, to look at the moon seems too intimate of an act for me to embark.
So I don’t.
At least not tonight.