You wouldn’t stop until I loved you.
And as we sat there,
You tried to get the proclamation out of me.
But you didn’t know.
You couldn’t know.
I’d fall in and out of love with you a million ways
Before I could muster up the courage
To free the words from my body.
Day 250
Toronto is unlike anywhere I’d ever been before, but if I had to place it, I’d say it reminds me of a larger Seattle. A successful metropolitan, booming with efficiency and genuinely nice people.
We took Gavin’s car and drove out of the country with excitement at our heels. Now that we’re on our last night here, we decided to go on a date. I spent hours in the bathroom, getting my makeup just right.
We walk through the Toronto streets, heading toward the Italian restaurant we’d decided on for dinner. I glance over at him, my hand in his, our steps in sync.
As if he feels me staring, he looks over, too.
“Hungry?” he asks.
I smile and shrug. This city doesn’t feel dangerous. It doesn’t feel as charmingly dirty as Boston is, and the people everywhere we go, are so much kinder.
When we step inside the restaurant, I request the table by the door, so I can watch people as they pass.
“Are you having a good time?” I ask him.
He takes my hand and starts playing with my fingers.
“Of course. I’m glad we did this.”
“Me, too.”
We both peruse the menu but Gavin never lets go of my hand. Something feels a little somber about it, his features tight with concentration, even when he’s only staring at his glass.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask.
“I’m leaving sooner than I thought,” he answers.
I want to pull my hand away so that nothing distracts me from the words he says next, but I figure the contact soothes him, so I don’t move.
“How much sooner?”
Gavin clears his throat.
“A month and a half.”
I pull my hand away and cradle it in my lap.
“What . . .”
What does that mean for us?
“My mother’s getting worse and no one else can take care of her. Fahmida’s husband doesn’t want to go back to Pakistan because their children are so young, so they’ll stay here.”
So many details are sliding over and around me like water. All I hear is, a month and a half.
“I don’t understand,” I say with a sob, my eyes scanning the table, back and forth in jerky motions. “You’re supposed to just stop your life? Ruin your life to go to Pakistan?”
“This is where I need you to respect my culture, Denise.”
“You have a life here, Gavin. You have me.”
“I have my parents to think about and I won’t dishonor them. Not for anything or anyone.”
“And what about me?”
“I told you I was leaving at some point and that I wouldn’t want a long-distance relationship. But this has turned into something . . .”
My features twist with sour thoughts when I remember some of the things he’d told me about what his time would be like in Pakistan.
“I know your parents are going to try to get you married while you’re there. You’ve hinted at as much before.”
He gives me one swift nod.
“So, what? You won’t dishonor them, but I have to stick around to watch you with someone else? Hope you don’t meet anyone so you can come back to me?”
“You don’t have to do anything, love. I’m not asking you to give up anything for me—”
“You can’t unless you’re giving something up for me!”
Gavin glances around the restaurant and I know I need to lower my voice.
“I don’t want to lose you, Denise.” He takes my hand again. “I told you. You make me feel like maybe I was this broken person . . . but you fixed me.”
I wipe my tear with my free hand.
He was fixed but this is breaking me.
My deep breath helps the tightness in my chest and I decide, quickly, not to let this ruin the rest of our trip.
“Fuck it. Let’s get drunk.”
He chuckles and orders wine.
I’m halfway done with my meal when he sits back and waits, a knowing smile on his face. I grab my plate and hand it to him and he does the same. I dig in immediately, loving that he ordered chicken.
“What do you think?” he asks after his first bite, washing it down with Pinot Grigio.
“A little dry?” He nods with a smile and I scrunch up my face. “Yours?”
“You like too much salt on your food,” he says before he scoops more mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“They need to use more seasoning.” Gavin does this little nod shrug thing at my complaint. “I’m surprised the chef in you isn’t critiquing this meal more.”
Gavin isn’t snobby about food. But he usually makes small talk, telling me what they could’ve done to avoid the dry chicken or what herbs, or seasoning combo would’ve better suited portions of the meal. I always listen but I don’t retain much because he’s a brilliant cook and I can only master the basics. I leave the cooking to him.
“We’re on vacation,” he says as he shrugs again. I push the food around my plate with my fork.
After we leave the restaurant, we walk into random bars, drinking tequila and dancing.
One bar has a massive set of Jenga blocks that we start playing, amping each other up until I lose and the blocks scatter all over the floor.
His eyes are wide, watching me as if, should he look away for even a second, I might disappear. And it all feels a lot like love tonight.
We step outside into the misty drizzle and he stares at me for a moment.
“You love me,” he says.
His proclamation makes my chest feel tight again, the words wanting to come from my own lips. But neither of us are ready. Not when goodbye is just around the corner.
I shake my head and tell him that he’s drunk.
We head back to our room, hand-in-hand, and between the vast city, our feelings, and little reminders that this may be our last time being completely alone, we move at our own pace.
Once the door closes behind us, I head to the bed and fall back on its crisp white sheets. He follows me, eyes on fire, warming my insides better than any tequila.
“You’re not tired,” he tells me, his voice husky.
We both peel my pants off first, my hips in the air. Once they’re tossed aside, the rest of our clothes follow, in little piles on the floor that I’m sure he’ll pick up in the morning.
He wordlessly takes my hand and leads us to the large windows that fill the place with sunlight during the daytime. When dark, it makes us feel swallowed whole by the city.
Fingers come around my waist and feather down until all I feel is him at my center, inside, pushing my pleasure buttons. My hands press against the glass just as he kisses between my shoulder blades.
“Come on,” he whispers just there, his breath causing goose bumps.
He takes hold of my upper arms this time, directing me out onto the balcony. Before I have a chance to ask him what we’re doing, he pushes me against the rail and I’m watching the quietly moving city just as he enters me.
The Toronto lights are staring at us in our sensual splendor, as he tells me to look up, to watch the city watching us.
With the world at my feet, Gavin makes my body feel like I’m soaring.
Only once we’re back in bed, do I really wonder what a life will be like without him. And if I have to accept whatever fate we may have, together or separate, why does this have to feel so amazing? The bar is set so extraordinarily high.
If I have to love again, it would either be this epic, or I would be alone.
He sleeps soundly beside me, his warmth making me want to scoot closer to him and give in to my fatigue.
But I grab one of the beautiful notebooks he bought me and start writing instead.
Because even though I haven’t told him, I love him in a way I never thought I could love someone else.
With every beautiful and ugly piece of me.