The end I type, sighing heavily as my fingers blindly find the right keys.
It’s over. Those words are unlikely to stay in the manuscript when it’s published, but I need to write them down. To force my brain to let go. And I’m relieved, sort of. While my hopes and dreams of a future with Aiden are dashed, at least the self-inflicted torture is done too. Or will be by the end of the day. I still have to get through saying goodbye to him and actually driving away.
I hope my absence will make this easier on him too. When I see the conflicted emotions in his eyes: affection, pain, self-doubt, frustration — it makes me a little sick. I don’t want him to be miserable. He loves me — a little. Just not enough to overcome everything else. He never tried to make me believe otherwise, which is why it’s my own damn fault for falling so hard so fast. Of course, I had something of a head start. My internal voice is wry. I can still laugh at myself. That’s good.
I’m going to go spend a few days with Ingrid, and then I’m thinking about making some serious long-term travel plans. I’m toying with an extended trip to the UK or maybe New Zealand. I don’t have the energy right now for visiting a country where I can’t speak the language. I should visit my dad before I leave, but I’m too emotional to see him right now. He’ll know something’s wrong and try to drag it out of me. I’m not ruining Aiden’s friendship with Dad on top of everything else, although knowing Aiden he’ll need some time before he lets the guilt go enough to see Dad. Like he has anything to feel guilty about.
I send the book file to Aiden’s phone and go to find him. He’s in the kitchen chopping vegetables with brisk efficiency. “Aiden?”
His smile is tired when he meets my eyes, “What’s up, Rose?”
“The book is done. I sent a copy to your phone so you can read it when you’re ready. I’m going to go pack and get out of your hair.”
“Rose, you don’t have to…”
I stop his words with a finger to his perfectly shaped lips, “Yeah, I do. It’s better this way.” I press a light kiss to his cheek, “I dragged you into whatever this is, which was never my intention. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” His blunt words catch me by surprise. I’m not sure what’s coming next, but it’s not going to be a significant plot twist. He’s still chopping carrots. Not exactly an indicator of a forthcoming declaration of passion.
“Just because I wish things were different, doesn’t mean I regret getting to know you as your own person. You’re more than Tristan’s daughter, Rosebud. You’re smart and funny and sexier than you’ll ever realize.”
I must have made a face because his eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’s true, Rose. More so because you don’t see it.”
He wipes his hands on a dishtowel and leans against the counter, a safe three feet away from me, “So what’s next? Did you decide where you’re going to live?”
I shake my head, “I think I’m going to travel for a while. Shake up my life a bit, make room for some new experiences.”
His eyes narrow dangerously, “Stay safe, okay? Don’t go off with strange men.”
I roll my eyes, “I wasn’t talking about that kind of experience, Aiden. I thought I might start with bungee jumping or something.”
That doesn’t seem to make him any happier, he’s practically growling, “Rosebud, just promise you’ll call me if you need help. I don’t care what’s happened or not happened between us, I’ll always be there for you if you need me.”
“Okay.” I try to smile but I’m getting teary so I turn away. This is why I need to leave the country. If I don’t, I’ll find some goddamn excuse to see him again and I’ll never get over this. I head up to the loft to finish packing up my shit.
“And you’re staying for lunch!” he shouts after me. That makes me smile, as he probably intended.
It doesn’t take very long at all to throw my things into my two duffle bags and pack my laptop carefully into my backpack. When I take them outside to load my car, it’s already uncomfortably warm. I take a minute to roll the windows down so it won’t be a blast furnace by the time I leave. Poor Kevin is getting old and they say the air conditioning is the first to go. His usually takes about twenty minutes before anything comes out that’s cooler than the surrounding air.
When it’s time to come home again, I’ll probably need to think about buying a new car. I’ve hung onto Kevin out of loyalty, but perhaps life would be easier if I find something where everything works. I pat the dash in apology before shutting the door.
Time for lunch.
* * *
It’s really hard to eat around a lump in your throat. I manage, but only because keeping my attention focused on the food means I’m not staring at Aiden trying to commit every one of his facial expressions to memory.
Saying goodbye is awkward, to say the least. I do the dishes for the last time, despite his protests that he will take it from here, and then I kiss him on the cheek and whisper, “Don’t work too hard.”
To which he replies, “Drive safe, Rosebud.”
And that was that. Now I’m crying my eyes out as I drive Kevin down the mountain. That’s not quite as dangerous as it sounds. For starters, I put the car in third gear as soon as I left the driveway and I’m not bawling so my eyes are open. I’m just having a cathartic cry. Partly because I’m not even sure where I’m headed. I want to go home to my dad and yet that’s also the last place I want to be. I think I need those few days with Ing to decompress, but I don’t have the patience to drive all the way to North Carolina. And I don’t think Kevin would make it.
The cheapest and easiest thing to do is drive back to San Diego, find some long-term parking at the airport, and hit up the airline counter for the next available flight to Raleigh. I am of course making a huge assumption that Ing is willing to have a guest.
No way am I stopping at the San Sebastian shopping center again, so I keep driving until the rural road merges with the rural highway. Then I pull over at the next town to call her.
But first I discover a text message from Aiden. My gut clenches before I open it, but it’s simply a request to let him know when I’m safe for the night. He’s not making it easy for me to break the strings between us. I know his request is sincere and the part of me that dares to hope for a happy ending after all surges to the fore. I push it back relentlessly and call Ing.
“Rose? I was just thinking about you!”
“Would you be open to a house guest for a few days?”
“Seriously, you have to ask? Get your ass over here.”
“Okay. I wanted to make sure before I bought a ticket.”
“You okay, babe?” Her voice gets soft with the implied question.
“No. But I will be. Eventually.” I attempt a smile, “On the bright side, the new book is done.”
“Oooh, I can’t wait to read it! Congrats, Rose.”
“Thanks. I’d better get going, I just pulled off to call you so I should get back on the road. I’ll let you know when I’ve got a flight.”
“Sweet. Can’t wait to see you, Rosey.”
“Ditto.” And we hang up.
Unfortunately, I hit San Diego right at rush hour so it takes a while to make my way to the outskirts of the airport. By the time I pull into the long-term lot that has space available, my right ankle is aching from having to hit the brakes so often.
I have to wait out in the blazing sun for the shuttle to take me to the airport. So when I’m finally standing in front of the most likely airline counter being told that it will be at least three days before I can get on a flight without paying through the nose for first class, I’m peeved. Okay, I’m fucking pissed off, but I try to rein it in and not be one of those customers.
I make my way down the line of counters and get the same story until one enterprising rep tells me if I’m willing to leave in an hour and spend the night in Cleveland, I can be in Raleigh by noon tomorrow. I take it.