Page 49 of Wild Love
“Sucks to be you,” Cora says with a snotty little shrug.
I can’t decide if that makes me want to laugh or cry, so Iprop my head back on the couch and stare up at the wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. “I don’t know. I feel this pressure to live that city life. Ya know? I’m the first person in my family to go to university. Staying here in Rose Hill would have been simple, but I made it out. I did the thing. It feels counterproductive to come back here in some ways. And yet…”
“And yet?”
My lips quirk. This girl should become a journalist with all her hard-hitting questions.
“And yet I love it here. It feels like home. The condo in the city doesn’t. That life doesn’t. It feels like I’m in a race that I don’t give a flying fuck about winning. One I’m signed up for just to say I took part.”
“What about yourboyfriend?” She says the word with a dose of disdain I didn’t see coming.
Next time you ask me that, make sure you are.
That’s the sentence I obsessed over last night. That sentence is the reason I stayed up all night reading my journal. Trying to affirm to myself that I have all these entries that prove Ford and I hate each other the way we’ve always said we do.
But now, as an adult, I’m not sure they read that way at all. I went looking for proof there’s nothing between us, and all I found was evidence to the contrary. I feel like one of those cartoon characters with stunned eyes and question marks circling above their head.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah.”
I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me. I messaged him today. Told him that if he couldn’t make it out here sooner, I wanted to come back for a visit next weekend. I left out the part about how by visit I meant break up. But apparently, he’s going to be away with work.Again.
“You asked me about re-creating yourself, and I think that he and I both have. We’ve changed, our lives have changed. Sometimes you grow together, and sometimes you grow apart. If I go back, it won’t be for him—it will be for myself.”
It’s the first time I’ve given voice to that realization. I’ve thought about it a lot. Maybe I’ve been dragging it out longer than necessary, paralyzed by feelings of obligation. But you don’t just blow up a two-year relationship with a decent person without sleeping on it—without being sure.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve come to realize I wasted a lot of years chasing a life I thought I was supposed to have. Spent a lot of time checking off milestones I thought I was supposed to reach. Achieving goals I thought were supposed to make me feel like I’d finally accomplished something.
I was chasing a fantasy that was supposed to satisfy me. And Ryan was part of that fantasy—the one I was supposed to want.
But now, I know I don’t want what I’m supposed to. And there’s no coming back from that. I’m going to look him in the eye, say it to his face, and give him a hug when I end it. I respect him enough for that.
“That’s very mature of you.” Cora nods like she’s impressed, and I clear my throat to cover a laugh.
“Thank you,” I say simply. “And you know, if I move back, you don’t have to worry. Ford was adamant about coming with me to pick you up today, so he knows what to do. You’re in good hands.”
Cora snorts and hides behind her hands as she bursts into a fit of girlish giggles. “That’s not why he went with you.”
My face scrunches in confusion. “What do you mean? Of course it is.”
“No.” Cora grins, mischief dancing in her eyes. “It’s because I told him about all the other perv dads eyeing you up.”
I scoff. “Ford doesn’t care about that.”
“Don’t re-create yourself as someone oblivious, Rosie. It doesn’t suit you.” She pats me on the leg like I’m dumb, hops off the couch, and gives me a quick and borderline awkward hug. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun. Even with all the pink.”
Then she’s off to bed.
And I’m left spiraling, just like I have been for the past twenty-four hours.
I wake to the feel of calloused fingers gently pushing my hair behind my ear. A corduroy pillow, both velvety and ribbed, rubs against my cheek. The smell of fried chicken, beer, and sandalwood swirls in my nostrils.
When I pry my eyes open, I’m faced with Ford looking rugged and heart-stopping as he sits on the coffee table watching me. Broad shoulders straining against his brown leatherjacket, strong thighs filling out a pair of faded blue jeans. Even his stupid, expensive leather boots are still on his feet.
Like he saw me lying here when he walked in and came straight for me.
I broke every speed limit to get to you.
