Page 154 of Fake As Puck
“Long distance?”
“Long distance.”
“That’s rough, man. How long since you’ve seen her?”
“Two weeks. But she’s working this huge project for the next two months, and I’m here, and it’s just...”
“Hard.”
“Really fucking hard.”
Reed nods like he understands exactly what I’m talking about.
“You know Chelsea and I did long distance for a while, right?”
“You did?”
“Yeah, man. I don’t know how much of my story you know, but after all the shit went down at work, she moved, and it sucked. She established a whole life in another state, basically across the country. She really wanted her independence, which I understood, but man, it was fucking hard. I’ve been traded left and right, been a raging asshole, but when she got the job here, it was a blessing.”
“How’d you make it work in the in-between?”
He shakes his head “We barely did. There were nights we wanted to call it off. Nights she couldn’t handle the distance. Times when it felt like we were just torturing ourselves for no reason.”
“What changed?”
“I realized I had a choice. I could let the distance kill us, or I could choose her. Every single day. No matter how hard it was.”
“What does that mean? Choose her?”
“It means you don’t just hope it works out. You make it work out. You buy the plane tickets. You drive the extra miles. You stay up late for phone calls even when you have practice the nextmorning. You choose her over convenience, over comfort, over the easier option.”
I chuckle. “It’s been killing me, man.”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried everything. But West? If she’s it, if she’s the one you want to build something with, then you don’t let work or travel or distance or fear mess that up. You fight for it.” He pats my shoulder. “Every sleepless night, every missed call, every time I wanted to give up—all of it was worth it.”
That conversation sticks with me through the rest of the day.
Through dinner alone in my too-quiet house, through mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, through lying in bed staring at the ceiling and missing her so much it physically hurts.
Choose her. Every day. No matter what.
I grab my laptop and start googling.
Flights to LAX. Hotels in Silver Lake. Things to do in LA on a weekend.
The Getty Center. Griffith Observatory. That bookstore she mentioned loving. The farmers market she goes to on Saturdays.
I could fly down Friday after practice, spend the weekend with her, fly back Sunday night.
It would be expensive. It would be exhausting. It would mean missing team bonding activities and probably pissing off Coach for leaving town during training camp.
But Reed’s right. If she’s it, and she is, then I choose her.
I choose the plane tickets and the logistics and the exhaustion.
I choose driving through LA traffic and sleeping in her tiny bed and doing whatever she wants to do.
I choose her. Every day. No matter what.
