Page 59 of Date and Switch

On Monday, Raven called after her show. With Rex and Felicity at work, it gave me the freedom to actually discuss things openly. I hadn’t realized how unprepared I was to muddle through the emotionalism of the ending of whatever it was Bryce and I had.

“Look, I don’t speak Bryce. He’s a mystery to me, and I’ve known him for as long as I have memories in my brain. Sure he and Sarah lived together, but I guess I never realized he had any kind of deep passion for her. He never looked at her the way I saw him look at you. It just doesn’t make sense. But I need to get to a meeting with Ivy and the team. I wanted to know if you’re still interested in the job here. The Ellis attorneys created a pretty watertight contract for you. Moving expenses, really nice salary, six months in a corporate condo—which I stayed in—you’ll love it. It’s right on the water.

“You’re really good at what you do. All of us here at Hursch have just been blown away by how successful you became—and you started at zero. That kind of success isn’t all luck. That’s skill. I want those skills to help me and Bear, and some of the other radio shows here.”

“It’s a lot to think about today.”

“I don’t need your answer right away. How about I call you next Friday and see what your thoughts are. That gives you two full weeks to sort out all the shit surrounding the trip, and Bryce, to figure out your living arrangements, what’s going on with your sister, and who is going to live where.”

We agreed to circle back at the end of next week. In the meantime—I needed to get a blog post up. Especially given news was starting to break about all kinds of trips and resorts shutting down and cancelling reservations.

* * *

Date & Switch: The End of the Road

Dear Readers,

What a long, strange trip it was. I wouldn’t change a single thing about that trip. It was beyond my wildest expectations. I owe so much to Bryce. He was a wonderful travel companion and regardless of where we go in life, I will forever be grateful for the opportunity he gave me.

I saw things I wouldn’t ever have even

thought I’d want to explore.

As some of you may know, the cruise was cut short. We were all sent home via London on Saturday morning. Many of you spent a lot of energy speculating as to whether or not Bryce and I were an item. Having collected all of the pictures that the on-ship photographers take of you and ask you to purchase (and let’s just say I’m going to be eating Ramen for the next few months to pay off the credit card charge for all of these pictures), I see two people who cared very deeply about one another.

I can’t lie. I can’t sit here and type all kinds of bogus fantasy to keep you interested even though the trip is over. For me—and Bryce—this trip wasn’t about Instagram followers, or website hits, or TikTok virality. It was a shitty situation Bryce found himself in, and the two of us desperately needed an escape. That’s exactly what we got.

Do I love Bryce? No question. But love is so many different things. It’s knowing that every morning at exactly 7:05 he’d walk into the room, panting, and covered in sweat because he loved to run on the deck just as the sun was rising. It was sitting at a table full of our friends and knowing I had someone sitting next to me who I didn’t have to be anything or anyone except exactly who I am right now. Sera Miller, unemployed opera singer turned banker, turned facing a midlife crisis at thirty-five because I don’t know what I want to do with my life, slightly overweight, comfort seeker who prefers wearing flip flops, Birkenstocks, or flats to fuck me heels, who tells corny jokes and when faced with super stressful situations says really weird shit. Speaking of stressful situations, I don’t know if I’ll ever forget facing some of those fears and anxieties with Bryce. He was the calm I desperately needed. He gently guided me to face my fears and held my hand when I was scared.

I actually pity the other Sarah Miller. The one that Bryce wanted to marry. The one who he so desperately wanted the same level of reciprocal love that he provided for her. She missed the boat—no pun intended. She passed over someone who I saw first-hand, attempt to move mountains just so I was happy, not embarrassed, comfortable, name the emotion and there was probably a situation that could be plugged in.

Bryce is the kind of man that every woman wishes she had. Someone who sees you for who you are, holds that up, and celebrates it. I’m going to miss it. Looking through all of these pictures is bittersweet. You can see how much admiration we have for one another. I can see it in our smiles and our body language, how I tilt my head or where Bryce places his hand.

I have so many emotions, and I don’t even know if I have a right to feel them. We knew going in this was going to be a weird situation. One we’d have to navigate and figure out together. Maybe this is just post-vacation drop on a super heightened scale because of how long we were gone for. It’s like having too many consistently happy days and now we’re back to the real world and everything seems kind of…gray. I don’t know. I’m really fucking sad.

There’s a quote—I don’t know who says it—“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

That’s what I’m going to do.

Tomorrow.

thirty-nine

I received the notification in my email that the latest blog post published. I should have ignored it. I didn’t need to read her thoughts about what a horrible person I was. How I’d lead her on and played with her emotions and now I’d kicked her to the curb. Though she was too damn sweet to do that. Hell, when I was unpacking after finally arriving back in Boston, I discovered a card in my backpack from her. Inside was three thousand, four hundred and seventy-two dollars. Which was roughly one dollar more than what the bill was for all of the various things we’d charged to the room over the course of four months. Three grand. I didn’t even know if her paycheck covered that.

Rather than read the words she wrote, I chose instead to look through the photo-book she embedded inside her blog. I swear she bought out every single picture the cruise ship had taken of us. Someday, when we’re at the end of this trip, you’ll thank me for taking all of these pictures she’d said to me at the airport when I griped about her taking so many selfies. Now as I looked through all of these pictures—a combination of the ones she took on her phone, or with her camera, plus those purchased from the ship… I was glad she’d taken them all. Even if each flip of her digital book hurt more than the picture before it.

“Well dear brother-in-law, to what do I owe the honor of your phone call?”

“Hey, Till. Do you know if the attorneys ever closed the loop on the contract for Sera?”

“Closed the loop. Jesus you sound more corporate every time I talk to you.”

The urge to roll my eyes was strong. Though after listening to Sera rib me for months about the exact same thing, I’d apparently developed some kind of immunity to the insult.

“Well, contracts are in my wheelhouse,” I told her, barely containing a smile. “I want to land the plane on this asap because we can’t be laying the train track as the engine is revving.”

“Oh my god please stop, you big goon. My ear drums are bleeding!”

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