The Private Serials Box Set(38)

We walked next door, and sure enough, the two bedroom was just as  beautiful as the one. It did have some furniture: one couch, a coffee  table, a queen-sized bed in each bedroom, and some end tables. It wasn't  much, but it was more than I had in the world. Becky was practically  jumping up and down with excitement.

"What do you think, Lena?"

"Are you sure you really want to live with someone you just met?"

She laughed a little and then smiled. "What's the difference between  living with you or living with someone I meet on craigslist? I need a  roommate, regardless of who it is, and you seem way more normal than  some of the people I'm sure post their vacancies on the internet."

She had a point. I had considered meeting people from the internet and  looking for a roommate that way. This, meeting her just yesterday and  now looking for a place to live together, just seemed a little too  convenient. However, my mind started focusing on the price. My brief  research had shown eleven hundred dollars for a place this nice, with a  washer and dryer, this close to the ocean, was a steal.

"I don't know … "

"Want me to agree to a background check? Want a drug test?" She asked  the questions, but it was obvious she was joking. "Lena, honestly, if  you're uncomfortable, I get it. It's just a really great deal. If you  don't want to room with me, I'll just get the two bedroom and look for a  roommate myself. But I'd rather just room with you. You're the first  friend I made on this island."

She watched me as my mind sifted through all my options. The financially  smart decision would be to room with her. And I did like her.

"Okay, let's do it." Then Becky did start clapping and jumping up and  down in her spot. "When is this one available?" I asked the landlord.

"It's ready now. I'd just need first and last month's rent, and the security."

"I'm good with that." I turned to Becky. "You good to go?"

"I'm golden," she said with a smile that was so big and bright.

So we both filled out the paperwork, wrote checks for our portion, and he gave us keys.



The next day, after I'd brought all my clothes to the new apartment,  along with the small amount of personal belongings I'd acquired in my  three weeks on the island, I walked into the living room to find Becky  looking out the big window.

"It really is beautiful here," she said, not taking her eyes off the  ocean. I'd only known her a short time, but this was the first instance  where I heard anything but bubbly sweetness in her voice. She sounded  introspective and a little sullen, almost as if the beauty she was  referring to wasn't just the scenery.

"Yeah, it is," was my response, but it seemed inadequate. Her mood had me worried.

Then, suddenly, she turned to me with the smile I was becoming  accustomed to and said excitedly, "I bought a TV and it's being  delivered in a few minutes. I thought we could have a roomie movie night  and christen our new pad."

And just like that, she was back to normal.

"That sounds awesome."



That evening, one of the things I learned about Becky was that she was  the kind of girl who, when packing her things to move to the other side  of the country, brought her Friends DVD collection with her.

"It goes where I go," she said with a laugh as she loaded the first DVD.  We'd spent a few hours watching Ross pine after Rachel, eating  take-out, and munching on some popcorn I'd purchased for the event. We  even had some cheap, girly beer. I was enjoying myself, and loved  getting to know Becky better, but the whole situation made me miss Sam,  too.

"So," Becky said, throwing a piece of popcorn in the air and then catching it in her mouth. "Why did you leave Portland?"

"I needed a new beginning. A fresh start."

"That's the impersonal response you give to the girl you just met at a  coffee shop," she said, sounding almost insulted. "Tell me the real  reason." She was looking straight into my eyes, like she genuinely  wanted to know, and more so, she seemed like she cared about my answer.  For the first time in weeks, I was compelled to tell someone else about  my ruined life back in Portland.

"I was married, am still, in fact. At least I think so. I haven't signed  any papers. Anyway," I exhaled, pushing out a breath and pulling my  hand through my hair, trying to build up the nerve to say the words. "I  was in a bad marriage and made some bad decisions. My husband found out  and took everything from me. It's actually pretty complicated."

"He didn't, like, hit you, did he?"

"No, he didn't hit me, but he wasn't a very good husband."

"Well, what were your bad decisions?"

"I had an affair."

"Hmm."

We were both quiet for a while. She was probably thinking I was a  horrible person, but my mind was torturing me with images of Preston and  all the times he'd pretended to care.

"So, what happened with the guy you had the affair with?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why aren't you with him now?"

It took me a moment to formulate my answer, but I finally settled on, "He didn't want me after all."

"I find that really hard to believe."

"Well, that's the funny thing about good liars, they're easy to believe."

"Obviously I don't know the situation, but I would venture to guess he's  torn up that you're not with him." She was looking at me with concern,  her eyes soft and imploring.

I sighed. "You're sweet, Becky, but he's not thinking about me. He  probably hasn't spent one second thinking about me since I left."

"Impossible," she stated firmly, as if it were a fact she was sure of.

I smiled at her because, really, I appreciated her kind words, but  thinking about Preston just made my heart hurt that much more.

"I think I'm going to head to bed."

"You don't want to watch any more Friends?"

"Maybe tomorrow." I climbed off the couch and started walking toward my bedroom.

"Lena," Becky called from the living room.

"Yeah?" I stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned back to her.

"Do me a favor? Don't give up on him. That guy back in Portland. Just," she paused and bit her lip, "don't give up hope yet."

I laughed, but it was a sad, pathetic laugh. "Becky, in order to give up  hope, I would have had to have some to begin with. And I didn't. There  was never any hope for Preston and me. It was over before it began, and  he's probably somewhere tricking someone else into believing his lies."

"Well, I hope someday you find out you're mistaken," she said sweetly, like she really wanted what she was saying to be true.

"Goodnight, Becky."

"Night, Lena."



Weeks passed and life started to take on a new "normal." I started my  job, easing my way into a new position, trying to learn as much as I  could and impress the people working around me. There were a few women  who I worked with who seemed friendly and had extended invitations to me  to hang out after work for happy hour. I always declined, telling them I  had plans already, but in reality I wasn't sure about letting new  people get close to me.

Sam and I spoke on the phone every once in a while, but even though I  missed her terribly, I could never bring myself to fully open up to her.  There was a clear division in my mind between my old life and my new  life, and I couldn't fully convince my head to let Sam into the new.

Becky was the one constant in my life that brought me a sense of familiarity and routine.

She got a job on the island working for the newspaper in advertising. We  both had a regular nine-to-five job and so, after a week or two, we  started to resemble an old married couple. We'd both come home from  work, eat dinner, and then hang out in the living room either watching  TV, reading, and sometimes she talked me into playing games.

After our first delve into personal topics, she never really pressured  me for any more information. Also, she wasn't very forthcoming about  herself either, and that was totally okay with me. We could spend time  together and not have to talk about our pasts. In fact, it was  encouraged.

Every morning I got up early to run. I still found it cathartic and  craved that time when my mind emptied out and I let myself simply be.  Plus, nothing beat running on the beach in Hawaii. I ran without music,  simply listening to the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, the  sounds of the sand moving beneath my feet.         

     



 

There were always other people out running and there was a polite  courtesy amongst us runners to just nod as we passed each other, if  looking at them at all. Most of the time, I tried to keep my eyes on the  sand or out at the horizon.

This morning, however, another runner had other plans.

He jogged toward me and I saw him coming. I veered toward the water,  trying to give him enough room, sticking to my side of the ‘road,'  staying to the right. But instead of a polite nod, he gave me a bright  smile. I smiled back, instinctively, but then looked down to the sand.  Then I noticed he slowed and stopped jogging about twenty feet in front  of me. I slowed, not sure if I was supposed to stop as well, or if I  should start jogging in the other direction. Before I could decide, he  spoke.