As I leave the book store, I take one last look around the town I'm attached to, whose city limits I haven't left in years, and say a silent goodbye before getting on the road.
I end up having a lot of fun on my journey. I stop at a restaurant dedicated to peaches and try everything on the menu. Cobbler, a burger topped with a grilled peach and peach barbeque sauce, and homemade peach mead which I decided to drink until I was wasted-part of that decision had to do with how much I missed Max. Luckily, I left my phone in the car at the motel so there was no drunk texting. The next morning I'm hungover and hating life. I swear, if I even taste a single thing made from the fuzzy fruit again I will vomit. I need to stop hiding my emotions behind alcohol and start dealing with them head on. That's a lot harder said than done, but that's going to be part of my mission on these trips.
The tour itself is a lot of fun. There's so much to see and do and the whole tour was as spooky as I hoped it would be. It's easy to keep my mind preoccupied. The problem is that first night when I'm alone in my motel room and my text alert goes off. I sit in the bed, a movie playing in the background for noise to keep things from getting too lonely. I stare at my phone screen, the message that says it's from Max, but I don't open it at first. As much as I try to stop myself from reading it, I know it will haunt me if I don't read it and it will be far more bothersome than any of the ghosts on the tour.
I open it.
Max: Hungry?
Of course he still thinks I'm in town. I look at the clock in the corner of my phone screen. He'll be getting off work about now. We've already fallen into a bit of a routine since we started hanging out more often. I'm sure when I don't answer he'll think I've fallen asleep. It won't be a big deal. I put my phone on the charger and it stays silent the rest of the night.
The next day I explore more of the sights of the old city. I try on dresses for an old fashioned Southern belle photoshoot, and go to a huge makeup store they have in the mall to look for items to add to my kit at home. I get another text from Max.
Max: You awake yet? Want to get breakfast?
A lump forms in the back of my throat. Ignoring him isn't going to be easy, but he'll give up. He's too good-looking and confident to sit around and wait for a girl as basic as me.
I turn off the phone and put it in my purse for the rest of the day. I don't check it again until I'm on my way home. I don't want to look at it even then, but I need to book my flight to Peru. There are five text messages and several missed calls and voicemails. I don't even look at them. It will be easier to ignore him when I leave the country. Where I'm going in Peru, there won't be much in the way of cell service and I don't want technology ruining this experience for me. I book my flight and put my phone away again.
7
I packed my things for Peru before I left for Savannah. The only thing left to do when I get home is grab my stuff and leave for the airport. I finished my Emma audio book, which I loved. I suspect Jane Austen is on the path to being my favorite author. I decide to try something different for the long flight to Peru. Since this is a hiking trip, I swing by the bookstore and pick up a copy of the memoir, Wild, by Cheryl Strayed.
It's late by the time I pull up to my house. The streets are empty, the sun is going down. My own bed sounds so fantastic. When I pull up to my parking space, I see someone sitting on my front porch. His back is to me, so I don't recognize him at first, but when he turns to look at me, my heart explodes in a riot of tremors.
Max.
The whole time I was in Savannah, I didn't bother wearing makeup-though I bought a ton of it-or did anything more with my hair than putting it up in a sloppy bun. I didn't think it mattered. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Now I'm scurrying to smooth down my hair. My stomach sinks and I search for an escape route. I'm not ready to face him right now, not while I'm half asleep and looking like I've spent a week sleeping under an overpass. I suppose I could take off and keep driving. It would be one hell of an asshole movie, but it would keep me from having to deal with this right now.
But I can't do that. He'll think he did something wrong, or that I'm mad at him. It's not fair to him.
Shit. I look like a homeless person. I'm not prepared for this. Seeing him though …
The longing I feel is overwhelming and I realize just how much I miss him.
When I get out of the car, he stands up, but doesn't say anything. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching silently as I walk toward him. I take slow, tempered breaths, trying to appear calm. But in my blender of a mind, I'm scrambling to find something to say to him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask him.
His cold stare cuts me right to the bone, voice an indignant monotone when he says, "When I didn't hear from you for several days I got worried and went to your job. The manager told me you were in Savannah and that you were supposed to be getting back today."
Had he been waiting on my porch for me all day? I want to ask but I'm afraid of my own voice. If I talk, I might break down.
He continues. "She also told me you were leaving for Peru and Scotland in a day or two. Were you planning on telling me?"
Straightening my shoulders, I try not to appear as pathetic as I feel. "No," I say.
He scrubs his face with his hands like he's trying to hold in his anger. I hate seeing him this way and want to hug him or kiss him to make him feel different, but I don't know if that's a good idea, so I stay where I am.
"Why the hell not?" he says. "I thought you were lying in a hospital somewhere, or dead."
I'm taken aback by the anger and frustration in his voice. I assumed he'd be annoyed by the ghosting, but I figured after a week he wouldn't care. He would've been off with some new girl, having amazing sex, and I'd be a distant memory.
I feel the pressure of tears on the backs of my eyes. I try desperately to hold them in. But as I stand there under his scrutiny, I can't. The only thing I manage to do is wipe them away as quickly as they fall.
"I saw how busy your schedule was at work and I didn't want you to have to put your life on hold for me while I went trapesing across the globe. But it's something I have to do for my best friend," I say.
His shoulders lose their stiffness and there's a sorrowful look in his eyes when he says, "Shouldn't you have let me decide what I wanted? If I want to put my life on hold, that's my choice to make, not yours."
My tears fall faster. It's impossible to keep up with them. "I didn't think you would care. I just assumed you would've moved on."
My purse feels like it weighs a million pounds. Everything feels heavy, my shoulders, my head. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted from traveling, or maybe it's all the guilt I feel that's weighing me down. Seeing him this upset makes me realize what a mistake I've made. I honestly didn't think he'd care this much. I just want to collapse and curl into a ball and cry. All those emotions I've been bottling up are finally starting to break loose at the most inopportune time. I really didn't want an audience when it happened.
"Why the hell didn't you call me?" he asks. His voice has changed. He sounds more concerned than angry now.
"I didn't want to burden you with all my baggage. It's not like we're a couple or anything," I say.
It was the wrong thing to say. The look he gives me could scare paint off the wall. "You think I'm going to spend all my time with someone I don't care about, who I'm not invested in? It's not like I was only calling you in the middle of the night for a quick lay then sending you away with slap on the ass. You hung out at my shop around my customers. You met my friends. I want to be with you."
My tears come down in droves now and my breaths shutter. Every ounce of me wants to break down, do that hard, ugly crying that makes your face warp, but I'm holding back. I was hoping he cared about me because I really care about him. I only allow myself to admit it because he did first. This whole time I've been lying to myself, trying to convince myself that this thing between us was just a fling. It's such a relief to know he wants to be with me too. But now I'm worried that I blew it. He's so pissed at me right now. I don't know if he can forgive me.
Seeing me cry seems to soothe his rage and he shakes his head. The hard wrinkles on his forehead smooth out. "What's going on with you? Talk to me," he says. He sits and pats the space on the porch steps next to him.
I sit beside him and take a shaky breath before saying, "I don't want to go on these trips without you. This was supposed to be me and my best friend, but she's not here and I don't think I can do this by myself."
The tears fall harder and I can barely catch my breath. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.