15 Sloane
May 2017
Although my childhood was filled with so many what-ifs, one thing was for sure—I wanted to be a writer. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t much money in it. I knew that I had to make a career out of a passion, something that I loved, or else I’d never survive decades of a nine-to-five. That passion was writing, an ambition ultimately fueled by my loneliness. Without many friends, siblings, or a steady place to call home, journaling became an escape for me. I was putting the words I was too afraid to say out loud down on paper, in hopes of understanding them myself. When there was no one to turn to, there was always a pen and a notebook beside me. Words had become my sanctuary. My journal would never leave me. Writing would always be there, or so I thought.
Annie offered me the assistant position at The Gist not even ten minutes into my final interview. Even after weeks of rigorously applying to other writing gigs in the city, nowhere was interested in hiring me. I’d really underestimated how hard finding a job would be. Luckily, every editor I’d interviewed with was kind and encouraging. They all knew it wasn’t the position I wanted, but they reassured me that this was a step in the right direction. In my final interview, Annie mentioned the potential to freelance as well. She said I could pitch her one piece a month; no promises they would make it online, but she would give me feedback and help mentor me when she had the time.
While it wasn’t the dream postgrad life I’d envisioned for myself, I was excited. An assistant title wasn’t comparable to staff writer, and The Gist wasn’t as reputable as the New York Times or as popular as Cosmo, but it was a start. It was the beginning of my story, and I couldn’t wait to see how the rest of it unfolded.
I looked around my bedroom at what still needed to be done. I’d managed to fit my entire closet into two large suitcases. Lauren and I decided to sell our apartment decor on Facebook Marketplace, agreeing it wasn’t worth the hassle of shipping to New York. This was a fresh start for us, and we wanted it to feel like that. I just needed to pack the rest of my toiletries, which I couldn’t do until after I showered that night.
I checked the time on my phone; it read 10:54 a.m. Today was my last day in Wilmington, and I was going to spend it with Ethan. He was picking me up in a few minutes, and I was dying to see what he had in store for us.
When I got to the parking lot, Ethan was waiting near our building in Graham’s car. He had the top off and was blasting the new Migos album, his favorite.
“Get in, Hart!” He lowered his sunglasses and reached over the console to open the passenger-side door for me.
“Where’s your car?” I asked, pulling myself up into the lifted Jeep.
“It’s not suitable for today’s activities” He grinned.
I fastened my seat belt as he took off, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on my thigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I took him in. His hair, which had grown longer than usual, was flowing in the wind, and he had a huge smile on his face as he recited every word to “Get Right Witcha.” He’d memorized the whole album within a week of its release in January, and it was all I’d heard since then. He and Graham had already gotten in a few beach days this season, so the freckles on his arms and face were peeking through more than usual.
I placed my hand over his and squeezed it, hoping he would know what it meant: I wanted today to last a lifetime, because come morning, I wouldn’t see him for a month. Our lives were about to change; I was just unaware of how much.
We drove south for what seemed like miles until we reached the end of Kure Beach. I didn’t ask questions, though I wanted to. Instead, I chose to live in the moment and soaked in every second I had left with Ethan.
He parked in front of a small office building nestled between sand dunes, then walked around to my side to open my door.
“Is this where we’re going?” I looked at him, puzzled.
“Not quite. We’re driving onto the beach. Let me show you how to take some air out of the tires while I go inside and get the day pass.”
I jumped out of the car and sat with him on the curb.
“So you’ll just unscrew each tire cap and then stick my mailbox key in there to let out the air. The tires should be around twenty PSI; you can check their pressure on the dash. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, so when I’m back I’ll help,” Ethan explained.
“Got it.” I nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Ethan. It’s not rocket science. Go get the pass. I’ll be fine!”
As I sat there waiting for Ethan’s return, my mind drifted back off to the big move. I took in my surroundings, salt air, blue cloudless skies, sand in the cracks of the cement underneath me. I was going from one extreme to the next. Even though moving to New York City had been a lifelong dream of mine, I couldn’t escape the sinking feeling in my stomach. Was I ready for this?
“Secured the pass,” Ethan shouted from behind me a few minutes later. “How’re the tires coming?”
“Two down, two to go,” I replied.
“You can get in the car and take a break. I’ll get the rest,” he offered.
“It’s alright. It’ll be quicker if we both do it.”
Five minutes later, we were back in the Jeep.
“Buckle up and watch your head. The drive in can get bouncy, and I don’t need you to get a concussion on our last day,” he said.
Our last day.
I did as I was told and watched out the passenger window as we maneuvered our way onto the beach. A tear fell down my cheek. I tried to wipe it away as fast as I could so that Ethan wouldn’t see. I didn’t want to look back on our last day and remember tears. I did my best to get it together and look forward to the time that we did have left.
“This spot seems good,” Ethan said as he put the car in park and took the keys out of the ignition. “Wanna help me unload?”
I looked into the back seat, where I saw a tote bag that was packed to the brim. A smile immediately appeared on my face. I couldn’t believe how much effort he put into this; the least I could do was not ruin it by crying.
“What is all of this?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” He winked.
I grabbed the tote bag as he lifted the cooler I’d painted him for beach weekend from the trunk.
“You wanna know something, Hart?” Ethan asked.
“Always.”
“This is probably one of my favorite gifts I’ve ever gotten,” he said, referring to the cooler.
Painting coolers is a tradition most fraternities have—their dates for mountain or beach weekend are supposed to paint and fill coolers, in return for the guys paying for the weekend. I wanted mine to be perfect, so I spent over a month slaving over it. To hear he loved it made all of those hours more than worth it.
Ethan laid out a blanket in the sand and then continued to unpack everything while I sat back and watched. He brought us sandwiches from Jersey Mikes, a bottle of prosecco with a little container of orange juice, and watermelon Sour Patch Kids for dessert.
“This is really nice of you,” I said. “Thank you. I needed this.”
“Anytime, Hart.” He smiled in return. “Do you want to pop the bottle, or should I?”
I started uncontrollably laughing.
“What?” he asked.
“Ethan,” I continued, barely able to breathe. “It’s a twist-off.”
He looked down, and to no one’s surprise, I was right. We laughed as he opened the bottle and made us each a mimosa.
He tried to defend himself. “You know I don’t really drink wine.”
“I know, I know. That was just too funny.”
“So you guys have all weekend to settle in before you start work Monday. What’re you gonna do?” Ethan changed the subject.
“Lauren’s parents are driving up with the stuff we weren’t able to fly with, so I think Friday, they’re taking us to IKEA, and then we’ll go to dinner somewhere in the neighborhood. I can’t imagine we’ll do too much besides get settled in.”
“Are you excited for your first day?”
“I don’t know if excited is the right word. More like extremely nervous. I keep having nightmares that I’ll get on the wrong train or miss my stop and be late. So I’m making Lauren practice the commute with me on Sunday.”
“There you go! I’m sure it seems intimidating, but once you do it a few times, you’ll be a pro. You’re good with directions. Remember when I took that wrong turn on our way home from the mountains? You navigated us back to the highway,” Ethan reminded me.
“Oh my gosh, yes.” I chuckled. “That was scary, but then funny, but then scary again when I thought I might puke from all of the twists and turns. I still can’t believe you couldn’t figure it out. Didn’t you guys grow up going there?”
“Graham mostly drove. I didn’t have my own car for a while.” Ethan shrugged.
A pang of regret came over me. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how different his upbringing was than mine.
***
Once the sun was setting, Ethan took me to dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, and a few margaritas later, I was feeling tipsy and ready to go home. I’d managed to make it all day without bringing up the dreaded topic of what would happen to us after I moved. I’d also managed to make it all day without crying. Until we drove over the bridge.
I tried to keep it to myself, but as soon as he lowered the volume, I knew he knew.
“Sloane?” He never used my real name. “Are you okay? Do you want me to pull over?”
“I’m okay.” I sniffled.
“So why are you crying?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what? Moving?”
I nodded before adding, “Of what’s going to happen to us.”
Ethan reached over and grabbed my hand, trying to navigate his gaze between the road and me. “Don’t worry about that right now. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll go to New York, and I’ll be here, and I’ll visit in a month. How does that sound?”
“Good,” I managed to say.
“There’s no use in being upset over the unknown. Let’s see how this first month goes. We can book my flight when we get back to Ascent,” he offered.
“Really?” I lit up a little.
“Really. I think you even have time for one Taylor Swift song.” He handed me his phone as I scrolled through Spotify until I found the only one he knew. We sang “You Belong with Me” the rest of the way home.
When we pulled into the parking lot, Ethan shut the car off and turned to me.
He ran his thumb over my cheek and then under my eye, I assume to wipe off any mascara that ran.
“Promise me something, Hart?” His tone was sincere. “No matter how much you miss me or Wilmington, you won’t let that bring you down. You’ve wanted this your entire life. You finally have it. Grab New York by the balls and enjoy it. I’ll be cheering you on, no matter how far away I am.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Now, I need to get you in my bed, because there are some things we just can’t do hundreds of miles apart.”
“You’re always so horny,” I joked.
“Only for you.”
Was that Ethan admitting that we were exclusive? They were words I never thought, or expected, to hear. But they were also the only words that made me feel somewhat better about moving hundreds of miles away the next day.