Twenty-nine
Trinity
I lift my glass, the crystal catching the dim light of Boulevard’s chandeliers like tiny stars captured in a delicate curve. Last weekend we got the migration completed with only a few hiccups, and then I slept for two days. It’s Wednesday now, and Liz insisted we go out to celebrate.
She raises her glass to mine. “To the end of a marathon,” she toasts. “It’s all over.” A proud smile spreads across her face, as if the success of the project is partly her own.
I can’t help but laugh. “Sure, it’s ‘all over,’” I air quote, “until the untrained ones start clicking where they shouldn’t, and the system throws a fit.” I laugh. “But at that point it will be tech support’s responsibility.”
Liz shakes her head.
“Yeah, the hard part is done,” I continue. “I’m excited to think about something else for a while.”
“So, what’s next for you?” Liz asks. “Go back to see your mom and Greyson in Paradise?” Her question reminds me of the gulf that still exists between Greyson and me, despite the comforting routine of the nightly dinners he’s been sending. I haven’t yet had the energy to tackle a full conversation with him.
“Next?” I echo, swirling the wine in my glass before taking a sip. Its richness feels like a celebration in itself. “I think more sleep. Then…I’ll figure it out.”
“Has the hospital offered you another contract?” Liz probes.
“They’ve mentioned it.” I pause. “I still have a month or so of finalization to do with the electronic medical records system, plus writing the final report about the process—what worked and what didn’t.” The thought is daunting, yet there’s a completeness to it, an ending I both crave and fear.
“Ever thought about looking for something closer to your mom?” Liz swirls her wine with a casual air that doesn’t quite mask the intent behind her words.
I blink. “Closer to Mom?” I repeat, astonishment creeping into my voice. “Liz, you’re the one who’s always touted the merits of staying here, in Vancouver. The job market, the opportunities…”
She nods, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes. “Sure,” she concedes, “but you also have options now. Your boss offered you projects you can work on remotely, right?”
“True,” I admit. “I worry that veers away from my path, though—the CEO track.”
“Doesn’t have to be forever.” Liz’s voice is gentle, yet insistent. “You could work remotely or see what Paradise has in the administration area. That could give you exposure to how other hospitals operate, add to your experience.”
I consider her words, letting them roll around in my mind like the wine in my glass. The idea isn’t without its appeal—flexibility, new perspectives, being closer to Mom, and maybe others… But it isn’t the path I’ve long envisioned .
“Why the change of heart?” I ask, shifting my gaze to meet hers. Liz’s shrug is nonchalant, but there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Paradise isn’t the same place we used to camp in when we were kids,” she says, a wistful smile curving her lips. “It’s grown, changed. Alaric is going to move back to Paradise…” Her voice trails off, but the implication hangs between us.
“Sounds intriguing,” I reply, and I realize something in me longs for what Liz has seemingly found—a connection, a possibility, a reason to look beyond the skyline of our bustling city. “I don’t know what I want,” I confess. “But I know that if I’m going to invest in someone…it has to be going somewhere, not just filling time.” I want a relationship that’s a journey, not a detour, a partnership with purpose and direction.
Liz smiles and raises her glass in toast. “Let’s see where the road takes us,” she murmurs, and I nod. “Sometimes, the best destinations are the ones you never planned on finding.”
I swirl the remnants of my wine. It’s a small celebration, just Liz and me at Boulevard, but it feels momentous. The weight of the past three years is lifting with each sip. “Mom might be moving out of memory care,” I tell her, recounting my conversation yesterday with Dr. Dunham, Mom’s neurologist. “But I’m not sure if I’m being too optimistic.”
Liz’s eyes soften. “It’s good to hope.”
“Maybe.” I chew on my lip, thinking about Mom’s neurology appointment next week. I’ll need to be there, regardless of the outcome.
“Enough about me, though.” I lean forward. “Tell me more about what’s happening with Alaric.”
She lets out a laugh. “The sex is mind-blowing, the best I’ve ever had.” A blush creeps up her neck. “But honestly, he’s like a yo-yo, hot one minute, distant the next. Too many mixed signals.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I murmur. “But maybe you’re just still working through things? Otherwise, you know what they say. The right guy is out there somewhere.”
“Right.” Liz snorts. “Make sure you don’t overlook what or who, you might already have.” Her words land gently, but they linger, a reminder that sometimes the answers are closer than we think.
“Maybe,” I concede, the thought tickling the back of my mind like a feather. But now’s not the time for what-ifs or maybes. Now’s the time for celebrating victories and for cherishing the friendships that have carried us through storms.
“Cheers to mixed signals and hopeful futures,” I say, raising my glass once more. Liz clinks hers against mine, and together, we drink to the messy, beautiful uncertainty of life.
At the end of our evening, I slide into a rideshare. My heart is warm, full from the evening’s laughter and Liz’s unwavering support. I lean my head against the cool window, watching Vancouver streak by. Memories of my father, his steady presence that’s now just echoes in time, mingle with my mother’s fragile smile in her care facility. Without Liz, those moments of loss would have been unbearable.
In the darkness of the car, I allow myself a moment of gratitude, for her, for the resilience life has forced upon me, and for the strength to celebrate tonight after years of relentless work.
My phone buzzes. Greyson . His name still sends a jolt through me. The screen lights up with his message.
Greyson: How did it go?
A small smile curves my lips despite the knots that twist in my gut. I type back swiftly, thumbs dancing over the keys.
Me: It’s done. Now comes the bug hunt, but that’s not on me.
I almost hear his chuckle, see the crinkle around his eyes .
Greyson: Are you around tomorrow?
Me: Sleeping till noon. But free after that . I add a sleepy emoji.
Greyson: Great. I’m coming to Vancouver, and I want to see you.
My heart stops for a moment as the rideshare turns onto my street. We’ve danced around each other since I left Paradise—messages, nightly dinners, a connection neither of us has fully severed.
Me: Okay.
What does he want? An apology, a fresh start, or something else entirely? I’m not sure which answer scares me more.
Greyson: See you then.
As the car pulls up to my building, I gather my things, anticipation and anxiety intertwining.
“Thanks,” I tell the driver, stepping out. I don’t look back as I make my way to the entrance, my mind already racing toward tomorrow, toward Greyson, and the uncertainty of what his visit might bring.
My fingers hover over the screen, the little blinking cursor in the message box mocking me. I swallow the lump in my throat.
Me: Where do you want to meet?
Greyson: How about L’Abattoir in Gastown? Drinks, maybe dinner?
Me: Sure.
The word feels too small for the swarm of butterflies battering against the walls of my stomach.
Greyson: Does 6 work?
Me: Yes, 6 works. See you there.
I hit send, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Home greets me with silence as I push open the door. I kick off my shoes and stumble toward my bedroom, my lingering exhaustion suddenly tangible in my limbs.
I face-plant into my bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. My eyes close, and I’m out like a light, the need for sleep claiming me wholly.
When my eyes blink open, sunlight is streaming through the blinds, casting lines across my sheets. I fumble for my phone on the nightstand. 9:07 a.m. I was supposed to sleep until noon. But here I am, awake, robbed of a few more hours of oblivion. But I know it’s the excitement of seeing Greyson tonight.
I lace up my running shoes, anticipation in my limbs. The apartment is too still, and I need movement, need to feel the pulse of the city under my feet. I step outside and start off toward Kitsilano Beach.
My breath comes in steady puffs. Tankers line up in the harbor waiting for their turn to unload their goods. The rhythm of my run syncs with the heartbeat of Vancouver, a city that’s as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. Even so, Greyson’s presence lingers. It’s not just the thoughtful dinners or his texts. It’s the way he’s learned how to steady me, even when everything else feels out of control.
What if tonight changes everything? What if it doesn’t?
Surprisingly, the idea doesn’t sink claws of panic into my chest. Instead, it feels like possibility, like freedom. Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could tell my boss I’m open to a new contract that lets me work closer to Mom until she’s stronger.
An hour slips by unnoticed, and I slow to a walk, endorphins humming through me. I return to my apartment, peel off my damp running gear, and head straight for the shower. Steam fills the room, and as I lather shampoo into my hair, I smile, thinking of Greyson’s thoughtful dinners, his care for me even when we’re apart.
Wrapped in a towel, I pick up my eReader and open a spicy romance. I make myself a cup of tea, curl up on the sofa, and lose myself in the pages.
But even the pull of a good story can’t keep my mind from wandering to tonight. To Greyson. What does this mean for us? What if this is just the goodbye we never had? Or are we rekindling something that never quite extinguished?