Chapter Twenty-One
It’s been five months since Evan has seen Dalisay. Five whole-ass lonely, terrible, miserable months.
He replays their breakup over and over in his mind, trying to find any way he might have been able to salvage things, how he might have said something different, something better, chased after her, tried to make it right. But he didn’t. He screwed up. There was no talking to her after that. The night they broke up, he tried calling her, but it went straight to voice mail.
He lay awake all night, psyching himself up to speak to her at work the next day, but he found her desk empty, cleared out. When he asked Naomi, she said that Dalisay had asked to work from home, starting immediately. Nowadays, he only sees her in weekly virtual meetings, but she keeps her camera turned off, and he makes every excuse not to go to the meetings anyway.
A Dalisay-shaped hole has been carved into his life.
There was nothing at his apartment she’d left behind, nothing for her to come back for, no reason for them to see each other again. He didn’t want to give up on her, not like he gave up with Becca, but he’s certain she’s blocked his number by now. If Dalisay didn’t hate him before, he’s pretty sure she hates him now. She doesn’t want to talk to him ever again, she’s made that quite clear. The most interaction they have is formal, stilted, work-related. No more emoticons, no more texts, simply Overnight emails relevant to articles and deadlines and assignments when their departments collaborate. They’re worse than strangers.
Dalisay goes on the Asia tour without him.
These days, Evan’s either working, or writing, or reading, and he’s been traveling so much he reckons he sees more of the airport than he does his own house. He misses Tallulah. Sometimes he forgets exactly where he is because he’s always thinking about where he’s going to be next.
When his flight lands in the Leonardo da Vinci airport, it’s just another day at work. Even his jet lag seems to be a permanent fixture. These days, he floats through life, the distinct absence of Dalisay an aching pit in his stomach. Some days are better than others, but he can never truly shake the echoes of their fight. He should have been better, and he should move on, but he can’t. Sometimes he catches himself almost texting her that he’s landed safely or that he’s thinking about her before bed. She left a mark on his heart, like a tattoo, and it might take a carving knife to remove it.
There’s been no time to date, and Evan hasn’t tried. Despite Riggs, JM, and Pinky suggesting that he put himself back out there, he’s not interested.
When he gets to the hotel and checks in early, courtesy of Overnight, he drops off his bags and decides to take a walk. By now, he knows Rome so well, his feet automatically carry him to his favorite haunts.
When they first made the bet, Dalisay said she wanted to go to Vatican City, to “see what all the fuss is about.” As a Catholic, it was on her bucket list.
And now, as Evan walks with nothing better to do, he finds himself there, like his subconscious took him exactly where he needed to be. Lines of sun-baked tourists are already circling around the brick wall dividing Rome from the city-state.
He knows time will heal all wounds, but he keeps scratching the scab open whenever he’s reminded of her. When he smells lavender, when he goes to a bookstore, when he hears someone snort when they laugh. She’s not dead, but she haunts him. The ghost of his guilt rattles its chains every chance it gets.
Evan comes to a stop across from the front entrance of Vatican City and watches as people file in, imagining what could have happened if he’d done things differently that night.
He sits down on a nearby park bench, watching from afar, and finally takes a moment to do nothing for once except think.
At D&D the following weekend, he says what’s been on his mind for days.
“I want to do the Five Stages again.”
Everyone’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s like he’s proclaimed that he’s moving to Mars. JM almost drops the beholder figurine on the board.
“You’re sure?” Pinky asks, swallowing a swig of beer.
Riggs stares at him, open-mouthed. “Is the jet lag scrambling your brain?”
Evan’s never been surer about anything in his life. He clenches his jaw, determined. “I have to show Dalisay that I believe in us,” he says. “I can’t lose her forever.”
“What if she rejects you?” asks Riggs.
Evan shrugs a shoulder. It was the first thing he thought about while he sat there on the park bench in front of the Vatican entrance. He knew it would always be a possibility, but it wouldn’t stop him. “Then she doesn’t have to take me back. Simple as that. I want to do the stages again for real this time, not because of a bet, not because I think I have anything to prove. I’m doing it because I want to. For her.”
Pinky and JM glance at each other but Riggs shakes his head. “Sounds like a bad idea, man. This could blow up in your face,” he says.
“I know. But I need to do something. I … I love her.”
“Oh, Evan …,” Pinky says, her eyes shining.
“There’s no guarantee or whatever,” Evan says, shaking his head, “but I can’t give up on us. Will you help me?” he asks, glancing around the table.
Everyone looks at each other, but they only take a second before all of them turn back to Evan.
“Whatever you need,” JM says, “we’ll be there.”