11. Lucy
A twilight walkin the woods wasn’t mentioned in Sawyer’s invitation for tonight, but here we are. Had I known, I definitely wouldn’t have worn these shoes.
“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Sawyer yelled back. Billy and I both jog toward him—I use the word jog lightly. Having not been worn since my Junior year of high school, the pull strap of my booties dug into the side of my calf.
The first couple of buttons were undone from Sawyer’s shirt, and I’d be a fool not to take a couple of glances at his exposed chest. It’s firm with the perfect amount of chest hair. I was certain that a small puddle of drool was collecting in the corner of my mouth, so I concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other.
“You’re not going to murder me out here, are you?”
He shot me a look, his brows were furrowed.
“Sorry, I’ve listened to a lot of true crime podcasts not to ask,” I continued.
He combed his fingers through his hair, ruffling up his slicked-back look. Thin strands doused in gel fell out of place and hung loosely in front of his face. He almost felt like a real person, not one that was as on as he seemed to be before. He’s been flirtatious and forward with me. It’s nice, but it’s nothing that could sweep me off my feet.
“So, are you thinking about sticking around for a while?”
“I guess that depends on what you consider a while. I’m here just for the summer. Gotta get back to Arizona,” I admitted.
He kept his sights on the ground in front of us. A large pause grew between us before he finally said, “What’s back in Arizona?”
“Work. I start my residency program in the fall.”
“No, shit?” he pulled his head back, utterly shocked. I nodded. “That’s pretty badass,” he continued. “A doctor, hmm… What kind?”
“I plan to be a neonatologist,” I said, choked up.
My skin began to crawl and I felt hives form along my arms the moment I mentioned myself or any of my interests. Talking about myself makes me nauseous. I try not to talk to many who aren’t also joining the medical field. It never held anyone’s attention. People tend to ask to be polite, but then zone off in the middle of my excitement once they realize I could go on and on. And I could.
“What made you choose that?”
I shrugged his question off, but the heat from the hole Sawyer was burning into the side of my head told me he wasn’t going to leave it. He was waiting for his answer and he made it known. That didn’t matter. Reality sunk in and I stuck with my programmed, generic answers.
“Guess I’ve always had an interest in it.”
“Hmm.”
Then, crickets. And I’m not just talking about the ones who followed us on our trail.
I hated that our conversation went dull and that I was the reason for it. I can’t make myself share little bits and pieces of who I am, regardless if it’s harmless or not. Regardless if he’s harmless or not.
I can’t get to know him the way that he wants to get to know me. Knowing that he took his coffee black and always wore leather boots, even in the summer heat, was the extent to which I was willing to know about him.
I didn’t care that he found salvation in the same people I have. Or that he cared for them as deeply as I do. This was all disposable knowledge once the leaves started to change in the fall.
It had to be.
“So, you’re not heading back to a boyfriend?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Hmm,” he says once more, this time with a smirk.
“Hmm, Nothing.”
Absolutely nothing.
That was not at all valuable information to him whatsoever. I was really regretting showing up to this shindig after all. I thought I was going to have a couple of drinks and mingle with people I haven’t seen in quite some time. At no point did I think I was going to have a Dr. Phil moment in the fricken woods.
“If you must know,” and it seemed like he did, “I haven’t had one of those for quite some time now.”
“That’s a very relative concept if you think about it.” He raised both of his eyebrows, scrunching up his forehead. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Uh…” I scratched the side of my head, inquisitively, dramatically to buy myself time. “Seven years?” I said as a question, though there was no question about it. I am very in tune with that knowledge.
He’s giving me that shocked look again. And I didn’t like it as much as before. It doesn’t feel as validating this time around, but more so that he thought something was wrong with me.
“There’s no way. Seven years? You haven’t had a boyfriend in seven years?”
“Thanks for rubbing it in, jerk,” I pushed into his arm. “I mean I have dated people casually since then. But if we are talking seriously, then yeah. I haven’t been with anyone since my freshman year of college. If you really want something to tease me for, just know that they were my first, and only real relationship, too.”
My ex-boyfriend David and I dated for our entire first year of college. We had met at freshmen orientation and spent every waking second together when we weren’t in classes or working. It was new and exciting and I was playing into the new season of life I was in.
There was a short time that I thought David was going to be there for the long haul, I thought I was lucky enough to have found my soulmate so early on in the game. But I was tired of dulling myself down.
Soon, I learned that I was hiding myself and my feelings through the relationship that I had with him. He was sweet and caring, and the perfect first boyfriend. But he was still a distraction.
I learned that a soulmate didn’t need to be romantic. The idea of a soulmate had every possibility of being whatever I wanted it to be. It wasn’t until I met Gracie that I realized relationships weren’t meant to be scapegoats—platonic, or romantic. They’re not meant to be used as a shield to hide behind.
I put off relationships after David, afraid that I was going to lose myself in a relationship again. The friendships that I made along the way that let me shine are what I prioritized. I focused on school work and staying busy, it made the most sense.
Putting time in what matters most to me is what makes the most sense.
Sawyer was giving me that look again, and I’m growing really tired of it.
“Was that a personal choice, or?—”
“Personal choice, professional choice…”
I wasn’t too sure how I felt about his determination to ask such invasive questions.
Anytime someone tried to get to know me, it was never really to get to know me. It was just a lame attempt to get me in the bedroom, hoping it was my idea of foreplay if they paid enough attention to me. Spoiler alert: talking about myself is not my idea of foreplay.
I swore it would never work, yet I fell for it each time.
Once I picked up on the tactics, that’s when I started applying a direct approach to answering questions. A simple “yes” or “no” and the occasional “sometimes” did the trick.
I found a mask to wear and put it on when necessary. Eventually, I played it safe and applied it more times than not. Nothing more than five words, each one no more than two syllables long. It worked.
At least it did.
“I swore to myself that I wouldn’t get into a serious relationship again. At least not until I knew that person was going to add to my life, rather than bemy whole life. If that makes sense.”
But now I realized Sawyer wasn’t being invasive at all. He kept his attention on me the whole time and his eyes didn’t grow heavy once. He was genuinely interested.
That scared me so much more.
I became unsettled with the consciousness that I could be so open about one part of my life, but not another. I like to believe it’s because my career is something I cherish so deeply. Talking about relationships, or the lack thereof, was as meaningless to me as talking about the weather or asking if anyone caught the game last week.
“That makes perfect sense,” he smiled down at me, then pulled me into him. He wrapped his arm around my side and we fell into a synchronized step as we finished our walk. Being held by him felt a lot nicer than I anticipated. Almost natural, too. “And I wouldn’t tease you, you know.”
I looked up at him, confused for a moment.
“You said I could tease you about that being your only real relationship. I want you to know that I wouldn’t tease you for that.”
“Really?” He just might be the first.
“Never. You’re just waiting for that perfect addition.”
My heart, stomach, knees—they all turned to mush like a domino effect down my body.
“The stars are bright tonight,” I said to change the mood of the evening, my voice a little higher pitched than I would like. As someone who hates talking about themselves, I sure found a way to share one of the biggest parts about who I am tonight.
“You think so?”
“Yeah… I’ve spent too much time away, I forgot that you can see every star out here. The sky is deeper, darker. And the stars, they’re?—”
“Brighter,” he interjected.
“They’re brighter,” I repeated back to him.
Before I knew it, we’d made it back to The Hideout where the crowd population had been cut in half and the music had become louder.A string of bulb lights hung from the roof to the large trees across the way.
Cherry and Mel were perched up on the porch railing while the bartender and his buddies were leaning against their bikes grumbling and groaning about who knows what. Gus and Leanne were in lawn chairs in front of the patio, looking out over the lake. And stragglers were grouped, sprawled on top of picnic blankets.
Here I was, surrounded by a group of almost all new people in the town that I thought would never change. It was impossible to think that it would.
Hell, even Hillside High down the road had forever been painted a depressing, dark gray color. And all of a sudden it’s a nice, new rich blue shade. The streets were freshly paved and they had more than two stop signs outside the storefronts.
“Lucy!” Gus waved me over.
I looked over at Sawyer, and he gave me a nod. “I’ll see you around, Lucy.”
Gus reached for his jacket pocket as he rose from his seat. Shoving his hand into his limp jacket draped over his arms, “It’s in here somewhere,” he said, before shifting to the other pocket. “Ah, ha!”
I looked down at Leanne who had a sneaky but proud grin as she observed the exchange. She winked up at me as Gus handed over a wrapped gift.
“What is this?”
“Well, go on and open it.”
I scrambled my way through tearing off the neatly folded paper, nervous to fully rip it off.
“Oh, just give me that!” Gus ripped the gift out of my hand in excitement and started to tear off the wrapping paper.
A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway was shoved back in my hands. I let out the largest, loudest girlish squeal of my life.
“You did not?!”
“He did!” Leanne jumped up from her seat and hugged me. “He’s looked everywhere for it and that,” she viciously taps her fingers on the cover, “is the first edition. It was Hemingway’s original copy with his notes all in the margins.”
“Happy Graduation, kiddo.”
I flipped through the pages. Scribbles of ink—some legible, some not—were all throughout the book. I thought I was going to throw up from pure love and excitement. Instead, I said, “Thank you,” and threw myself into Gus’ arms.
“You’re the best, you know that?” I said over his shoulder.
He said nothing except sniffled into my ear.
Gus was the person who got me into reading in the first place. Fitzgerald, Orwell, Dickens… Hemingway. Weekly, we’d meet at the picnic table right down here by the lake and he’d bring me a new book to escape between. I was eleven years old with classic novels as my best friend. Of course, as I got older, I discovered more contemporary selections. But no matter what, my love for reading started with one little book titled The Old Man and the Sea and I have never looked back since.
This moment felt wonderful, otherworldly. Even with all of the changes in town, this right here felt like nothing had changed at all.
It almost felt like this moment alone was enough to feel that magic of Rider again. Hummingbird Lake still looked the same, I’d be damned if it didn’t. And it still held the power to push my boundaries and force me to open my heart more than I’d like, that’s for sure.
But here I was, standing in the same spot I have many times before, exchanging literature with Gus.
I’ll enjoy the walks down memory lane, but still, I fear that one good night, one good-looking man, wasn’t going to change the fact that I felt so out of place. When I shut my eyes at night, I couldn’t help but feel so out of place.
All I knew now was I had to give it a proper send-off this time around. A final goodbye to Rider.