Chapter 38 Sam
SAM
Colin
She went on a date last night.
I’ve read the text from Colin no fewer than ten times since it arrived three hours ago while I was doing inventory. I’ve since had to recount multiple books.
She went on a date last night. Rosie went on a date last night, and it wasn’t with me. But it wouldn’t be with me. I’m here, she’s there. It’s the reason I didn’t entertain a future, seriously anyway.
After catching myself looking down at my phone, I give up trying to ignore the text and reply.
That’s amazing. I hope she had a blast.
Cardiologist. Single dad from Maggi’s school.
That’s great, I think. Someone with a stable career and who understands what being a parent is about.
As long as he treats her right, that’s all that I care about.
Except, if that’s all I cared about, I wouldn’t be grinding my teeth so aggressively.
I wouldn’t be having to redo work that usually takes me half the time.
I wouldn’t still hear her laugh or feel her fingers tracing my tattoo despite saying goodbye a month ago.
Definitely wouldn’t have fucked my hand almost nightly with her directions echoing from the cavern of my relentless memory.
She’s home now btw. Packing up her house.
Home.
I put down the scanner and walk to the office, flipping the sign on the door to “Do Not Disturb” and shutting the door.
Sitting at my desk, I stare down at my phone, unsure about what the hell I’m going to do.
The last month has been worse than I could have imagined.
I’ve tried to throw myself into the store.
But then someone came in looking for a specific edition of Pride and Prejudice and I ended up researching all the editions that are out there and wondering if Rosie would like any of them.
After that, for three days in a row, people came in for a travel book about Scotland.
The last woman went on and on about how her son insisted they go on a tour of Loch Ness.
Apparently he was obsessed with the BC legend of Ogopogo as well.
That led me down a path of wondering if Maggi knew about Ogopogo.
I googled stuffed Ogopogo toys and books for kids.
Before I knew it, I had set up an entire section for mythical creatures in the children’s section.
I didn’t stop at water monsters either. I found books about folklore in Scandinavia, Scotland, Korea, Indonesia, and New Zealand.
I read every single book that came in as if preparing for a lengthy conversation on the topic with Maggi.
I dream about Rosie constantly. Reach for her in the night. Find myself buying Branston fucking Pickle. I haven’t been able to bring myself to open it, though, afraid I won’t like it anymore and I’ll start questioning if any of it had been real.
Everything I’d warned myself about happening because of a wedding hookup happened.
Stella has spent more time giving me looks than she usually does.
Suggesting that I’m too quiet. Not realizing that everything in my head is screaming that nothing about this is right.
She’s been making constant comments about how Scotland always does me good.
She’s casually brought up taking a step away from the business, being a silent partner, and going back to the place I obviously love more.
There is never any malice in how she puts things. She knows as well as I do that I don’t want to be here. She just doesn’t realize that it’s more than Scotland itself calling me back now.
It took a solid week of forcing myself to focus on work before I gave into daydreaming about implausible scenarios.
What if I moved back? Would Rosie be interested in dating?
Was I on her mind as much as she was on mine?
Would we work as more than a fling? I am riddled with doubts most of the time these days.
I question everything, but I never question how I feel about her. Or Maggi, come to think of it.
Before I reply to Colin, I need another perspective.
I have a question.
Nora
Yes, you should move back!
That’s not the question.
So you don’t want to move back?
You know I want to move back. Remember the week away I had?
The shacking up with Colin’s SIL?
Yes.
Of course I do. I’ve been waiting for you to admit it was more than a fling!
You have not.
Have too! You’re a fucking terrible liar!
I’m starting to think she’s right about that since I’ve been lying to myself, and I definitely don’t believe me.
Are you trying to ask me if you should show up on her doorstep and confess that you can’t live without her? Because the answer is YES! Do that! Be that guy!
She’s home right now.
Packing up her house.
I don’t even finish my next text before Nora pops up.
Where’s home?
Nvm, it doesn’t matter. GO THERE!
Doesn’t that seem intrusive?
Yeah sort of but romantic gestures can be super intrusive. If it doesn’t work you’ll be closer to home.
Yeah but she won’t be.
If it doesn’t work on a romantic front, be there as a support system. You’re good at that.
I’m not always good at that.
You are when you’re being kind to yourself.
By kind she means that I’m taking care of myself on the mental health front without coming right out and saying it.
What do you want to do?
I want to go to her. I want to try for more than a week alone in the middle of nowhere. I want to prove that I’m willing to try.
I think you should. If you don’t you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if she’s the one who got away.
I barely get to the end of reading Nora’s reply before I’m replying to Colin.
When you say she’s home, where is that exactly?
Colin
Thought you’d never ask! 786 Darwin Cres. Oakville, Ontario
I google the address and see she’s not far from Toronto.
Actually a pretty quick drive from the airport.
Next I look up flights, there’s one that leaves tonight and one that leaves at six a.m. tomorrow.
I don’t want to show up near midnight, so I book the first flight out of Vancouver in the morning.
Next I text Colin back to see if he can work his magic and arrange for me to chat with someone from our old team soon.
After I get confirmation that he’s on it, I let Stella know I’m going to be away tomorrow and then double down on finishing inventory.
Once I’m home, I toss some clothes into my carry-on and pace until I tire myself out enough to try and sleep for a few hours.
Weeks after trying to slow down time in bed, I’m praying it speeds up.
I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. It’s not until I’m standing in front of Rosie’s house that it dawns on me that I haven’t thought anything through. What should I say? Probably apologize for showing up uninvited for starters.
“Can I help you?” an older gentleman asks, making me jump. “You’ve been standing here for twenty minutes and it doesn’t look like you’re making a delivery. You’re not a stalker, are you?” His eyes narrow as he puffs his chest, sizing me up, and I’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn endearing.
I shake my head. “No, not a stalker, not a delivery guy…” Okay, maybe I am a bit of a stalker.
This is totally something a stalker would do.
As someone who has been mildly stalked, I should know, which only fills me with more concern about what the hell I’m about to do.
If I can ever make it from the sidewalk to the front door, of course.
“That woman has been through enough, so unless you’re here to help move a bunch of boxes out of that house, I’d suggest you get into that climate change mobile and head back to whatever backroad town you came from.
” He offers one final grunt before carrying on down the street, his cane echoing back to me with each step.
It’s a reminder of how much of a nobody I am here, and I don’t hate that part of it, especially at times like this when I don’t want the entire world to be following me around.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to walk up the driveway, along the path, and to the front door, where I stand for another five minutes.
The worst thing she can do is ask me to leave. I repeat that to myself until I’m convinced that it won’t be so bad even if she does ask me to leave, then I raise my fist and knock.
The door swings open, and I catch a glimpse of her before she’s turning away without looking at me.
“I’ve got most of the boxes to the left. I’ve taken apart the beds, but the furniture is still, well, where you’d normally find furniture.” She laughs, and I could cry. It sounds so good. What was once honey is now relief.
She’s still walking around, explaining where things are and that anything that’s breakable is labelled accordingly, but she hasn’t looked back in my direction yet.
“Is it weird if I pull apart this doorframe? I’m sure my realtor would kill me. It’s weird, isn’t i—” She stops dead when she finally spots me, frozen in place, one hundred emotions playing across her face as she stares.
“Hey, Rosie,” I croak, my voice trapped somewhere in my larynx.
She takes a step toward me and stops. “What…” She starts and then shakes her head, blinking as if she can’t see properly. “What are you doing here?”
It’s a perfectly valid question. I’d probably ask the same thing.
I step into the house, her eyes dropping to where my feet cross the threshold before returning to my face.
“I, um, I wanted to ask if I came back to Glasgow, would you maybe let me take you out on a date?”
Her eyes search me, as if she’s waiting for more, but I don’t have more at the moment.
“A date?”
“Yeah, you know…” I shrug. “Dinner, a movie, a walk, maybe if I’m lucky, a good night kiss, and a follow-up text letting you know I had a great time and then asking if you’d be interested in going on a second.”
“Awfully presumptuous of you to assume there’d be a second date,” she says.
“I don’t know, it seems pretty on brand for a guy who flies across the country to ask you out.”