Chapter 18
Logan’s side of the bed is cold. He’s been gone for a while, then. Slightly panicked, I look around the cabin’s only room, hoping he’s just making coffee, or preparing breakfast, or taking a shower, or something.
The door to the bathroom is open, so he isn’t there. And he isn’t in the kitchen corner, either. I get up from the bed and slip on the closest piece of clothing I can find, then make my way outside to see if he’s hanging out there.
Nothing.
I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe he just went to get us breakfast. But he’s never done it without telling me first. He’ll always kiss me awake and let me know where he’s going. He has never just up and left without warning before.
Still, that could be it. Maybe he just wanted to let me sleep. I think back to the day of the storm out at sea, where he let me sleep through dinner. The night we first had sex. I feel queasy with the mix of dread and fondness at the memory.
But this is probably just my anxiety trying to sabotage me again. There’s most likely nothing to be worried about. Instead of falling prey to this feeling and diving deeper into my own thoughts, I do the logical thing and grab my phone.
I send Logan a text:
Hey, where did you go? I didn’t get my good morning kiss.
There. He’ll tell me what’s up soon enough. While I give him time to respond, I scroll through social media to keep my brain distracted.
This is nothing. It’s probably nothing. I always make a big deal out of tiny things, so this is just another of those instances, right?
That’s got to be it.
That’s got to be it.
That’s got to be it.
Even though I try to keep myself distracted, I can’t help but notice he hasn’t responded yet. Maybe he’s busy; if he’s getting us breakfast, he might be grabbing everything and packing it up to bring back to my cabin. Or maybe he’s talking to a colleague he met along the way. There are a thousand reasons he might have to not be able to instantly text me back. Most of these reasons having nothing to do with me.
I put my phone in my pocket and start walking. It’s another beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Once again, I’m stunned by the beauty of the ocean and the cliffs in front of me. So I walk along the side of the cliff until I reach our little bench. The same bench we’ve been sitting at every single evening.
I sit there and look out towards the ocean. Think about anything else. Literally anything. Your client project. Your mom. God, even think about your dad.
Unable to keep myself distracted, I take my phone out of my pocket and send another text:
You ok?
Then I place it back in my pocket, expecting to feel his response vibrate anytime soon.
Time goes by as I lose myself in the soothing rhythm of the waves below. The sun is beginning to get a bit too hot on my skin without any sunscreen, but still, I don’t move. I stay there, mesmerized by the waves below me, because if I can lose myself like this, I don’t have to be stuck in my head. I don’t have to face the rising panic and dread that’s starting to creep through my body like poisonous vines.
I’m brought out of my reverie when someone calls out from behind me: “Alone this morning?”
I turn to see an older woman with kind eyes and copper skin, probably in her mid-sixties, standing just behind my bench. I’ve seen her several times during the past few weeks at the resort; she’s staying in one of the rooms at the lodge. Logan and I often see her eating lunch with her two friends—or two sisters, I’m not sure—while we’re eating, too. We’ve shared a bit of small talk here and there, but nothing beyond that.
“Guess so,” I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking.
“Where’s that handsome fellow of yours, then?”
I feel a ball choke at my throat. I wish I could answer her. Truth is, I have no idea where he is and why he won’t respond. Because maybe it won’t be okay. Maybe he got scared yesterday, and now I chased him away by pushing too hard on a subject he clearly wasn’t ready to talk about.
But then again, if he’s telling me the truth, why wouldn’t he tell me all of it? It doesn’t make any sense to me. I even offered to help. So if he didn’t take the help, it has got to be about me. Why else would he do this?
“Oh, he’s off working,” I say instead, averting my eyes so she doesn’t notice I’m lying.
“I see.” She approaches and places her hand on the bench. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you two are such a beautiful couple. The way that young man looks at you …” She sighs. “It’s easy to see he’s completely smitten by you.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say without meaning to. I almost cover my mouth in embarrassment.
The woman looks at me, intrigued. “If you can’t see it, you’re blind as a bat, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I sigh as well. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just a little anxious, is all.” Understatement of the century. I’m hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me alone. She’s kind, but I don’t have the emotional capacity to be around someone else and make small talk right now. To keep my mask up.
But she doesn’t take the hint. Quite the opposite; she sits herself on the bench next to me. “You remind me a bit of myself at your age,” she says with a kind smile. “I was a little ball of anxiety. Of course, that’s not what they called it back then. My husband—God rest his soul—used to say I would get hysterical.” A look of horror appears on my face, but the woman chuckles. “No, not like that. He would say it in a loving way. Not in any sort of demeaning way. We just didn’t have any other name for it. But he was always there for me, even when I had days—no, weeks— at a time where I couldn’t leave the house.”
She looks out at the ocean. “I was lucky enough to never be alone. I had my husband, and when he passed, I still had my dearest friends who understood me. Now, my wife is taking up this mantle.” She chuckles. “Imagine that … I got to find the love of my life, twice. But not everyone gets that luxury.” She turns to look at me; her gaze is intense. “And when you find someone like that, someone who will stand by you, someone who understands … The anxiety will try to take them from you. But you can’t let it.”
I slowly nod, suddenly feeling a wave of empathy for this woman. I can’t imagine growing up forty years prior. And I feel an unbearable sadness at knowing her loving partner is gone. I know that part of growing old with someone means running the risk of outliving them. The logical side of my brain understands this. But I usually try not to think about it for more than a second because I know how much pain I can cause myself for something that is likely more than decades away.
When the woman eventually bids me goodbye, I make my way back to my cabin. On the way back, I try to call Logan instead of texting him. Even though I secretly hope for him to pick up, I’m not too surprised when it goes to voicemail after several rings. At least he hasn’t blocked me. And seeing as it took a while before going to voicemail, he didn’t see my name and deny the call. So maybe he really is just busy.
So I need to do the same and keep myself busy. It just so happens I’ve got work to do, so I take a quick shower before making myself some coffee and setting myself up with my laptop on the small porch outside.
The first thing I do is check my email. I sift through the first few, which are junk, but stop at one of the subject lines:
Inquiry about your website copywriting services
My heart starts pumping faster; this is good. This whole month, I haven’t done any prospecting for myself, which means I have no more income lined up after the Panchakarma retreat project is done. And I haven’t even given myself permission to worry about that just yet, so this is such a relief.
I open the email and read it over. It’s from a man named Matt, who apparently heard about me from a past client of mine. He’s interested in getting on a call with me at ‘my earliest convenience’ to discuss the relaunching of the website for his software company. Perfect. I type back a response and give him some availability for the next few days, then dive straight back into my copywriting work for my current project.
Knowing there’s a high likelihood of a new gig awaiting me does ease some of the stress of whatever comes after this workation. If I can get this gig, it’ll give me a cushion to pay my bills and afford some food while I work on securing more business in the upcoming months.
But I still don’t know if I’ll be doing it all alone or if Logan is part of that future.
After an hour of working, I look back at everything I’ve written and wince. It’s shit. I’ve been too distracted by wondering why I haven’t heard back from Logan yet, and I just can’t get in the flow. And Leslie has made it very clear that she expects the rest of the website to be on par with what I’ve delivered already. I can’t achieve that level of quality without getting back into flow.
I sigh and close my laptop. It’s no use. I’ve only got a bit of work left to do to complete the website, and it’s definitely not happening today. At least, not until I hear back from Logan and know he’s okay. That we’re okay.
The last time I had doubts, Sophie talked me out of it. So that’s what I need right now. A pep talk from Sophie. She’ll help me remember that this isn’t a big deal.
I put my laptop away inside and go sit on my patio again before dialling Sophie’s number. Hopefully, the baby isn’t napping, or at least, she’s kept her phone on vibrate. I begin to wonder if I’ve made a mistake just as Sophie picks up.
“Hey!” she greets me. “Perfect timing. I’m nursing, so I needed to pass the time.”
“Oh, well, that’s just perfect, because I need to rant again and have your sage advice to stop me from spiralling.”
“That’s what I’m here for. What’s up?”
I take a deep breath. “I think I fucked up yesterday. And now Logan left without waking me up and hasn’t responded to my texts or calls.”
“Dude, that’s rude. He’s straight up ghosting you?”
“Yeah. Either that, or he’s busy.” Or in trouble. But my gut tells me that’s not it.
“Geez, what did you say to him? Did you actually fuck up, or are you being too hard on yourself again?”
I sigh. “That’s why I’m calling you. I was hoping you could tell me.” I then tell her about our hike at the Skyline Trailhead and detail our conversation.
“Hmm,” Sophie mutters.
“What?” Something about her tone is weird.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she starts. “And don’t get me wrong, what he’s doing right now is wrong. It’s a complete overreaction. It’s immature, and it’s also not fair. Actually, it’s unacceptable from a grown-ass adult. So he’s being an idiot.”
I sense a ‘but’ coming, so I grit my teeth in anticipation.
“But I’ve noticed you tend to do this often, Avery. And sometimes, it can kinda be a lot…”My stomach twists. “Do what?”
I hear her sigh on the other end of the line. “Based on what you just told me, he clearly said he had shit to deal with, and it seemed pretty obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it. He’s not ready. Even if you might feel like he should be, he’s giving you all the signs that he isn’t. And yet you kept pushing.”
“I just want to help him through it,” I argue. I can feel tension rise in my chest and through my fingertips. “How is that too much?” I try to keep control of my tone, but my voice is slowly rising.
“I said not to take it the wrong way,” Sophie retorts. She sounds annoyed. “And I’m the one who’s trying to help you right now. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“And I’m trying to understand how it’s too much.” How I’m too much. “You were the one who said it was obvious he was in love with me. So if that’s really true, why won’t he accept my help?”
“That’s the thing,” Sophie says, sounding exasperated. “You’re making a false assumption. He can be in love with you and want to be left alone with this issue. For crying out loud, Avery—you always do this.”
“What are you talking about?” My pulse quickens, my breaths getting shorter and faster.
“You always assume it’s your job to save people. It’s not. I know it’s hard, and I know the anxiety makes it harder, but seriously, just stop pushing so hard. Let things happen.”
I’m about to boil over. “When have I done this?”
“You tried to do it with your mom when your dad left. You tried to do it with me when Matthew was coming on too hard right before we started dating. Sometimes all you need to do is be there for people instead of pushing to save them. I can even bet you’re thinking of doing the same with your dad right now.”
Anger spikes in my throat like a tidal wave; it consumes everything too quickly for me to mitigate what’s about to happen.
“Fuck you,” I spit back right before I hang up. A jolt goes through my entire body, and before I can hold back, I jump to my feet and throw the phone on my bed. It falls between my pillows.
The panic bursts and explodes into a million tiny shards across my body. But this time, I’m completely alone.
And it’s my fault.