I wake before the alarm and stop it before it can sound. Rhys lies asleep in the early blue light, bare and beautiful. He would want me to wake him. I can't make our last minutes together into a goodbye. I want to carry this version of us with me, while we still belong to each other.
I pack quietly and go downstairs. Livia is drinking coffee; Bianca has tea. Livia pours me a mug as I join them.
“I said I could take a cab to the airport,” I whisper.
“Absolutely not. Your last few minutes in Cape Lark aren't going to be spent with a stranger.”
“Technically, they'll be with Mack.”
“That's worse. He could be the last person you ever see.”
Bianca chokes on her tea. “Livia.”
“I'm joking.” Livia glances toward the stairs. “Is Rhys coming?”
“I let him sleep.”
She and Bianca exchange a look.
“I know,” I say before they can say anything. “But this is what I need.”
Livia settles an arm around my shoulders. “Then we’ll do it your way.”
We drive to the airport. Livia and Bianca park and walk in with me. We arrive much too early for a place this small, and stay near the security entrance because none of us wants to be the first to leave. But I can't bear to stretch out the goodbye. The longer we stand there, the harder it gets.
I hold it together through our group hug. We each promise we'll see one another soon, without pretending we know when. Livia reminds me that her Seattle couch is always mine if I need it.
I still have no idea what I'll do when I get home. I've finally told them how lost I feel at work, and neither of them tries to choose for me. They understand they can't give me an answer. I have to work out what I want for myself.
Bianca touches my elbow. “There isn't a wrong answer.”
We hug once more. Then we press our index fingers together, the little matching scars from our first trip to the lodge meeting between them. It's our quiet promise. Without another word, I join the two-person security line.
I tell myself not to look back. I look anyway. My friends are crying; then I start crying too, and soon we're all laughing through it.
“Ma’am,” the security officer calls, waving me on.
I'm still laugh-crying as I step through the scanner and start down the hall. Every few steps I turn to see them waving at the far end. The corridor curves, and I send one last wave before it carries me out of sight.
By the time I reach the gate, I've pulled myself together. The seats are empty. A sensible person would arrive twenty minutes before takeoff, but I've followed the usual two-hour rule. I have hours alone with my thoughts.
I take out the paperback I bought at the bookstore and stare at the opening page for twenty minutes. Nothing stays with me except the words “crown molding.” I put the book away and pull out my phone.
The page Rhys opened for me the night before is still there: an oak table in a yellow-green field, wildflowers climbing around its legs, purple mountains rising behind it.
The sight takes my breath away. It isn't the picture so much as the want it stirs in me. That. That is what I want.
Energy rushes through me. My pulse kicks up; a shiver runs over my skin. I stand, almost laughing at how suddenly I understand.
Rhys might be happier and healthier than he was six months ago. I might be more honest about my feelings. But I know him: the rhythm of his breathing in sleep, the scent of his skin after a day in the sun, the signs that he's afraid.
Maybe I don't recognize it sooner because I'm so used to doubting myself. I've spent too long following other people's lead, treating their judgment as more reliable than my own. Now I see it.
He's afraid.
He still doesn't trust that I can love him and keep choosing him. Some part of him expects me to pick another life if I have the chance. He might tell himself he's protecting me, but he's protecting himself, too.
He's right about one thing: he can't decide what I want.
All my life, other voices crowd out mine. Now my mind is quiet. For the first time in ages, I hear myself clearly.
There's one answer to the only question I can't put off.
You.
I grab my bag and turn back. It doesn't feel as if I'm undoing my steps. It feels like the beginning of somewhere new.