“I guess. But what about you?”
“I can live anywhere.”
“Why can’t we date or take things slow while we’re figuring it out?”
“Because you and I aren’t capable of slow. I think we’ve proved that.”
“This is insane.” My voice started to rise uncontrollably. “So, does this mean we can’t talk on the phone or email?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m asking you for a year so I can get completely straightened out. I’m going back to school, and I think you should go back to L.A.”
I blinked, still trying to figure out how to change her mind. “Is L.A. even some place you’d want to live?”
“Yes, and you won’t change my mind,” she said.
“A lot can happen in a year, Ava.” What if she found someone else?
“I want to be with you. I love you and that won’t change in a year.” Her tone was determined.
I nodded, even though the prospect of what we were about to do scared the life out of me.
We took the subway to her mom’s apartment. On the doorstep I spun her around to face me. “I don’t know how I’m going to be away from you.”
Her grin widened. “You’ll be in my heart.”
“No heart jokes.”
I leaned in and kissed her deeply, wondering if it would be the last time.
“Goodbye, Nate Meyers. You’ve made me better, but I want to be the best I can be for you and for myself.” Her voice was shaky. “It’s going to be hard for me, too.”
I shook my head and looked down at my shoes. “I still don’t understand.”
“You will.”
“What if we don’t make it?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. I wiped them away with my thumb and felt my own eyes start to water. She shook her head and shrugged.
“We’re gambling with what we have,” I said.
“It would be more of a gamble if we didn’t take this time. Look what’s happened so far.”
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Ava. I think about you more than anything. I can see a future with you. You’ll break my heart, you know, if this doesn’t work out.” I brought her to my chest and hugged her.
“I will see you a year from today—June fourteenth, two thousand and eleven.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you are, I’ll find you, if it’s meant to be. Just please let me grow up and figure myself out. I want to live, and I owe that to myself.”
It was so hard for me to let her go. I continued to drag out our goodbye.
“What can I do? I don’t know what to do.”
“Go back to L.A. and build a life there.”
“I feel like you’re breaking up with me.”
She sniffled and shook her head. “Please, let me go.”
“I can’t. Please don’t do this,” I pleaded.
“It’s not forever.”
“It could be.”
She pulled out of my embrace and squared her shoulders and jutted her chin out at me. “One year.”
“I’ll stalk you,” I said.
She laughed and then started crying again. “One year,” she whispered this time, looking pained. She leaned up on her toes and kissed me. Her mouth stayed closed but she let her lips rest on mine for more than a few seconds, and then she was gone.
CHAPTER 25
The Letters
July 14, 2010
Dear Ava,
It’s been about a month since I last saw you in front of your mother’s apartment but it feels like a decade. You said no emails or phone calls but you said nothing about letters so . . . I want to give you the space you need but my heart aches for you and writing to you makes me feel like our connection is still real.
I came back to Montana to my empty, cold little house. The geese on the lake were still making a mess but at least they were honking loud enough to drown out my inner thoughts. Before I met you all I thought about was work. Now all I think about is life outside of work, though I don’t have much of one.
I’ve been to the ranch a few times. In fact, I’ve brought Shine and Tequila to my place. They graze in the meadow and sometimes I take Tequila for long rides. Shine still needs work but Trish has been coming down and helping with that. My mom came out to stay with me last week. She’s like you in a lot of ways. Warm and caring, but deep down she’s a firecracker. She wished she had gotten a chance to meet you. I talked about you non-stop. I know I won’t stay here much longer. I’ve already let the hospital know and I’ve mentioned to my dad that I might want to move back to L.A. before the end of the year.
I’m scared to make decisions because you’re not here. I just have to trust that you’re feeling the same way. I went to the hot spring today alone and then I rode back to the ranch. The wind in my ears sounded like your voice, for some reason. It reminded me of you, but then again everything reminds me of you. Nate.
———
August 14, 2010