Little Lies(101)

There’s no point in lying. “Vancouver wants you.”

He shakes his head. “I won’t do it. I won’t take the deal.”

I bridge the gap between us, link our pinkies, and guide him to the couch. He sits heavily and rests his forearms on his thighs.

“We knew this was coming.” I run my fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, but he bows his head.

“I won’t go to the West Coast. I’m not leaving you.” His knees bounce, even though I know he’s trying to force them to stay still.

“Kodiak, look at me.” He glances at me briefly, and all I see is fear. These are the times I don’t envy him and his massive brain. He unpacks every scenario in his head and runs it through, finding a fatalistic ending that drags him down into a soul-crushing abyss of terror.

I straddle his thighs and place my palm on the side of his neck. His pulse pounds violently. “I know you’re scared, but you have to take the deal.”

“I don’t want to risk losing you,” he whispers.

“Why do you think you’d lose me?”

“It’s the other side of the country. I’ll hardly see you.” His face is etched with pain. “What if you decide it’s too hard? What if I can’t handle it?”

“Of course it’s going to be hard, but have faith that we can handle it.” I stroke his cheek, hating that I have to do this. “You have to promise me you’ll take a deal, Kodiak, even if it’s on the West Coast. You wouldn’t let me walk away from an opportunity to live my dream, and I won’t let you do that either.”

“It’s not the same. This is a two-month internship, not a contract that’s going to lock you in for years in another country.”

I sigh, weighing how best to approach this. “I will not let you waste your talent on fear of the unknown. And I refuse to carry that kind of guilt around with me for the rest of my life. We already know what that looks like.”

His panic flares, and despite the fact that I’m sitting on his legs, they still manage a couple of bounces before they still. “What’re you saying?”

“You can’t put your life on hold. You have to sign with a team this year.”

His eyes harden, and his jaw tightens. I sincerely hope we’re not gearing up for a fight. “What if that’s not what I want? What if I want to go to grad school instead?”

I make a face. “You would’ve applied if that’s what you wanted, and you didn’t. Your mom posts the video of you playing hockey in your crib every year on your birthday. You played almost before you could walk. This is what you were meant to do, and you will be amazing no matter what team you play for or where. But you will play for a team this year.”

Fear and anger twine together. “This sounds a lot like an ultimatum, Lavender.”

I stroke his cheek; my anxiety mirrors his. “What do you think will happen to us if you throw away everything you’ve been working for just so you can be close to me? Isn’t that us falling into the same pattern of dependency we’ve worked so hard to overcome? How do you think that will end?”

He puts his hand over mine, and his eyes fall shut. He inhales deeply and releases the breath slowly, seeking calm as he absorbs my words. I allow him to fall back into the past, reliving every instance in which he tried to save me from myself, but couldn’t. He was great at calming the aftermath, but only I could ever save myself. Now it’s my turn to save him from me.

When he opens his eyes, he whispers, “Badly. It would end badly.”

I nod and give him a small, sad smile. “We’ll make it work, wherever you go.” I hope it’s not a little lie, because in my heart I believe it to be the truth.

Otherwise, what was the point of all the suffering in the first place?


____________________

The next few days are tense and anxious. I try not to show my distraction when I’m at the theater, but it’s tough. I’m watching the clock, counting the hours until I can be home with Kodiak.

The moment either of us walks in the door, we’re on each other. We barely make time for dinner or sleep, too consumed with getting in as much togetherness as we can before he has to fly to Chicago for the weekend.

He’ll only be gone a few days, but there’s a sense of urgency that increases as the days dwindle into hours.

On Thursday morning, Kodiak watches me get ready for work. I pull on one of my light summer dresses and fix my hair in a ponytail. I don’t bother with contacts these days, or makeup.

“Do you wonder if it would’ve been easier if I’d stayed in Chicago and let you come here on your own?” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a polo and black pants, his suitcase packed and waiting by the front door.

“But then we wouldn’t know what it’s like to live together,” I offer.

“You’ve become my definition of home, and if I get picked up by a team out west, I’ll feel displaced.”

Kodiak’s way has always been able to filter the thoughts in his head and express only the ones he feels are most vital. I cross the room and step between his legs. We’ve been up since four and had sex three times between then and now, and still my body warms to his proximity.

I take his hand and place it against the side of my neck as he does the same to me. It will always be our thing. “We will adapt. How do you think our parents survived all those years with our dads on the road so much of the time? It’s an adjustment. And to answer your original question, I don’t know if it would’ve been easier or not. But we’ll always have this time that was just ours to hold on to when being apart hurts.”