Page 80 of From Air

“You don’t get a tattoo for ‘just a guy.’” Distrust lines Maren’s face. “You must have loved him a lot to ink yourself.”

“I was intoxicated.”

“Who in their right mind would tattoo someone who was intoxicated?” Will’s head jerks backward.

I frown. “I thought the same thing. It’s a miracle I didn’t die.”

“I think it’s romantic.” Maren smirks. “Risking it all to make a permanent statement about someone because you can’t imagine not carrying a reminder of them with you forever.”

Will bites his lips with a slow headshake.

Maren elbows him. “You wouldn’t understand that level of romance.”

“Getting drunk and making stupid decisions? I excel at that level of romance. And he’s clearly not still hers, so can we really say it’s romantic?”

I almost forget they’re talking about me. I’ll miss this banter with my roommates. The laughter. The camaraderie.

“It was stupid but not regrettable. If that makes sense,” I interrupt.

“It makes perfect sense,” Maren agrees.

Will rubs his chin, not as convinced as Maren.

I climb into my Jeep. “I’ll check in. This is not goodbye; it’s a see you later.” I blow them a kiss and shut the door before Maren’s next round of tears and before I let thoughts of Calvin Fitzgerald back into my consciousness.

It takes me three days to get to San Bernardino. Three soul-searching days of breathtaking scenery and summer heat mixed with refreshing dips in pristine lakes and delightful conversations with strangers along the way.

Idaho.

Utah.

Nevada.

California.

This girl who never left Florida is making great strides to rectify that regrettable situation.

As I keep track of fires, closures, and detours, I think of Calvin Fitzgerald jumping out of planes, cutting lines, sawing trees, and trekking through the wilderness with over a hundred pounds of gear in the stifling heat of summer.

A true warrior.

Does he think of me?

Will he miss me?

I know my heart will unavoidably carve time out to miss him every day for the foreseeable future. Maybe I should be angry, but I’m not. The emotions born from any kind of trauma are unique to everyone.And how one person deals with it can be as personal as their DNA. I only have empathy toward him.

However, my heart is big. It can multitask. I can feel calm empathy while feeling hysterically heartbroken. I can want nothing but the best for him while selfishly wishingIwere what’s best for him.

A woman’s heart isn’t merely complicated; it’s the reason humanity still exists. We are the nurturers, the peacemakers. We know when silence is more profound than any spoken word. And we know that pain is not love’s enemy; it’s the existential foundation that keeps humanity rooted in this world. It’s the sole motivation to do better, get better, and be better.

“Okay, I didn’t make it to Montana, but I’ve already started pricing flights to California.” Melissa answers my FaceTime without a hello.

I laugh, surveying the new furniture in my dinky studio apartment. It’s bigger than my shed, but not by much. “We’ll have to sleep together in a twin bed.” I flip the camera to show the space.

“Oh, Jamie, look at that wall of windows. You have great light. And I like your bed.”

“I went with a daybed since I don’t have room for a sofa.”

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