Page 17 of Second Tide's the Charm
She doesn’t have to. The way our relationship dwindled to an end is seared in my mind. After years of long-distance while she earned her master’s degree then worked with a nonprofit in Maryland, I was finishing up my PhD. We’d discussed what life would look like once I was out of school. About how we could finally be together, in the same city. But after years of dreaming and months of planning, when it came time to take action, she told me she wasn’t sure where she wanted to be long-term, and I shouldn’t base my next move on her.
All the breath left my lungs when she told me. Part of me had sensed a hesitancy during our recent calls, but I chalked that up to her aversion to make concrete plans in any area of her life. She’d schedule flights at the last minute, apply for jobs right before the window closed. So I didn’t think it meant anything that she’d always talked about our future in vague terms, because she always told me that she wanted to be with me, however that looked like, and we’d make it work.
And for years, we did. Even though the planner in me wanted specifics, I knew we had plenty of time to figure things out. But I never imagined we’d be apart indefinitely. That we wouldn’t try, at least, to find work near each other. That our relationship might be a series of near misses, getting close enough to touch until life flung us in opposite directions. I wasn’t sure I could live with a lifetime of that, even if the alternative was a lifetime without Hope.
We argued, over the phone, which is the worst. Didn’t hang up on each other, but ended with goodbyes, notI love yous. The hard thing about long-distance—what became theimpossiblething—is you don’t see the person the next morning. There’s no breakfast table to make up at, no bed to wind up in at the end of the day, tangled up together until words flow freely and differences are resolved. We had no planned visit on the horizon, and I was too caught up in my head to broach the gap.
The silence stretched for days, until the phone finally rang. But when it did, Hope’s quavering voice was on the other end, telling me she was on her way to the airport, bound not for North Carolina, but Michigan, because her best friend’s husband had died.
Our fight became an afterthought, a complication. And eventually we became that, to each other.
The bark of a dog on a nearby boat shatters my musing, and I blink away the memory to find Hope biting her lip, the can clenched in her fist.
“I’ve been ready to come back for a while,” she says, running her thumb up to catch a drip of condensation on the can. My fingers curl against the memory of the same touch against my own skin. “But I was putting it off. Hadn’t searched job postings. I figured telling Marissa would be a good first step. Accountability. Motivation to quit worrying about how to pick up where I left off and get on with it.” She meets my eyes. “I never expected she’d invite me down here. But I couldn’t turn down such a great opportunity. And when she mentioned you—”
“I was the fine print you were willing to sign off on?”
Her mouth parts, but then she nods, never one to back away from the truth. “Pretty much. Gosh, that sounds terrible.”
I shrug. “I can relate, except I never got the chance.”
“To come to terms with seeing me again?”
Icy condensation from my own drink trickles down my palm, the droplets tepid as sweat by the time they reach my wrist. It’s baking out here, and I wish we could have this conversation while cruising the bay with a brisk wind to wick the sweat that’s settling into my skin, and the task of navigating to keep my hands busy, instead of here at the dock with nothing but heavy air between us. “A heads-up would’ve helped. But that’s not on you.”
“I thought about calling. Or texting. But it had been so long.” She raises the water to her lips, takes a long drink, throat working in a swallow. I shouldn’t stare, but after three years I’m greedy for the sight of her. She lowers the can and I look away, picking at the tab on my own drink. “Would’ve been nice to know I was walking into a movie set.”
It’s nothing like that, but in the end, it adds up to being in the public eye, which isn’t something she expected. “You really had no idea?”
She shakes her head, and it shouldn’t bother me that she never watched. Never saw how my life changed. But hearing Hope say how little I factored into her decision to join the project burns afresh. I should be happy that our breakup didn’t rock her world like it did mine. Should be glad to hear she’s unaffected, but I’m not. I’m shook.
For three years all I’ve thought of is Hope, and she didn’t even so much as spare me a Google search. She could be lying, but I know her tells. She was shocked as hell to see my page.
“I thought you blocked me at first,” I say. “When I stopped seeing your posts.”
“Blocked you?” Hope looks confused. “I didn’t—” Her eyes drop to her mug, fingers spinning the cup. “I don’t follow anyone anymore. I’m not on social media.”
“I know.” I asked Marissa to check when Hope disappeared, horrified by the idea that she’d been upset enough to block me. But finding out she’d deleted her accounts altogether made no sense. She was never a big fan of social media, but it seemed like such a drastic step. “Why though?”
“Is it so hard to think someone might want a break from all that?” she asks. “Surface-level connections? The urge to keep up, put on a good show?”
Her quick reply doesn’t ring true, but I’m on the defensive after Iris’s comment earlier. “So you think this is all a waste of time? Just an ego trip?”
“What? No.” She looks surprised that I took her comment that way, and I’m instantly embarrassed. “It just wasn’t for me.”
There’s more to it. I can hear it in the way she bites off the last words, like she’s pruning a branch before it bears fruit. I don’t want to push, but if she’s got a problem with social media, this job isn’t a good fit, regardless of our history. “What we do involves a lot of visibility. You sure that won’t be a problem for you?”
“Are you asking if I’m ready for my ten seconds of internet fame?” Her eyes shoot to mine in an instant, hesitancy replaced by a fire that kindles an answering one in my own chest, the spark that once united us eager for a match.
I lick my lips, afraid to ask, but desperate for the answer. “I’m asking if you left social media because of me.”
“You think I gave up social media for you?”
The incredulousfor youis a scalpel, excising what meager hope I carried that she might still have feelings for me. Maybe she means to assuage my fears, tell me I’m not to blame, but all I hear is that I’m not worth the trouble.
She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, but it immediately springs free. “Despite the timing, I can assure you my departure from social media had nothing to do with us.” Formality is Hope’s tell. She’s no-nonsense, straight to the point. Maybe it’s the truth, but there’s more to the story.
Her face clouds over, mouth tightening. “Marissa may have been circumspect about the scope of your online presence, but she did let me know filming the shark work-ups was a component of the work y’all do. I figured it was for a blog or campus initiative. Not something of this scope.” She leans back and kicks out a leg, her knee brushing mine and I go still. “But regardless, I’m cool with it.”
