Page 3 of Townshipped
“I will.”
“How are you holding up?” Gabriela asks, her tone turning soft and serious.
“It’s surreal being here today—the day I almost exchanged lifelong vows with Buck. I could be a wife today. Instead, I’m just me. A twenty-eight-year-old single redhead with no idea what’s next.”
I’m quiet and Gabriela waits for me to speak. As outspoken as she can be, she’s the best at waiting for me to say whatever’s on my heart.
“I never wanted to hurt Buck. I keep questioning myself. You said it yourself. Buck was kind, steady, and faithful. And I liked him. We got along.”
“Do you hear yourself, mija? You got along? Since when is that your standard for marriage? You don’t go into a life-long commitment based on sympathy or simply because you get along. I get along with the guy who works at the carniceria. He’s a pot-bellied old man and he smells like beef tongue and pickles. He’s not my Mister Right. Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”
I chuckle. “You’re right.”
“Nothing new there,” Gabriela teases me.
“Maybe this road trip was a bad idea, though. I’ve got too much time on my hands. Too much silence.”
I stare off at the waterfalls, powerful and timeless. People travel from all over the world to see them every day while the falls flow in a steady predictability with purpose and intensity, unfazed by who’s watching and unmoved by popular expectations, trends, or opinions.
“I’m considering the philosophical meaning of Niagara Falls right now,” I confess.
“That’s pathetic,” Gabriela teases. “Do you want the truth?”
“Are you giving me a choice?”
“Not really.” Gabriela laughs that carefree, beautiful laugh that makes me want to hop in the car and drive back to Boston so I can spend three weeks at her house, eating savory food and talking until late into the night.
“You need this time away,” she says in a careful tone. “Besides that, knowing Buck’s mom, there will be aftershocks to this cancellation. You may not have heard the end of things with her. It’s probably good to be a couple states away for the coming weeks.”
“Now that you mention it, I probably should join the witness protection program.”
“I hear you. But taking your honeymoon on your own is a good compromise. What you need is a little time on the road to clear your head and let this news sink in for everyone while you’re gone. Give yourself the chance to get your thoughts straight—and grieve. This can be a road trip like Thelma and Louise, minus the shooting and, well, minus Louise. You’re just Thelma.”
I laugh, but then I consider everything Gabriela’s saying.
“I probably do need this time to figure out what’s next. Maybe I should just go off the grid—you know, really take the time to figure myself out.”
“That sounds just right. You have a rare opportunity to consider your future as a blank slate. Decide what you want to write on it—and what you don’t.”
A blank slate.
The idea thrills and scares me in equal measure.
“It’s downhill from here,” Gabriela says. “Or uphill. Which should it be? Downhill sounds so … down. But uphill is harder. Right? So … downhill it is.”
“G?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you talking to me or yourself?”
She giggles. “Just figuring out whether your life is going up or down. Either way, it’s getting better. That’s all I know. You are single. You have a wide-open future. It’s looking up. That’s what’s going down.”
I laugh. “I wish you could have come with me.”
“Me too, sweet hermana, but I need to be here doing all the hashtag adulting while you gallivant around our fine nation. Take lots of pictures and flirt a little with a few strangers.”
“This is me we’re talking about.”
