Page 103 of It Couldn't Be You
The window on the back wall was open. I could hear the wind bristling through the trees outside. I had a little fireplace in the corner and a big canopy bed. I threw myself down on it, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the cool air wash over me.
It felt meditative. Fresh air on my skin, the sound of trees and waves outside my window. The quiet in my room. I listened to all of it, when, a little muffled, I heard “Alone Together” playing.
I sat up. I could definitely hear Fall Out Boy singing. I walked to the window to see if someone was playing it outside. I looked around my room for a second before I realized it was coming from my ridiculous neighbor on the other side of the wall. Pressing my ear against the wall, I could hear Gabriel singing along to the song.
I pulled out my phone and typed up,
Me
I’m going to call the front desk and complain.
He replied telling me to invite him in—quoting the song and making a request at the same time. The music stopped playing, so I walked over to open my door, and there he stood.
He had two bottles of water. “I know they have wine on tap, but you need to hydrate after a flight.”
“You’re thoughtful. I guess I won’t call and complain.” I took one of the bottles from his hand.
“Of course not. I was just trying to creatively ask you to invite me over.” He walked inside as I closed the door behind him.
“Oh, so youwerespeaking to me through the song, like when you told me you adored me?”
“Let’s not pretend you weren’t sending me a message with your song selection, too,” he leaned on his shoulder against the wall.
“Yeah, how does the song go…something about ruin?” I said coyly.
“You wanted to get me alone.” He winked. “And look, you got your way.”
I gave him a shove. But he wasn’t wrong. “Let’s get out of here. There is an ocean just outside our window.”
The walk from our hotel to downtown was short, so we picked up a pizza and then carried it down to the beach.
We sat on the pebbly shore, our shoes kicked off, eating slice after slice while watching the waves roll in and out. The sun was setting in different shades of pink. People were pulling out their phones all around us to capture it.
I was too happy with my circumstances to even think about breaking the spell between Gabriel and I by touching my phone. I wasn’t even following my self-imposed itinerary at the moment.
Gabe had asked what we should do, I told him I just wanted pizza and the ocean, ignoring my little list. When the pizza box was empty, Gabe snapped photos, and I watched him from my spot with my head on his shoulder. He worked his phone like a professional camera.
He turned his camera to video mode to shoot the sunset, then turned it toward our faces, with my head still resting on his shoulder.
“A weary traveler,” he narrated. I giggled and pushed the phone away. He put his phone back in his pocket then wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my shoulders to warm me up. I would’ve happily stayed like that for the rest of the night. For the rest of my life.
The sky went from pink to purple to indigo. The waves kept coming. People kept leaving. The tide got closer and closer until it finally chased us away. But we stayed as long as we could, finally alone together.
It was bittersweet to close my hotel room door that night. It was chilly after the sun went down. I clicked on my fireplace but left the window open a crack, just enough to hear the ocean waves beyond the trees.
I had just crawled under my covers, content and sleepy when I heard the muffled sounds of a song behind mine and Gabriel’s shared wall. Was he playing a song for me again?
I tiptoed from my bed, placed my ear against the wall, and could hear Jimmy Eat World singing about time in “For Me This Is Heaven.”
Nostalgia crashed over me like a heavy wave. I could instantly see teenage Gabriel singing along to Jimmy Eat World in that old truck of his. The windows down, his messy curls making me melt.
The song begged questions from the other room.
I pressed my head against the wall and listened to the piano. My heart was stuck between the sweet nostalgia of memory and the painful hope of what could be.
I walked back across the room and snatched my phone off the nightstand. Impulsively, I sent a message to Gabe, asking my own question.
Me
