Page 126 of The Choices I've Made
Some people take afternoon walks to clear their minds. I drive fifteen minutes out of town, get in line for the ferry, wait, and then swiftly turn around when it begins to load.
Yesterday, I was recognized.
A returning couple from Kentucky is visiting the inn, and they were unloading as I was making my mad dash. They waved. I waved back.
It was then I realized what I was doing was insane.
This isn’t moving on. Hell, I don’t know what this is, but it’s certainly not healthy.
My mom asked me why supplies in the inn were so low when she came to do her daily check-in. I made up an excuse about being busy, but she saw right through me.
She sat me down and asked how I was doing. I didn’t have the strength to play games anymore. Honestly, I don’t know if I have the strength for anything anymore.
Was it this hard the first time, Jake? Did it hurt this much?
Maybe we were wrong. Maybe love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.
Perhaps we were toxic from the very beginning.
—Molly
Molly,
I’m home.
I’m back in Chicago.
It doesn’t feel like home. But I guess I never allowed it to be. I moved here right after my residency finished up. It was the highest offer I’d received of several.
That was how I based my decision. That, and how far I could rise.
I didn’t look at the location or proximity to friends or social events. I merely saw a number on the offer letter that agreed with me.
And that was that.
Sitting here, at a desk, I barely remember choosing the apartment I rent for its proximity to the hospital. I realize I don’t know a damn thing about this place.
Or me for that matter.
It took me twice as long as it should have to drive from Ocracoke to Chicago. I thought every mile I pushed between us would make it easier, but with each passing state line, the pain only doubled. I pulled off to the side of the road and stayed in shabby motel rooms, dreaming of you.
And our backyard wedding.
Somewhere around Pittsburgh, I gave myself one hell of a pity party and spent the next twenty-four hours hungover and miserable. But, somehow, I made it back here.
And, now, the hard part begins—starting over.
I hope you’re better at this than me.
—Jake
