Page 9 of Road Trip to Forever
I don’t know why I’m afraid to tell him. Patrick knows I go on dates.
He’s seen my Tinder profile. One night he stole my phone, joking that he needed to make sure I hadn’t writtenLive, Laugh, Loveor some other horrifically corny phrase under my name and age. He flipped through my pictures, and the jokes stopped.
His eyes got glassy. His sentences got shorter, the room settling into stifling silence until he quietly told me he would swipe right if he ever came across my profile on the app.
I didn’t know what to do with that information, and he never mentioned it again.
It feels weird to tell him aboutthisdate though, a sharp twinge of uncomfortableness settling in the pit of my stomach as I think about the rest of my evening. After doing something big and important, a monumental step in my career, it’s a crash down from a high. We should be celebrating together, right? Going out with our group of friends who I love dearly, the people that have constantly supported me. Not with a woman named Jade who has an apartment full of plants.
She’s nice, a lovely conversationalist who asks about my day and dietary preferences, but I’m not sure she’ll understand the scope of my excitement, my reasons for squirming in my seat and checking my inbox every seven minutes, refreshing and refreshing to see if a new message has popped up.
“You’ve been home an hour and you already have a date? Good for you, Lo,” Patrick says.
His voice hitches at the end, almost like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe. Strain laces the edges of the words, and I wonder if he says it three more times, it’ll come true.
I don’t like it.
It feels like he’s keeping something from me, and I like that even less.
Patrick and I don’t have any secrets, since having gone fromfriendstobest friendsin the blink of an eye. Our dads built us a treehouse for Christmas when we were eleven, a structure made of maple and a ladder held together by thick rope in the forty-foot oak on the property line between our childhood homes.
It was our spot.
The place where we went every night until the summer we graduated high school, spending hours and hours talking about everything and nothing and anything in between. We laid on the rickety wood held together by rusty nails and contemplated the wonders of the universe.
Up there, we were invincible. No goal unobtainable. No dream too big as we shared every part of ourselves with each other—our deepest fears, our greatest aspirations, and our wildest dreams. Life outside those four walls didn’t exist. It was me and it was Patrick and it was perfect.
We were bound forever.
We’ve been in each other’s orbits ever since, a continuous rotation through the whirlwind of life. No matter how unstable things become, no matter how volatile or uncertain the future is, I know from deep within my heart, Patrick will always be by my side.
We had to adjust a bit as we sailed into adulthood.
He got taller.
I got curvier, hips sprouting up almost overnight. I kissed size zero goodbye and embraced my midsized frame.
His voice changed to deep and authoritative, a tone that makes you want to lean in close and listen because you know he’s going to say something important.
I dyed my hair. Pink streaks. Blue streaks then pink again.
He started kissing girls. I started kissing everyone.
The years changed, and so did we.
Drastically.
We became less alike, gravitating toward different things and operating in different ways.
Patrick went from a shy boy to popular and well-liked in high school. A star athlete and a Yale graduate. The youngest elementary school principal in Massachusetts history and the leader behind passing a revolutionary state bill that requires cafeteria lunches to be free for all students, regardless of income.
I dropped out of college after a semester. Started a social media account to chronicle my life as a fashion designer trying to get her name out there and opened a small commissions-based online store that earns me enough money to pay my rent each month. I created a video series where I teach people how to sew. It went viral, at the right place on the internet at the right time and earning me thousands of followers.
I make easy, downloadable patterns and walk the viewers through the sewing process, step by step, until we complete the product together. We’ve done bucket hats and basic tops. A couple of sundresses. Last week I uploaded a tutorial on how to make your own bathing suit in time for summer over spotty Wi-Fi from my room in an Italian hostel.
Our paths of life also differ.
Patrick craves stability and staying in the same spot. Laying down roots and getting comfortable. Saving up for a mortgage. A kitchen large enough for an island. A fridge with a water dispenser and a garage with bikes.
