Page 66 of Between Then and Now
“Hey.” I hear a voice behind me. I look up and see John approaching. “I’ve been trying to reach Bon. I really want to apologize for acting like a dick yesterday, but I can’t find her.” He takes the seat next to me as I’m packing up the medical kits.
“She left,” I say, my voice firmer than I intended. I’m not usually one to confront John about his behavior, but this is different. “And yeah, you were a dick. Bon’s going through a lot and your only focus was how entertaining she could be for you.”
He winces and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I realized that,” he admits with a subdued voice. “I was too caught up in my own crap.”
It’s rare to see my friend like this–genuinely remorseful—and it softens my anger a bit, but not completely. “Bon’s an amazing person. She spent the rest of her life trying to cheer everyone around her, and for once she allowed herself to feelthings that she’s not familiar with. She let herself go through all that. And it doesn’t make her boring; it makes her brave.” I pause, realizing that I’m divulging too much.
There’s a heavy silence between us, and after a few minutes John speaks. “You like her, don’t you?”
I nod. “Like her enough to scare her away, apparently.” I chuckle, trying to lighten up the situation.
“I’ve always felt like there’s something between you two.” He smiles. “Both of you were too stubborn to admit it, but I’m glad it’s finally come to light.” He pauses as he helps me with sanitizing the area. “It’s because of yesterday, isn’t it? I was too mean to her, and you were there for her?”
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t really feel comfortable talking to John about personal stuff like this. Thankfully, he doesn’t push it.
“I just wanna apologize to her, man. I don’t want anything to do with her after that, but I just want to make it right, at least,” he says.
“Here’s the deal,” I tell him. “I’m going to leave early too. And if you want to make it up to Bon, get up and help me do something for her before I go.”
John looks confused but he follows me anyway. I grab my phone and walk out of the triage tent. There’s something I have to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bonita
My heart is heavy as I get into a taxi to go back home. I left Ryan a note–a cowardly note–and then I bolted as if the inn were on fire. I understand if he hates me now. I’d hate me if I were him.
It’s not that I’m scared of something real–I’m scared that it’s so real it’s bound to end at some point. That it’s only a matter of time until the sparks fly away and disappear. That Ryan will stop seeing me with rose-colored glasses. That he’ll realize I’m not really worth it at all.
Ryan deserves better. He deserves someone who isn’t a walking tornado of confusion. Someone who can actually articulate their feelings without needing a handwritten note as a buffer. Speaking of the note, I feel terrible writing something so vague. I might as well have written “Dear Ryan, I’m a hot mess. Bye,” and it won’t make any difference.
And then there’s my documentary—my shot at career redemption—and I haven’t even finished it. I was supposed to film one last Q&A with the doctors, and I wasn’t able to do that. I give up not only the man of my dreams but also my shot at a career leverage.Great job, Bon. That’s two out of two.
As the taxi enters Magnolia Heights, I take a deep breath and try to steel myself for whatever comes next. I have a week until I see him again. Until then, I just have to pull myself together.
It’s five in the afternoon, and there are people strolling around the village. I’m hesitant to go out as the taxi stops in front of our house. I don’t know why I’m hiding like I’m some fugitive, but surely everyone will ask me why I arrived one weekearly and without Ryan. And I’m not sure I know how to answer that. “Because he told me he had feelings for me and we slept together then I left him a note” doesn’t really sound like an outstanding explanation. If I say that, I might as well just move out of here because I picture villagers with pitchforks and torches as they angrily march their way to kill me.
I linger a bit until the taxi driver looks at me like he wants to push me out of the cab. I sigh, and make my way out, and then run inside. Once I manage to pull all my luggage inside our house, I whirl to see my mother’s stunned expression peering from the kitchen.
“Why are you home?” she asks, holding a bottle of soy sauce.
“Um… surprise?” I say.
“Why didn’t you tell us? I would’ve made you a feast, Bon,” she says with a frown.
“It’s last minute. Something came up. Just… I’m fine, really.” And then I run up to my room. “I’ll get my luggage later!” I say as I climb up the staircase. I don’t look back because I know I will see my mom’s suspicious glare.
I burst into my bedroom, and the weight of everything hits me all at once. I collapse onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow, and the tears come hard and fast. I cry until I have no more tears left, until my body feels like it’s been wrung dry. I don’t even come down for dinner. My mom already thinks there’s something wrong, I don’t have to pretend to be fine.
I can hear my parents downstairs, their voices a low murmur through the walls. I imagine my mom wringing her hands, exchanging worried glances with my dad. They’ll give me space tonight, but tomorrow will come the questions. And what will I tell them? That I fell for Ryan, that I panicked and ranaway, because I’m terrified of being happy? That I’m a mess of contradictions and fears, unable to just embrace something good without expecting it to implode?
I roll over and stare at the ceiling, my mind replaying every moment with Ryan: his smile, his laugh, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world. His confession, how he said he liked me, maybe more.
I start to think about what I’m really feeling, diving headfirst into the swirling vortex of my emotions. I know in my heart that I want Ryan. I like him. I love him, even. But I’ve never been in this situation before. Sure, I had boyfriends—each one a different chapter in my awkward romantic anthology. And with each one of those, I was a different person. A chameleon of sorts, changing colors to fit what I thought they wanted. But Ryan? Ryan is the first person to know me—really know me. And I am terrified.
And I’m allowed to be terrified because, my whole life, I’ve been wired to believe that I had to shape myself into something else for me to be liked. I was expected to be the human equivalent of a happy pill, always dispensing smiles and sunshine. No room for clouds or storms. Be bright, be cheerful, be fun, even if it means hiding your own fears and insecurities.
But with Ryan, it’s different. He sees through the facade. He sees the rain clouds and the thunderstorms. He sees the real me, and instead of running away, he stays. That’s new territory for me, uncharted and frightening.
