Page 24 of Five Years
After all, despite her desire to be over Ariana enough that they could be friends, there was still the voice in her head that wanted Ariana to feel something, even if it was just half of the pain and suffering Leah had endured on her road to post-breakup healing.
“It feels like a lifetime ago since we were there,” Ariana confessed.
Yet, Leah could still recall the feelings like it was yesterday.
“I know,” Leah agreed.
“Do you remember the view from the Grand Hotel porch?”
“Oh my God, of course. I could’ve sat there all day.”
“With your box of fudge and your fourth can of Celsius?” Ariana laughed.
“You didn’t tell me there was caffeine in those drinks! I felt like I’d taken acid! I was shaking,” Leah recalled.
She didn’t do particularly well with caffeine. The occasional coffee she could handle, but she envied those who could use it as their fuel to get through the day.
“It was a great trip,” Ariana trailed off.
The Grand Hotel was as extravagant as the White House. The all-white building had huge columns and a sprawling porch thatoffered sweeping views of the lake and the iconic Mackinac Bridge in the distance. The rocking chairs provided a place to relax and take in the beauty of it all. She recalled the gentle breeze forcing the strategically placed American flags to curl left and right. The scent of the surrounding flowers, and the sound of the horse-drawn carriages manoeuvring along the cobbled streets. She had felt so alive.
A sense of peace washed over her. She already knew she’d fallen in love with Ariana—that was as apparent as the sky was blue—but there was something in the way they watched the horizon together, the way they so comfortably sat in silence, the smooth fingers of Ariana’s outstretched hand toying with the nape of her neck. It was more than just the physicality of their nerve endings causing the sensitivity—the touch of her hand, the smell of her skin, the echo of her laugh. Leah was at peace because, above all else, she saw her future with Ariana.
It was on those rocking chairs that they playfully discussed their ideal retirement plans. They joked about matching walking sticks, hand-knitted cardigans, and feeding each other fudge until their dentures fell into their laps.
It was a hopeful, fun-natured conversation between two individuals who were at the height of their emotional connection.
The problem? Leah now had this idea of what it was like to retire with the woman she loved. She pictured it in her mind on days when daydreaming from her apartment window was all she could seem to do. She saw versions of that future in magazines, on park benches, in coffee shops, on TV programmes. Every element of the world that was even the tiniest bit romanticised reminded her of that future.
Which sucked.
Ariana placed another piece of fudge in her mouth. “Once you start—” she mumbled.
“Have you had it since we went to Mackinac?” Leah asked, curious if she’d returned in their five-year absence from each other’s lives.
Ariana shook her head. “I did order some though, a couple of years ago. Hannah...” She stopped the conversation dead.
“You can talk about Hannah,” Leah smiled.
“Sorry, I just don’t like to make things uncomfortable or anything,” Ariana admitted.
“Sweety—” It was somewhat patronising, and she knew it the moment the word left her lips. She’d never once called Arianasweety. “We broke up over five years ago, it’s very egotistical of you to assume I still care.” Leah jested, but the joke didn’t land. Ariana’s smile faded. She tried to cover it by packing another piece of fudge into her mouth, but it was too late.
“Hannah wanted to try it,” Ariana finished.
“Did she like it?” Leah asked, out of politeness.
Ariana nodded. “It’s hard not to like it.”
There was no attention drawn to the fact that Ariana was so casually eating from the fork Leah had used moments before. They’d shared saliva—amongst other bodily fluids—for over two years, so Leah didn’t shiver at the thought like she would if it were anyone else slowly clamping their lips around the metal object. But still, it felt too intimate now.
“Why didn’t you go for lunch?” Leah asked, curious.
“I got a headache, so I went to lie down.”
A follow-up question would’ve been appropriate, but Leah knew Ariana. She knew that her headaches were intermittent. She didn’t suffer from migraines to the extent others did—there was no crippling pain or dark room necessary—but stress and anxiety brought on a shorter, less intense version. Leah knew from experience that it soon passed.
Leah walked over to the freezer, pulled an ice pack from the top drawer, and wrapped it in a kitchen towel.
