Page 83 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
Maybe it’s time I stop apologizing and follow their lead.
And that starts with this article.
So how could it not be personal?
A new email notification pops up on my screen. From Ben. It’s well past midnight Sunday night and, having gotten zeroresponses from me over the past weeks, I’m surprised he’s reaching out this late.
When I open the email, the first thing I see is an image. One that knocks the wind out of me completely. Ben kisses me in the foreground of the photo, the sky behind us filled with swirls of green and ripples of pink, like something out of a Van Gogh painting. It isn’t the phenomenon of the northern lights that draws my focus though, it’s my own profile. Though my face is partially shielded by Ben’s hand cradling my jaw, it’s clear by the lift of my cheek that I’m smiling, even as Ben’s mouth covers mine. I look so happy, and so obviously in love.
I look like I’m exactly where I belong.
Beneath the photo is a message.
I’ve been offered an assignment in South Africa for three months. Give me a reason not to take it, Ems.
Then I notice there’s a file attached, and I click to open it before I can think better of it. My screen fills with dozens of images from Iceland, all of them of me, or of me and Ben together. There’s the photo of the two of us on the bench at Kerið Crater, several from our snowmobiling escapades taken by Fridrik as I cling to Ben for dear life, and my influencer photo from Kvernufoss is there, too. Tears fill my eyes when I come to one from Nauthúsagil, me standing in the mossy cavern with my face tilted skyward and my eyes closed, sunlight streaming down on my cheeks. It was the photo Ben took right before we kissed. Right before everything changed.
I quickly click through the rest, needing to see them but notstrong enough in my current state to linger. There’s one of me on the whale-watching excursion, my head thrown back in laughter as I chat with Cassandra. And another of me, dirty and sweaty but smiling all the same, as I pose on the mountain with the volcano erupting in the background. The last photos are from our time at Hótel Búðir: one of me walking through a grassy field toward the Black Church, my bright teal coat popping against the surrounding earth tones. Then there’s one of me in the gravel parking lot, smiling at the camera as I stand close to Joseph while he munches on a patch of grass.
I close all of the photos and completely exit out of my email.
Ben’s message is an unexpected blow I’m not prepared for, threatening to knock me off my newly charted course. The truth is, I’m not ready to admit to Ben that I miss him. That he haunts my mind every second of every day. That I feel his absence all the way down to my bones. That while I’ve lived without him before, I don’t want to do it again.
Right now, I’m certain of this: The best thing I can do for myself, and for Ben, is concentrate on earning the lifeIwant, on demanding the recognitionIdeserve. I am a good writer, damn it! Maybe I have to believe that before anyone else will.
I start typing, and this time the words flow from my fingertips as I envision the photos Ben sent me. If what I wrote before wastoo personalfor Calvin, this might as well be a diary entry. But how could it not be? Iceland taught me Icoulddo the hard things, and that is precisely the approach I take as I allow the words to pour from somewhere deep inside me. A place I usually keep hidden from everyone…except Ben.
I write about having a panic attack while snowmobiling on aglacier, but how I wouldn’t trade that experience for any amount of money, despite my fear. I write about pushing my body to its physical limit on hikes that far surpassed any difficulty level I was prepared for, but how the views of an active volcano or a waterfall tucked deep inside a cavern made the reward far greater than any temporary pain. I describe the enchanting romanticism of the Blue Lagoon and Hótel Búðir, and I mention all the friends we met along the way: Natalia, Cassandra, Fridrik, and—certainly not to be left out—Joseph.
Further pushing myself to be vulnerable, I write about falling in love in Iceland and how the person I fell for encouraged me and believed in me, and by extension, I began to believe in myself, accomplishing feats I would never have thought myself capable of. Then I tell the readers that if they’re lucky enough to have the means and privilege to travel, they should put Iceland at the top of their list. And if they are especially lucky and get to travel with a partner they care about, they might just find themselves falling in love all over again.
Just like I did.
It’s nearly sevena.m.Monday morning when I email the article to Suki with a photo attached—the one Ben sent me of us kissing in front of the northern lights. The article is a very rough first draft, but I’m proud of my work, whether or not it earns me my job back. After I hit send, I crawl into my bed and pull the covers up to my chin. Then I do something I haven’t been able to accomplish in two weeks.
I sleep.
Chapter 25
“Wake up!”
Jacklyn’s words buzz around my ear like an annoying mosquito, and I nuzzle deeper into my pillow and ignore them completely. Then all at once my covers are ripped off my body, exposing me to the unwelcome cool air.
“Hey!” I groan. “This is the first time I’ve slept in weeks!”
“Mona, Suki is on the phone for you. Wake up!”
I jolt straight up in bed like I’ve been zapped with an electrical wire.
Jacklyn stands at the foot of my bed with her palm covering the receiver of her cell. “You good now?”
Dizzy from sitting up so fast, I clear my throat and wipe the sleep from my eyes, then I motion for her to hand me the phone.
“Suki, hi!” I say cheerfully.
“Mona, I’m glad Jacklyn was able to find you,” she says on the other end. “I’ve been calling all day.”
I shoot a glance toward the clock on my nightstand. It’s fourin the afternoon. “Sorry. I was up all night working on the article I sent you.”
