In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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When I get home from the Powwow, it's late, but Blake is still up, standing in the kitchen, drinking something in a mug—likely water. No caffeine rush this close to bed for him.
There's a weird tension coming off him, but it's been there since he ran into whoever that guy was at the Powwow. I'd ask, but he wouldn't tell me. My whole life is an open book, but turning even a single page in his seems like it would cause the whole binding to come undone. Back when I scrawled the rule about not getting to know each other on a deeper level, I never expected that he'd know everything about me, and I'd know absolutely nothing beyond the surface with him.
"I've been thinking," Blake says.
"I like it," I say, pretending he's not giving off a weird vibe. "New adventure for us?"
He grimaces and sips whatever is in his mug again, which I'm just now realizing is a delay tactic.
"Did you make a new rule?" I peer around him to the counter where we left what is now, a book of rules.
"When we get to Niagara Falls, I think we should go our separate ways," he says.
I can feel all the color drain from my face. Where is this coming from? What did I do?
"Originally, we never intended to travel together, and I think we want different things out of this trip."
He wants to sit alone in a hotel room to think deep thoughts, and I want to do things, experience the world. A problem I thought we'd fixed by being flexible with each other. When I suggested he come back to the cabin for some Blake time, I never expected this to be the result.
"Did I..." I swallow and try to fight back tears. Crying isn't something I do very often, and I'm not doing it tonight over some guy I'm not even sleeping with. Absolutely not. Toughen up, Gwen. "Did I do something wrong?" My voice is stronger this time.
"No," he says, but he doesn't elaborate, and I can't help thinking the answer is actually "yes" but he just won't say it.
"Fine," I say, and I stand up straighter. "I'll book a hotel in Niagara Falls. Are you good to cancel everything else going forward?" That was a rule we made at some point—that the person who no longer wanted to do something had to be the one to cancel it.
He stares into his mug, the tendrils of his overly long hair falling forward to partially conceal his expression, and he nods.
"I'll see you in the morning." Then I flee to my room and shut my door. Instead of getting ready to sleep, I flop onto the mattress and try to keep myself from sobbing. Somehow, I fucked things up, and I don't even know how. Will probably never know because he's a vault that I don't have the code to open.
I check the time, and I decide to use my precious data to check my email which I haven't looked at in weeks. Anything to avoid thinking about how I'll be back on my own starting tomorrow when we arrive in Niagara Falls after what will likely be the longest car ride of my life. One where I pretend to be totally cool with the fact he can't wait to ditch me.
