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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A week later, we're on Prince Edward Island, which is a vast landscape of rolling farmland and sea views. On our drive here, it became clear Blake hasn't been sleeping well for longer than I thought. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes, and while he drove, he drank coffee or energy drinks, which he's been adamant about not doing in the past. He's an everything in moderation kind of guy, and he's been hitting the caffeine hard.
The minute we're in bed at night, if we aren't immediately all over each other, he's asleep. He's unconscious so much earlier than me that I can see the restlessness. While I sleep so soundly I've been told it's comical, his rest is shallow.
If I'm still awake drawing, he'll mutter things I can't understand and then jump awake, his eyes wild for a moment before they focus on me, and he visibly relaxes. At that point, he'll loop his arm around my middle, breathe me in, and go back to sleep. Something brews just below the surface, bubbling over when he's asleep.
When I worked up the nerve to ask him what was wrong or whether we should go back to separate beds, he said he's never been a good sleeper and that's the reason he's been off work for the last six months. Nothing to do with me.
It's just that, now that I know him, I can recognize how exhausted he was when I met him on the bus, and he's starting to look like that again. The lack of sleep hasn't stopped him from running—long runs that are more like marathons—I've seen his watch. The only thing that makes sense to me is that he's as worried about our impending separation as I am. What else could it be? Up until we really got together, he was fine.
In two weeks, we'll be nothing more than a memory, and the thought has caused me to pick at my food. Even chocolate isn't enough to get me out of my slump. The weight I've gained on the trip is starting to fall off. Meals are something to get through instead of enjoy.
But the reminder of food still makes my stomach rumble while I navigate around the web. The hotel has a lone desktop in a business office for anyone who needs a full computer and printer for work or while on vacation. It's a relic, but one I'm grateful for.
Blake has gone to a small town nearby to pick up some takeaway, and I'm avoiding staring at a particular open tab while I replay the last week in my head. Big decisions are in that tab. Somewhat reluctantly, I click back to it.
In front of me on the screen is a job opportunity at Doctors International that closes tomorrow, and I've filled out the online application. The mouse's arrow hovers over the submit button. Should I? Shouldn't I?
If I get the job, I'll take it, no matter where they want to send me, and if I don't, I'll accept the scholarship and go to Florida. Let fate take the wheel.
That's not a plan that any of my confidants would support, so I haven't voiced it out loud. The two paths may not align, anyway, and I'll be forced to decide. The deadline to accept the scholarship is looming.
