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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Gwen is gone, and I'm sitting in my sister's driveway, not even sure how I got here from the airport. We were both in tears at security, and at the last moment, my resolve cracked, and I proposed we try long distance. Gwen shot me down. She said she'd had all of me, all the time, and she wasn't willing to settle for whatever pieces I was willing to give her. Fair. But it fucking destroyed me to have her say it like that.
After she disappeared through security, taking my heart with her, I got in the car, and I hit send on the email I composed late last night when I couldn't sleep. Gwen is nothing if not tenacious, and the last thing I want is her showing up in the DRC with a stubborn slant to her jaw, daring me to make a scene. If we can't be together, I want to know she's safe out in the world somewhere and not on a dangerous mission with Doctors International.
The reality of what it'll mean for Gwen to be out in the world without me isn't something I can let myself consider or I'll never pass Jane's mental health screening on Monday. As long as Gwen is safe and happy, I can deal with what that looks like. I'll have to. I can't break my promise to Diana, and I can't have Gwen in the DRC. If anything dimmed the sparkle in her brown eyes, I'd never forgive myself.
With a resigned sight, I wipe my cheeks on the sleeve of my jacket and head to Ang's front door. After I ring the doorbell, I wait for someone to answer.
"You waiting for an invitation?" Sam asks after opening the storm door, the screen door still between us. "It was unlocked."
"I wasn't sure if I should—never mind." It's been so long since I've been back to St. Anthony that I forgot a quick rap of the knuckles on the door and letting myself in was perfectly acceptable. I've become too much of a city dweller or someone far too aware of security risks and concerns. You didn't wander into areas where you weren't welcome, and despite Ang's invitation to talk to Sam, I'm still not sure I'm wanted, here or anywhere in his life.
"You look like shit," Sam say, popping open the screen door. "Gwen left this morning?"
I grunt and shift past him into Ang's small bungalow. "Where's Ang?"
"Packing for Barbados." Sam steps in front of me to take us deeper into the house. "You dump Gwen like you dumped your family?" he asks over his shoulder, tone casual, as though he's not slicing into me as he leads me into Ang's kitchen.
Despite what Ang said, this no longer seems like a friendly conversation, a reckoning of our differences. After last night, I had some hope today would be productive. He's coming out knives sharp, ready for hand-to-hand combat.
"I didn't dump my family." I slump into one of the kitchen chairs.
"Yeah, you did," Sam says. "When was the last time you called me or Jamie or Mom and Dad?"
"When was the last time you called me?" I ask, leaning my elbows on the table, not keen to be browbeaten by my youngest brother. They made their choices, and I made mine. "The phone works in both directions."
