The Road Trip

• Seventeen •

Three Months Later

I stretched out my legs on a blue yoga mat on my porch before I went into mountain pose. I closed my eyes as the sun peaked out over the horizon.

Summer of Me had been amazing.

I'd flown back to Boston with zero luggage that next morning. I couldn't stand to be in Seattle for a second longer, and I hadn't looked back. Colin told me Luke had shown up with my luggage looking for me a few hours after I left.

But I was already back home and packing for my next trip. I had asked off for the next week, so I took advantage of it.

New York City had been my first stop. I beat my old steps record and walked more that week than I had in Badlands. I even found the cheapest rental I could afford in the Hamptons—a cute room over someone's garage—and spent two days at the beach.

Thanks to my gift card, I was able to do more things than I had planned.

I saw the Grand Canyon by helicopter—along with hiking and sleeping in a tent. I went to Las Vegas, lost five hundred dollars, and loved every minute of it. I saw the Gateway Arch in St. Louis.

I spent a week in Los Angeles with Paige, and it was the best part of my summer. We acted like teenagers, partying on weeknights, and sleeping until noon. She did all of the touristy things with me. And we bawled our eyes out together at the airport when I had to leave.

I spent a week back in Seattle, hanging out with my dad and brother, before we moved Colin into his dorm room.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about Luke once. With each new experience, each new memory, I felt a small pang of hurt, sadness, guilt shame (any other emotion, I was probably feeling that one too) and wishing he was there with me. I couldn't help it—I missed him. A lot. But I was working on myself. I was working on loving myself. I was working on taking care of myself. I had to tell myself it was fate every time my brain couldn't stop thinking. He had jump started something in me, and I wasn't sure if I'd be where I was at the present moment if it hadn't been for him.

Because I was a different person.

I'd spent years hating a man who I never should have hated in the first place. That can fuck an already fucked up girl's mind just a bit too far.

I forgave myself. I forgave Avery. I forgave Russ.

I had finally found some relaxation.

And even though I didn't think it would ever happen again (my dad insisted it would), the next time I possibly found myself in a position where I might have a sliver of a desire to be vulnerable, I was going to be a better version of myself.

Thanks to Luke.

The glass door slid open.

"Good morning," Oliver said sleepily. "Is there any coffee?"

"Morning! No, we used the last of it yesterday," I replied. "We can get some on the way."

Oliver let out a groggy grunt and sat in a chair to my right, watching me as I changed to downward-facing dog.

"You do that every morning?" he asked me.

I picked my head up. "Lately, yeah. It relaxes me."

He settled back in his chair silently and watched the sunrise. After my cat/cow and cobra poses, I sat in butterfly and watched it with him.

I caught a flutter out of the corner of my eye.

"Look," I whispered, hitting Oliver in the shin.

The hummingbird hovered over my bright blue glass feeder, drinking the nectar with quick dips of its beak.