Safe Distance

by Megan Green

  “Haylee? You okay?”

  I yelp. My eyes spring open and Emma’s curious gaze meets mine.

  “Yeah!” Shit, too enthusiastic. Tone it down, Haylee. “I mean, I’m fine. Long week at work. Glad it’s the weekend.” I hop to my feet, grabbing her arm before I ramble any further. “Should we go? I’m starving.”

  I’m practically skipping as drag her down the sidewalk toward the pier. I see the first accomplice leaning against the railing, tulip in hand. Shit. I forgot my damn flower. Is it possible for me to screw this up any more? I glance over my shoulder, seeing the purple tulip still sitting on the bench next to where I’d been perched. Going back for it would definitely clue her in that something was up, so I decide to forget the flower and continue to drag her forward. It’s not going to be an even fifty. But Chris will just have to deal. I’ll try to come back for it later.

  Emma chats about her psych classes as we walk. She’s telling me some story about one of her professors, but it’s literally impossible for me to keep track of her words. My thoughts are clouded with my excitement, and everything she says just goes in one ear and out the other.

  Finally, after what feels like five hundred miles, we reach Chris’s first ally. He walks toward Emma, a smile on his face. He extends his hand when he reaches her, handing her the flower with a simple “for you.” Emma looks around and moves out of the way, clearly thinking he must be speaking to someone behind her. The man laughs quietly, shaking his head as places the tulip in her hand. “For you,” he repeats.

  Emma wraps her fingers around the stem, confusion clear on her face. “Er, thank you.”

  He nods and walks off, leaving Emma staring at me in bewilderment. “That was weird.”

  “Yep,” I say simply. I can already see the next person approaching.

  This time it’s a woman. She smiles brightly, her white teeth gleaming as she steps into Emma’s path to hand her the red tulip. “For you.”

  Emma stares at her, unable to form any words this time. The woman winks and continues walking down the pier. Emma turns to me, her agitation coming off of her in waves. “What the hell is going on?”

  I shrug. “Dunno. C’mon, let’s go. I’m hungry.” I pull her forward as she stares back at the woman’s retreating figure.

  She still has her back turned as the next person steps in front of her. Another woman clears her throat and Emma’s head whips around. “For you,” she says, handing Emma a yellow tulip.

  Emma’s mouth continues to gape the entire time we walk down the pier. People move from the railing every few steps, shifting into our path and passing her more tulips. By the time we reach the end of the pier, tears are streaming down her face and her arms are filled with the flowers.

  A gazebo stands at the end of the pier. Hundreds of flowers—tulips, roses, lilies, daisies; you name it, Chris bought it—cover every surface. Dozens of tiny candles flicker among them, their flames dancing in the wind. The effect is magical. And Chris stands in the center of it all, so handsome in his dress blues, a single tulip in his hand.

  Emma’s knees go weak when she sees him, her sobs breaking through the hand she brought to her mouth to stifle them. I hold on to her, guiding her forward through all the people gathered to watch. When we step under the gazebo, I take the flowers from her arms. She’s reluctant to turn them over, but a gentle prod knocks her out of her stupor and she releases them from her iron grip. I move to the side, shifting into place next Ryan and the rest of their unit. They’re all decked out in their dress blues as well. Ryan smiles at me briefly before we both turn to watch Chris and Emma.

  Chris walks slowly toward Emma, each step deliberate, calculated. A captivating smile is glued to his face. Emma returns his smile through her tears, a laugh breaking through her sobs. Watching her, I’m unable to prevent the tears that spring to my eyes. I swallow hard in effort to keep them from falling, but then a woman standing across from me dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex. And suddenly, all bets are off. Tears begin falling down my cheeks before I can stop them.

  I wipe them away as discreetly as possible, praying nobody witnessed my little moment of weakness. A blue handkerchief appears over my shoulder. Dammit. I should’ve known I couldn’t be that lucky. I turn my eyes to meet Ryan’s and nod at him graciously, taking the swatch of fabric from his fingertips. I dab away my tears, carefully trying not to smear my mascara in front of all these people. I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to the couple in the center of the gazebo.

  “Emma,” Chris says, his voice breaking. And with that one word, my tears begin again. He says so much in that one word. Her name. I’ve never heard so much love portrayed in something as simple as a name before. And deep inside my chest, I feel something stir. Something hard I’ve kept locked within me all these years. It cracks. Just slightly—a hairline fracture—but a crack all the same. Something I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden and protected softens with that word—a word that isn’t even directed at me. But I’m unable to hinder the effect it has on me.

  Chris tucks the tulip behind Emma’s ear, his hand lingering in her hair. He runs his fingers down to the base of her neck, where he applies the slightest amount of pressure to bend her face toward his. He kisses her forehead before pulling back. He takes both of her hands in his and drops to his knee.

  “From the moment I met you, I knew you were different. My eyes were instantly drawn to that gorgeous smile, and I’ve been unable to look away ever since. Those first few hours we spent talking and getting to know each other the night we met were the best of my life—up until that point. Everything since then has only gotten better. You are my world. The reason I wake up in the morning. And the reason I can’t wait to fall asleep. Because I know you’ll be there—in my dreams, by my side, everywhere. I want you to be everywhere I am. You are my best friend—sorry, dude,” he quips at Ryan. Muffled tears turn into quiet chuckles as we all laugh at him. Even in a serious moment like this, you can always count on Chris for a joke.

  He turns back to Emma, once again looking at her like she’s the only one on Earth. “Baby, I love you more than words can possibly express. You’ve brought a joy into my life I never knew was possible. My days are brighter with you in them. And even though we’ll soon be separated for a time, your light will still shine on me. Just knowing you’re here, waiting for me, will be enough to get me through anything. The darkest days will still shine because of you.”

  Emma’s tears are falling even harder now as she tries to pull Chris to his feet. He resists, giving her a slight smile as he shakes his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a little black box. Emma gasps and she bends at the waist, taking his face in her hands.

  “Emma Nichols, I know most people would say we haven’t known each other long enough. That we’re too young. Too stupid. But I say to hell with them. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. I love you. And I want to be with you forever. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Chris quickly rises to his feet as Emma throws herself into his arms. Her words become a jumbled mess as she sobs into his shoulder. He pulls tightly against his chest, kissing her cheeks, her lips, her forehead—anywhere he can possibly reach while they’re pressed so close together. We all watch as they whisper to each other, relishing in their moment, completely lost in one another.

  Something nudges at my hand, and then Ryan’s fingers envelop mine. He looks at me, tears evident in his own eyes. I smile back at him and our eyes remain locked for a long moment. Chris’s resounding voice is what finally breaks us of our distraction.

  “She said yes,” he shouts. I quickly drop Ryan’s hand and step away from him. “You assholes were wrong. You owe me a beer, Roberts!” he yells at the man standing next to Ryan. Ryan gives me a sad smile but turns to congratulate his friend. Shaking off my stupor, I rush to Emma’s side.

  “Congratulations!” I squeal when I reach her.

  “Oh my god. I don’t know whether to kiss y
ou or kill you for this. All these people. I can’t believe it. I just…wow. It’s unreal.” She leans in and gives me a hug. And as quick as she’s there, she’s gone, staring at something behind me.

  “Oh my god. Is that my mom? And my dad. What are they doing here?”

  “Chris flew them in. Your sister is around here too, somewhere. And Chris’s parents. He wanted them all to be here for this.”

  “Holy shit,” she says, shaking her head. I laugh at her bewilderment and push her in their direction.

  “Go. They’ve been so anxious to see you. And just FYI, they’re already pretty crazy about that fiancé of yours.”

  “Fiancé. Wow, that’s gonna take some getting used to,” she says, glancing down at the ring on her left hand. She gives me another quick hug and then pulls Chris away from his friends. Together they join their families, and screeches of laughter and joy can be heard all along the pier. Hell, probably the entire East Coast, judging from the sound coming out of Chris’s and Emma’s mothers.

  I feel someone come up behind me. I know it’s him without him even having to speak. I feel his familiar form behind me, his intoxicating cologne dulling my senses. I want to lean back into him. To press my back against his firm chest. To know what his strong arms feel like wrapped around me. And I’m seconds away from doing exactly that when Amanda appears in front of me, snapping me out of my fantasy.

  “That was amazing. Beyond amazing. I bawled like a baby the entire time. You have an amazing friend, do you know that?” she asks Ryan.

  He nods. “I know it,” he says, his voice still thick with unshed tears.

  Amanda tells me she and Justin are going out for the night. All the romance of the day has gotten to her, she says. She needs a night out on the town with her guy. I laugh, telling her to enjoy herself and that I’ll see her tomorrow.

  But that leaves me alone with Ryan once more. Now that the spell has broken, the earlier moments between us have created a sort of awkwardness. I try to downplay it in my mind. Like Amanda said, the romance of Chris’s proposal got to everyone. We all got a little punch drunk on love. The only problem is, Ryan and I aren’t a couple. So instead of dashing off into the night, frantic to extend the evening’s enchantment, we stand next to each other, fidgeting awkwardly and continually clearing our throats. My thoughts stumble over each other as I try to think of something to say to alleviate the tension between us. Luckily, he breaks the silence for me.

  “Would you like a ride home? I’m pretty sure I owe you one of those before we ship out, if I remember right.” He smiles at me, his usual, dazzling smile. But the uneasiness I’d been feeling immediately evaporates.

  “I’d love one.”

  The road twists and turns endlessly in front of us. When Ryan detoured off the main road onto the deserted back road, I’d raised no objections. The only thoughts I could muster consisted entirely of the rush of the wind through my hair and the intoxicating scent of the beach permeating my senses.

  A few miles into the drive he looks at me and smirks. “Wanna drive?”

  “Nope,” I say, the P sound popping on my lips. “I’m perfectly content to sit here and enjoy the ride.”

  He laughs. “You don’t what you’re missing. Or how rare it is I even offer to let someone drive my car. Ask Chris. He’s been begging me since we tightened the final lug nut.”

  I lay my head back against the headrest, letting out a content sigh. “Well, as honored as I am, I also don’t want to be the one responsible for crashing your precious baby. And with my luck, that’s exactly what would happen.”

  A look of horror crosses his features. “Don’t even joke about such things. She didn’t mean it, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing his hand across the dashboard.

  I roll my eyes. For the next few minutes, I tease him about his affection for an inanimate object. My jabs are half-hearted though. Normally, I don’t understand men’s obsessions with cars. But this car. This car is gorgeous. The thought of something happening to it makes my stomach queasy. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m starting to understand the appeal of fine automobiles.

  Twenty minutes into the drive and the bite in the air begins to creep into my joints. The summer heat in the daytime here in North Carolina can be brutal, but it’s early enough in the season that it still gets a bit chilly after the sun goes down. I try to suppress the shiver that rakes down my spine, but Ryan must notice. A few yards up the road, he pulls over and shifts the car into park. Reaching into the back seat, he pulls out a blanket and offers it to me.

  I take it gratefully, pulling it around my shoulders. The light jacket I’d brought with me definitely doesn’t do much against the falling temps. I burrow down in my seat and turn to Ryan. “What about you? Aren’t you cold?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

  We’re both silent for a while, staring up at the stars. Even though I’m chilly, I’m grateful Ryan hasn’t put the top up. The sky is gorgeous out here, away from all the lights and sounds of the city.

  I rest my head back against my seat, closing my eyes, trying desperately to imprint this moment into my brain forever. Crickets chirp softly in the background, and the light breeze currently blowing rustles through the lush green leaves of the surrounding trees. I breathe deeply, trying to take in as much of my surroundings as possible. I’ve always loved summer, but there’s never been a night as perfect as this.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Ryan’s voice breaks the silence. And again, I’m struck by how much emotion can be conveyed in one word. And how much feeling a single word is able to instill in another. I don’t have to ask what he means. I know. It’s what I’ve been dreading every moment of these past two weeks.

  I reach out and place my hand over his. He doesn’t turn to look at me, just rolls his wrist until our palms are pressed together, our fingers overlapping. His grip closes tightly around mine. There’s an almost melancholy feel to his touch. I look at his face. The somber expression I see there solidifies my impression that something has changed.

  “Are you nervous? Scared? Excited?” I say, my voice rising on the last word, hoping to lift his spirits.

  He laughs lightly. “All of the above?” It comes out like a question, like he’s unsure of his answer. But he takes a deep breath, continuing before I can comment. “Always scared. Always nervous. But does it make me crazy to say that yeah, I am a little bit excited? Every day is different over there. We wake up never knowing what to expect. Some days are downright boring. And others… others I would do anything to forget. But what we do over there—” he shakes his head slightly “—I can’t imagine doing anything else. So yeah, some things are awful. But the good things—the people, their love and appreciation—it’s the best feeling in the world.”

  I squeeze his hand. “The world needs more people like you, Ryan Porter.”

  He frowns, his brow furrowing deeply. “No. The world needs more people like you. Like Chris and Emma. People who bring light into the world. Laughter. Not pain and despair.”

  Now my brow furrows. “If anybody brings light into this world, it’s you, Ryan. You’ve brought more light into my life than you can possibly know these last few months. I’ve lived a life full of pain and despair. Hell, I’m still living it. And I always will. But I can tell you one thing. Those hours I spent with you—and your friends—were some of the brightest moments of my life. For the first time in a very long time, the clouds parted and I was able to see the stars.”

  He doesn’t speak, just tightens his grip on my hand. We turn our faces skyward again, silence reconvening as we sit, hands clasped, soaking in the night air. I can see the troubled look on his face from the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t ask questions. And I’m infinitely grateful to him for that.

  My eyelids grow heavy, my lashes fluttering several times as I try to fight off sleep. Just as I feel it start to pull me under, he speaks again.

  “If I ask you for something, will you do it for me?”


  My eyes fly open and I turn to look at him. The look on his face has turned so pure, so sincere, I find myself agreeing without even knowing what he’s asking.

  “Of course.”

  “Will you write to me? While I’m gone? I’d really like that. It gets pretty lonely over there, at times.”

  I nod. “Of course I will. Do I…umm. Do I email you? Write letters? What would be best?”

  “Well email is easiest, of course. But we only have access to it every so often. Letters are best. We can keep them with us at all times. Anytime we feel a little homesick, we can pull them out and feel a little closer to home. Or at least that’s what the guys tell me.”

  I scowl. “What do you mean, that’s what the guys tell you? You don’t get letters?”

  He shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, I get the occasional letter from my mom, I guess. But hers never do much in the way of alleviating the homesickness. We don’t have much to say to each other anymore.”

  I remember him telling me about his mom’s struggles after his father died. And how they aren’t really in touch these days. Sadness for him wells up inside me.

  “Letters it is then. Just tell me where.” I smile at him, hoping my expression conveys more cheer than I’m currently feeling.

  Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. Unfolding it as I take it, I see an address scrawled across it, along with an email added in a different color ink, as if in afterthought.

  “Well, someone came prepared.” I laugh. “I thought you said you didn’t like emails,” I say, waving the paper back and forth.

  “I said letters are preferable. But emails will work too. Whatever works for you. I just want to hear from you.”

  I smile at his tone. “You got it. I’ll write as often as I can. And when I can’t write, I’ll email.”

  He grins at me as he gently shrugs off a shiver. The chill in the air must finally be getting to him too. “We should probably get going. It’s getting cold.”