Deciding Tomorrow

by Ericson, Renee

  Miles go on.

  Fatigue doesn’t meet me.

  Moments span without relevance.

  Breaths are constant.

  My legs carry me, like they’ve been waiting and storing energy for this trek. I was made to run through this environment. It was designed for me as I was for it.

  It’s of my doing. It’s mine.

  Farther. Faster.

  Picking up speed, I expedite the endless journey. My lungs don’t fail me. My heart remains steady, and I will win, but this isn’t a competition with others. It’s one with myself. Only one winner is meant to be. But who knows how long my feet will need to carry me?

  A tiny light appears above and then another. Pinpricks of sparkle pierce through the hovering blanket. Starlight twinkles, lighting my pursuit through the blackness.

  The ground becomes hard and even, making it easier to tread, and each slapping sound as my feet step one in front of the other is quicker and harder.

  There’s no stopping me and nothing is impossible. I’m on a path where everything feels simple. Having one feels right whereas before I had nothing. My purpose is on this straight and narrow.

  The stars grow brighter, more plentiful, and the moon takes presence, glowing a glorious milky hue. My surroundings come to light. The trail is clear, and the horizon isn’t much farther.

  Instinctually, I push my legs harder, trying to get there—now.

  Something is different at the horizon. Approaching the soft dawn, I slow, intrigued by a dark figure obstructing my destination point.

  “Are you ready?” a voice echoes inside my head.

  My legs, suddenly overworked and boneless, halt their forward motion. I choke on the air escaping my lungs—having pushed myself too hard, too far, and for too long. My body endured the pain, taking it without my knowledge. The precipice of ache has finally been reached.

  “Are you ready?” the voice asks again.

  I circle around, and then I put darkness at my back with my starlit path and the rising sun outlining a silhouette ahead of me. At a slower pace, taking my time, I carry myself toward the orange and yellow hues.

  Five steps and I’m at the edge of the blackness.

  The person separating midnight from dawn is less than a whisper away.

  “Are you ready?” Brent asks, patient and full of promises.

  “For what?”

  “Forever.”

  ~~~*~~~

  My eyes shoot open into the darkened space of the strange room. It takes a few moments, but I soon realize that I’m in Brent’s bed, in California, with his arm draped across my shoulder. Rubbing my forehead, I come out of my subconscious thoughts and into the present.

  Careful not to wake Brent as he sleeps next to me, I peek around him to check the hour. It’s just past six in the morning—eight o’clock, Chicago time. I lie back on the pillow, wide-awake, with my eyes trained on the ceiling and my mind bringing me further into a conscious state.

  Unable to hold still for long because sleep is no longer a possibility, I carefully rise out of bed. The crisp air pricks my bare skin, reminding me that we went to bed nude. Searching for my bag, I spot Brent’s sweatshirt sitting on a nearby chair. Without any hesitation, I slip it over my head and pull it down as far as it will go, barely covering my behind. I make my way to the sliding glass door. Taking one last peek to make sure he’s still asleep, I gently flip the latch and exit onto the balcony.

  The salty, cool air hits my cheeks, awakening my senses and stirring my long brown hair. Above, the soft gray sky indicates that dawn has begun. The rhythmic song being played by the incoming tide coerces a smile upon my face. Shoving my hands in the front pocket of Brent’s sweatshirt adorned with his team logo, I lean against the low wall. The sea appears endless at this time of day, and the horizon is indistinguishable.

  I’m not surprised that Brent is showing up in my dreams. It’s been happening since last weekend. At first, the nightly visions were flush with memories and a nightmare that had once haunted me after we lost the baby. Since then, my inner voice has been telling me other things—comforting things about Brent and me, just as it did now. I’ve always believed that dreams are the strongest voice of one’s heart, and mine have been screaming for him all week. Surely, it’s a huge reason why coming here on a whim felt so urgent. Now that I’ve let him back in, he’s constantly on my mind.

  The colors within the water become clearer, and the horizon line is more defined with the passing of time. The wind whips, erupting a small chill upon my exposed skin. It feels refreshing. Everything about being here right now makes me feel alive.

  The door slides open, startling me from my inner thoughts. Brent steps onto the balcony, barefoot and adorned only in his boxers. The dim natural light shadows and outlines every muscle along his stomach, arms, legs—ah hell, every sexy piece of him.

  “Hey,” Brent says, his voice thick with sleep. He scratches the back of his head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I turn around, fully facing him. “Just couldn’t sleep is all.”

  “Bad dream?” he cautiously asks, joining me.

  It’s a fair question. He was there the last time I was struck with the dream that had driven a stake between my heart and him. It had haunted my nights and my mind for some time, and last weekend, it appeared when he came back into my life. Everything about him and us hit me all at once, and this included all the bad memories.

  “No,” I reply, shifting my feet, “not at all.”

  “You sure?” he asks, wrapping his hands behind my back.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. It was a good dream.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay.” His hands run along my back. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I know. I promised to be honest with you, and I will be.” My fingertips walk up from his naked, firm stomach to his chest. “I hope you know you can share anything with me as well.” I measure the concern on his face. “Is something on your mind?”

  “Other than sleep? Not really. I am a little worried about you though. About what happened.” His thumbs gently caress my abdomen. “When I left and went overseas, I wish…I should have been there for you. I thought you would be okay. You always—”

  “I was.” I cover his hand resting at my middle. “Not right away, but I was. And I am.”

  “It doesn’t seem like it. The nightmare—”

  “Went away—”

  “But it came back.”

  “Coincidence.” I capture both of his hands in mine. “I’m okay. Honest.”

  “Are you?” he tentatively questions.

  “Yes. Last weekend, the dream, I was just as surprised as you were. It went away years ago.”

  “But—”

  “Please don’t feel guilty or feel like you did anything wrong. Those were painfully cruel days for both of us.”

  He opens his mouth to speak and then quickly closes it.

  “It was,” I continue. “I’ve come to terms with losing the baby. I’ve said my good-byes, and time healed the rest.”

  His hand lightly grazes the place where our baby once grew, staring at my middle. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” I utter softly. Pressing his hand to my middle, I encourage him to hold the space. “Did you ever say good-bye?”

  “No, I don’t think I did.” His eyes rise to meet mine, his hand still on my stomach. “I don’t think I ever said good-bye to you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I know what you meant.” His fingers curl into my flesh. “I did say good-bye to the baby. I wanted it, too, but you…I don’t think I ever said good-bye to you.”

  “Brent…”

  “It’s okay. I don’t think I ever could anyhow.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  I bite my lip, feeling his palpable regret in the air. Brent tucks a strand of hair, flying in the breeze, behind my ear and out of my face.

  “And you’r
e wrong by the way,” he says softly.

  “About what?”

  “Time—it doesn’t heal everything.” He leads my hand to his heart. “Trust me.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t,” I choke out, trying not to tear up.

  He wraps his arms around my neck. “I’m going to fix you,” he softly promises in my ear. “You tell me you’re okay, and I believe you, but that’s all you are. You’ve always been brave, and you’re a survivor, but you aren’t living like you can, like I know you can.”

  “Maybe,” I say, “it’s because I can only truly live with you in my life.”

  “I know it’s the only way I can live.” His hand moves down the length of my back. “I didn’t realize how empty I was until last weekend. It was like nothing made any sense because we already made our choices, but all I wanted to do was see you.”

  My sentiments about our reunion mirror his. My life was good—on track, planned out, and set. But nothing felt more right than those out-of-the-blue and unexpected small moments I spent with him last weekend. He swept in like a welcomed storm, upheaving the stakes I’ve been forcing into the ground. Everything I thought that was true in my life was not even worth acknowledging in comparison to the rightness of having him by my side.

  Brent withdraws from our embrace and searches my face in the early morning light.

  “Too much?” He raises his brows. “Too honest?”

  “No”—I shake my head—“not at all.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think”—I rest his hand against my thrumming heart—“I’m ready.”

  SEVEN

  The warm afternoon sun shines down upon my face as Brent and I walk hand in hand along the beach. The tide is receding from the sand, and a slight breeze is coming from the crisp blue waters.

  After our sunrise conversation, Brent convinced me to crawl back into bed with him where I easily fell into a deep slumber. With so much history, the familiarity of his arms easily took me back to a simple place that houses two people, just us and nothing else. It might be fast, but I don’t know what speed we’re supposed to travel.

  This truly is a second chance for us, and I’m not taking it lightly even though we have many hurdles to overcome. Losing the baby was one thing, but for reasons outside either of our control, we lost ourselves as well. Brent watched me spiral downward, an effect from my inability to deal with the miscarriage. I couldn’t come to terms with anything…or anyone. It was horrible. He would have stuck around for me, waited for me, helped me if he could, but too many other elements were in play. I can only imagine how difficult that time was for him. It was like a perfect storm of tides, setting us on a turbulent course, overwhelming any proper train of thought. His grades slipped, and his parents’ marriage was over. My grief had swallowed me whole, so I wasn’t able to be the support system he so badly needed.

  And he’d lost the baby, too.

  Then, he lost me.

  He needed me, and I failed him. Even worse, I completely pushed him away.

  I ponder out over the water, take a deep breath, and squeeze Brent’s hand. I’ll never push him away like that again. It’s a promise I’m making to myself right now.

  “Are you finding the answers?” he questions.

  “Huh?”

  “The water.” His eyes twinkle, delighted. “Is it giving you the answers?”

  “Not really,” I confess. “Maybe I should look harder.”

  “Well, don’t hurt yourself.” Brent playfully swings my arm.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “You haven’t said a word in a really long time.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “What are you thinking about?” He rubs his thumb along the back of my hand.

  “Us.” I squint out over the waters. “About what happened. About you.”

  He stops walking. “What about me?”

  This isn’t a time to get shy or hold back. Something is sitting heavily between us and blocking us from moving forward. He deserves to know.

  “I’m so sorry,” I barely utter above the sound of the lapping waves. “I really messed us up. I messed up us.”

  “Hey”—he circles to stand in front of me—“you don’t need to be sorry for anything. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I left you. You were right. You had so much going on, and I wasn’t there for you. I can’t even imagine what that was like for you. Then, you were trying so hard to make us work, and I—”

  “I left you,” he interrupts.

  “No, I made you go.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Of course it is.” I can’t even look at him. I feel ashamed for not seeing how badly he needed someone. “I pushed you away. I pushed everything and everyone away.”

  “Ruby”—he touches the ends of my hair—“I forgive you.”

  I don’t reply. Slowly, I lift my eyes to his, blinking at his sincere face.

  “I forgive you,” he says again, softer this time. “Is that what you need to hear?”

  His words cut through me in a way I’m not able to handle. His forgiveness is not something I expected. Even more, it wasn’t something I thought I needed.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him again. The regret of so many years pulls me down with the weight of an anvil.

  “But you don’t need to be.” He takes me into his chest, and his familiar form instantly alleviates the tension. “We all act crazy when things are out of our control, and we just had a lot come our way all at once.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I mumble against his heart.

  “Is it ever.” He lifts my chin, locking our gazes. “But I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me, too.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “I feel the same way, so there’s no need to be sorry. It happened. I’m just happy to have you again.”

  “You think you have me?” I kid, attempting to change the somber mood. “You don’t even know me. I might be completely different than that person you once knew.”

  “I doubt that.” He smirks. “I’m sure I know you better than you think.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He raises his brows. “Test me.”

  “What’s my middle name?”

  “Ruby Anne Miller. You need to ask harder questions than that.”

  “All right, a hard one.” I pause, letting him sweat a bit. “What was my mother’s name?”

  “Sarah, and from what you tell me, she was beautiful.”

  “She was—very.”

  “Your favorite ice cream is mint chip,” he starts again. “Your favorite color is blue, the blue-gray color that happens just before the breaking of the white caps on the sea.” His dimples come to life. “You like to give me a hard time when no one else will. You’re trying to do it right now.”

  “I am not.”

  “Oh, yes, you are. And you’re stubborn as hell. By the way, that whole talk you gave me yesterday from the airport? About coming here? Making sure I knew that you wanted to be here? Well, I didn’t need it. Once you make up your mind about something, there’s no going back for you.”

  “So, you were just messing with me?” I ask, mouth gaping.

  “Maybe a little.”

  I playfully push him away, and he snatches me at my waist.

  “I also know you love it when I kiss you behind your ear.”

  He plants his lips on the sensitive space in question, and my whole body becomes liquid.

  “And you love it when I moonwalk.”

  “Yes, that always was my favorite part about you.”

  “And I also know,” he says against my cheek, “that somewhere deep inside of you, you still love me. Maybe it’s not like you once did, but I can see the way you look at me. It crosses your face every now and then.”

  “Brent…”

  “You don’t have to say you do, one way or another.” He presses his mouth closer to my ear. “But know I feel the same way
, and I think we can figure out the rest.”

  “It’s a lot to figure out.”

  “It is, but I don’t care—at all. Second chances only come around once, and I’m not wasting this one with you.”

  “I want to try, too.” I brush the loose strands of hair away from my face. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m not too sure.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, contemplating. “How much longer do you have with school?”

  “I’m there until June…at least.”

  “What are you planning to do after?”

  “I’m still not sure. I’ve been thinking about grad school.”

  “Are you still think about social services? You talked about that a lot when we first started school.”

  “Sometimes.” A breeze sweeps across the sands, and I wrap my arms around my chest.

  “You like it though?”

  “School? Yeah, I love it. I love what I’m doing.”

  “Good.” He puts his arm around my waist. “I want you to be happy, and I’m glad you’re in school. I remember how important it was to you.”

  “What about you? Are you here in L.A. for a while?”

  “At least another two years. I signed a three-year deal.”

  Eight months—that’s how long until spring quarter ends. It’s a long time to wait and to be apart. And that’s only if I graduate on schedule. Then, grad school is an option after that. It’s always been part of the plan in some way. Giving that up completely isn’t a decision I can abruptly make right now.

  Then again, Brent wasn’t a part of that plan either. Is he now?

  “Do you want to make it work?” he questions.

  “You and me? Us?”

  “Yes. Us.” One side of his mouth turns up. “Because I do.”

  “I can’t imagine not trying.” I smile, blissful.

  He pulls me in close. “I’ll always come and find you,” he says just above a whisper into my hairline.

  “You won’t have to look hard,” I quietly utter back. “I’m not hiding…anymore.”

  EIGHT