“He said that’s what he wanted.”
“What do you want for him?”
“I want…” What did I want? For him to be happy? To be a success? To chase his dreams? To become an older version of the young man I’d learned to love? To stay with me forever?
“I just don’t want to hold him back,” I finally said.
Her smile couldn’t hide the sadness in her expression. “Do you think you would?”
*
The stress I was feeling made restful sleep impossible, and—maybe because I’d been in shock earlier—the Braxton Hicks contractions returned, with a vengeance, making their presence known all night long. Almost every time I was about ready to doze off, another would strike and I’d have to squeeze Maggie-bear hard just to get through it. I woke up Monday morning exhausted, and even then, they kept going.
Bryce didn’t show up at the house at his usual time, and I wasn’t in any mood to study. Instead, I spent most of the morning on the porch, thinking about Bryce. My mind flitted through dozens of imaginary conversations, none of them good, even as I reminded myself that I’d known all along that falling in love made a painful and terrible goodbye inevitable. I’d just never expected it to be like this.
I knew he’d come, though. As the morning sun gradually warmed the air, I could almost sense his spirit. I imagined him lying on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Every now and then, he’d likely glance at the clock, wondering whether I needed more time before I was ready to give him an answer. I knew he’d want me to say yes, but what did he think would happen even if I did? Did he expect the two of us to march over to his house and tell his mom and that she’d be happy about it? Did he hope to listen on the phone while I called my parents and told them? Didn’t he know they’d fight the idea of emancipation? And what if his parents stopped speaking to him? And all of that ignored the fact that I was only sixteen and in no way ready for the kind of life he’d proposed.
As Aunt Linda had implied, it didn’t seem like he’d really thought through the ramifications. He seemed to view the answer through a lens that focused only on the two of us seeing each other, as though no one else would be affected. As romantic as that sounded, it wasn’t reality, and it ignored my feelings as well.
I think that’s what was bothering me most. I knew Bryce well enough to assume that the reasons made sense to him, and all I could think was that he, like me, suspected that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work for us. We might be able to write and call—though calls would be expensive—but when would we be able to see each other again? If I doubted whether my parents were going to let me date, there wasn’t a chance they’d let me go to the East Coast to see him. Not until I graduated, and even then, if I was still living at home, they might not agree. Which meant at least two years, maybe more. And what about him? Could he fly out to Seattle in the summers? Or did West Point have mandatory leadership programs when school wasn’t in session? Part of me thought they probably did, and even if not, Bryce was the type of person who’d ordinarily line up an internship at the Pentagon or whatever. And, as close as he was to his family, he’d have to spend time with them as well.
Could you continue to love and be with someone if you never spent any time with them?
For Bryce, I began to understand, the answer was no. Something within him needed to see me, hold me, touch me. Kiss me. He knew that if I returned to Seattle and he went to West Point, not only were these things impossible, but we wouldn’t even have the kind of simple moments that led to us falling in love in the first place. We wouldn’t study at the table or walk the beach; we wouldn’t spend afternoons taking photographs or developing prints in the darkroom. No lunches or dinners or watching movies while sitting on the couch. He’d live his life and I’d live mine, we’d grow and change, and distance would take its inevitable toll, like drops of water wearing down a stone. He’d meet someone or I would, and eventually, our relationship would come to an end, leaving nothing but Ocracoke memories in its wake.
For Bryce, either we could be together or we couldn’t; there were no shades of gray, because all those shades reached the same inevitable conclusion. And, I admitted, he was probably right. But because I loved him, and though it was going to break my heart, I suddenly knew exactly what I had to do.
*
The realization, I’m pretty sure, caused another Braxton Hicks, this one the strongest yet. It lasted what seemed like forever but finally passed only minutes before Bryce finally showed up. Unlike the day before, he was in jeans and a T-shirt, and though he smiled, there was something tentative about it. Because the day was pleasant, I gestured for him to lead the way back down the stairs. We took a seat in the same spot I’d been when his mother had come by.