Page 73 of Holly Jolly July

Mariah

One Week Later

I finish sealing the final box in my apartment with tape then stack it next to the others by the door. It feels surreal leaving

this all behind, but also completely right. I’ve outgrown everything here and am looking forward to a new start in a new place

with an exciting new job. I rented an apartment based on pictures alone, a small bachelor flat with a view of the Hollywood

Freeway. It isn’t much, and the traffic will probably keep me up at night, but it’s a start.

“Ready?” Ellie pokes her head through the doorway, her cheeks flushed and skin dewy from helping me pack and cart boxes all

day.

I take one last look around my old space, at everything I’m leaving behind, and then look back at my gorgeous girlfriend.

Her smile grows as I gaze upon her, her question posing much more meaning than she intended. I give her a little nod. “Yeah.

I am.”

We carry the last box down and load it into her Subaru. I jump in with her, having sold my car yesterday. I’d planned on road-tripping

down, but Mom and Dad gave me enough money for a plane ticket, a new car, and my first month’s rent. Money can’t buy forgiveness,

but it does help. People grow, people change, they learn from their mistakes, and I don’t want to deprive myself of having

a family now because of who they were in the past.

Ellie turns on the radio and rolls down the windows, singing along to an old Tom Petty song as she drives us to the shipping company sending everything down for me.

I’ll have a few days of sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag with my bare essentials, but that doesn’t scare me. Beats sleeping in a car.

After sorting everything there, Ellie drives us to our final meal together. Every single second is laced with a strange mix

of excitement and sadness. We’d planned to have a fancy dinner together at Cactus Club overlooking English Bay as our last

meal, but as soon as we sit down and order our drinks and food, we both realize we aren’t hungry. My stomach is coiled tight

and queasy, homesick even though I haven’t left yet. And I have a feeling that it isn’t my apartment, my parents, or Vancouver

that is making me feel homesick, but Ellie.

This past week has been heaven. We’d taken turns between her place in Brentwood and mine in Marpole, neither of us with anything

to do but spend time together. With both of us between jobs, we’ve been able to spend every waking moment wrapped up in each

other. I’ve never felt so whole with someone else, so seen, so safe.

We balanced our time between packing, sharing our favourite spots in Vancouver, snuggling with snacks and movies, and making

love as often as we could. Ellie is becoming braver with allowing me to explore her body. She doesn’t usually have an experience

like she did the first time, but we’ve kept our rule about never having a goal or a destination. She’s slowly becoming less

anxious, learning how to enjoy herself and accept pleasure. For me, I’ve hit new all-time O records in the sack.

After packing our leftovers and ordering a piece of white chocolate cheesecake to share, Ellie takes out her phone and asks

our server to snap a picture of us. I scoot closer to her in the booth and wrap an arm around her as she leans her head on

my shoulder. I can feel how big Ellie’s smile is, and I can’t help but smile too, even though I like to keep my face mostly

neutral in pictures.

Ellie examines the picture after, and gasps. “We look so perfect.”

I press my nose into her cheek. “We always do.”

“Mind if I post this?”

I love that she still asks permission. “Of course not.”

Our tea arrives and I prepare it for both of us, stirring in two packs of sugar and a splash of cream for Ellie and one sugar

and one cream for myself, then continuing to stir them both while peeking over Ellie’s shoulder as she uploads the image to

Instagram and writes a quick caption.

“Posted,” she states.

I open my phone to read it, my heart rising in my throat as the long line of images we’ve been in together for the past week

appears: Ellie and I on a tandem bike in Stanley Park, Ellie and I drinking margaritas at Tacofino, Ellie and I lounging at

Wreck Beach (we were wearing our bikinis for the photo, of course). And now this, our last one together, her smile just as

bright as I’d imagined, me looking like I know I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

The caption reads: It’s been a whirlwind week since Mariah and I started dating! It’s gone by way too fast. But it isn’t the end. Mariah is going

down to LA to kick some ass working on an awesome new project, and I’ll be joining her in a few months ( eep !). I already have a few auditions lined up, so it may be a permanent move for me, too. No idea what the future holds, but

something tells me it’s going to be amazing. The hardest part will be saying goodbye to this beautiful soul for the next few

months, until we’re back together again under the hot blue skies of California! Make sure you follow her at @mariahmakeupfx

to track her incredible journey.

I lean over and press a kiss to Ellie’s cheek, so proud to call her mine.

Ellie checks the time. “As much as I hate to say this, we should get going. Better to be there early for international flights.”

We get into Ellie’s car one last time. Every kilometre closer to the YVR airport brings with it an increased weight in my

stomach, the cheesecake settling horribly and making me wish I’d stopped at dinner.

She pulls in between a long line of cars at the departure drop-off area, the air hot and humid even though it’s almost sunset. After parking, Ellie and I both get out to grab my two suitcases and carry-on, everything I’ll be living with until the shipment arrives at my new place.

Ellie shuts the trunk and joins me on the sidewalk, standing a foot away, regarding me with those big eyes of hers. “Well,”

she says, “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” I state.

She smiles despite how sad I know she is, because that’s what she does. She’s a ray of sunshine in a storm cloud, reminding

everyone there are always clear skies above. “Then we won’t say goodbye.”

“What will we say?”

She thinks for a moment, then tilts her head to the side. “See you later, alligator.”

I chuckle. “Oh my god, it’s the last time I’m seeing you for two whole months, I’m not going to end it with ‘in a while, crocodile.’”

She snaps and points finger guns at me like a mischievous imp. “But you did!”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile she’s brought to my face. Ellie wraps me in a hug, laying her head on my chest. I

stroke her hair and kiss her forehead, relishing the warmth of her embrace. “I’m going to miss you,” I whisper.

I feel her nod. “I know. But we can FaceTime whenever you want, and I’ll be bothering you with texts all the time, and you’ll

be so busy with work and exploring your new digs and I’ll have my own stuff going on, and—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She freezes, her grip tightening. Then, she lifts herself away from me so she can look in my eyes. “You do?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Her eyes well with tears. “I love you, too.”

I kiss her forehead again. “Promise me you’ll let yourself cry when you get sad, okay?”

As if on command, a tear slips down her cheek. “I will.”

I kiss her tear away, tasting the salt on my lips.

“Promise me you’ll try to remember how to smile,” she says, giggling despite her tears, in true Ellie fashion.

I huff a laugh through my nose. “Even if I do forget to smile, you’ll be there in two months to show me how all over again.”

Ellie lifts onto her toes and presses her lips against mine, and we savour one another like the last bite of cheesecake, not

wanting it to end, but knowing that all things in this world do, and part of something being so special and magical is that

it doesn’t last forever.

Our lips part, and we share a slow, mingled exhale.

I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes for our final moment together. “It’s going to be a long two months.”