Page 79 of On the Way to You

Emery had slid his hand into mine then, fingers running over my palm before he laced them with my own. “I think when we let go of the materialistic shit we think we need, the stuff we grew up looking for because we thought happiness existed under their price tag,that’swhen we start living a better life. A free, meaningful existence.”

“Very Gemini of you,” I’d teased, and he’d just lifted my fingers to his lips, kissing them with a playful grin on his lips as the last of the sun dipped away.

That’s how easy it was, talking to Emery. Nothing was off limits — politics, beliefs, childhood, future wants and needs. Sometimes we’d talk about something I’d never discussed before and I’d find new beliefs, ones I didn’t even know I had. He made methinkbefore I answered, before I chimed in with how I felt about whatever topic we had on the table.

Emery pushed me. He challenged me. He opened me up.

The more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know. He told me about his family, about growing up in the affluent neighborhood he called home in South Florida. I asked him about his friends, of which he had few, mainly because, in his own words,not many people stick around and put up with my shit for long.It seemed his closest friend had been his grandmother before she passed, so I listened to his stories of growing up with her, of the memories he would have of her forever.

And, for the first time, he talked about his brother. Not just to me, but to anyone — ever. He told me he didn’t realize how much he needed to talk about his brother, about the hole left before he’d even been born, until we’d talked about it the day we left Vegas. He was letting me in, more than anyone before me, and I took that gift with more appreciation than I could express.

We talked about me, too — not as much about my past as about what I wanted for my future. Emery sat with me in the business center at our hotel in Leggett helping me fill out applications for apartments and serving jobs near the school. On that same day, I’d received a call from Tammy saying there was a letter at Papa Wyatt’s from Bastyr.

I’d gotten in.

We celebrated with a dinner that was way too expensive, one Emery insisted on, and then we spent the night tangled in the sheets, bringing each other pleasure with our hands, our mouths, our bodies. It was my favorite way to spend a night now that I knew what it felt like. It wasn’t just sex with Emery — it was passion unleashed. It was every fantasy I’d ever had answered in a language I didn’t know, one I was learning to speak with every new touch.

For the first time in the twenty years I’d been alive, I was happy — truly, one-hundred percent happy. I hadn’t known happiness like that existed, the kind that fills you from the heart and bleeds into every day. I’d dreamed of leaving Mobile, of attending Bastyr and living in Seattle, of finding a boy who made my heart race, and living in a world where every day was new and exciting and fresh.

Now I was awake, and my life was even better than the dreams.

Emery had been fine the night we spent in Grants Pass, holding me under one arm as we strolled the downtown area where they’d already hung Christmas lights even though Thanksgiving hadn’t passed yet. We both sipped on hot chocolate, sharing stories of what the holidays were like for each of us growing up before we retreated back to our room.

But once we were there, Emery grew silent, that storm that had been quieted stirring again behind his golden eyes. I watched them change right in front of me, the bottoms of them lined in black, the tops shadowed by bent brows. I wanted to reach for him, to ask him to talk to me, but I knew he just needed to be alone. So, I turned on the television, lazily rubbing Kalo’s belly as he wrote in his journal beside me, working through his thoughts. We both turned in early, and I didn’t crowd him as we slept, only reaching one hand forward to press heat into his back and let him know I was there.

He tossed and turned that night, and when we woke the next morning, he declined my offer for breakfast, telling me he was just ready to get on the road. It was cold and gray that day, so we both bundled up, leaving the top up on the car and the heat on low as we cruised up through Oregon.

It was only four hours into Portland, our next planned stop, but Emery drove slower than usual, even stopping at one point at an intersection when we didn’t need gas or food. He just got out of the car, walked about ten feet in front of it, and stood there, his hands in his pockets, eyes on the sign that told us how much longer it was until the next city. I took the opportunity to walk Kalo, and then we were back in the car, and if it was even possible, Emery seemed even more distant than before.

My weakness was thrown in my face the last two hours of that car ride, because all it took was another bad day for me to eye his journal, desperate to be inside his head. We were too near to the end of our trip for him to pull back, but I didn’t know how to tell him that, to express my own feelings without disrespecting his.

We were about ten miles outside of Portland when the silence became too much. I turned in my seat, arms crossed over my middle, heart picking up speed as I opened my mouth to ask what he was thinking, but the question died in my throat. Something caught my eye on the windshield, and when I leaned forward to inspect it, another flake joined the first.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, rolling down my window and sticking one hand out. The flurries fell harder, one of them landing on my palm before melting away. “Emery! Look!”

I glanced back at him, his eyes still dead as they landed on my hand out the window.

“It’ssnowing,” I said, giggling. I wiggled my fingers, hanging my head out the window with my mouth open wide.

Emery didn’t smile, just pulled his attention back to the road, steering us between the slower cars until we pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of the hotel we’d call home for the night. It was only three in the afternoon, the sky gray, ground slowly being buried by the snow. He grabbed our bags from the back, slinging one over each shoulder as Kalo tumbled out of the back seat and onto the cold ground.

She paused, nose in the air as she sniffed before trying her paws on the wet ground again. The snow scared her and she jumped back, bending to sniff it next and getting a whiff of powder on her nose. She shook it off as I laughed, then she took off, hopping through the fresh snow as I ran after her.

“It’s my first snowfall!” I hollered back at Emery, dipping down to grab a handful before throwing it in the air. I hoped he’d bite, hoped he’d take the chance to let me in, even if just a little. “Come on! Drop the bags, we’ll get them in a second.”

“I’m tired,” he answered, not even looking at me. Kalo stopped short, her tail still wagging as my hands fell to my side. “I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Emery,” I pleaded, and he closed his eyes at his name on my lips. I went to say something more, but found I had nothing more to say, so I simply closed my mouth again, asking with my eyes for him to stay.

He opened his eyes again, glancing at me briefly before adjusting the bags on his shoulders and heading inside the lobby without another word. I swallowed back the hurt I felt, trying to understand he couldn’t help it, but his coldness stung more than the snow on my bare cheeks.

As I put Kalo’s leash on and led her toward the lobby entrance, I couldn’t help but remember what Emery had said to me.

He was right.

Everything is quiet when the first snow falls.

I laid in bed with Emery, even though I wasn’t tired in the slightest, just listening to the quietness of our hotel room as the snow fell outside. I’d opened the curtains over our window, my eyes catching snowflakes as they drifted down from the sky, eager to join the others already painting the ground.