Page 29

TREY

She’s a treasure to look at. A goddamn treat for my eyes. A sight I wasn’t sure was real at first. I’ve visited this tree every Sunday for the last year, and not once has anyone ever come up here.

When I first saw her, I thought I was hallucinating again, even though I’ve been staying sober.

By that, I mean everything: No drugs. No alcohol.

Not even a drop. I don’t trust myself. If I have even one drink, it’ll easily turn into two, then ten, then I’ll be too gone to make good decisions again.

After that, it won’t be long before I’m back to seeing bright lights and swatting away cockroaches that aren’t there.

Is it miserable to live with this raw pain throbbing in my chest all the time? Yep.

Am I doing it anyway? Yep.

Am I happy about it? Fuck no.

Whenever I get the urge to drink myself into oblivion, I just remind myself of what Liz said: “Is this the man she’d want you to be?” Most days, that’s enough for me. Other days, I need distractions. Having to fly to and from LA is the best at keeping my mind off self-medicating.

“You cut your hair,” I say as Arella unfolds her blanket and drapes it over the grass. Then she sits and gestures for me to join her. I don’t hesitate to obey as a tiny-little-itty-bitty light flickers on inside my chest.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

“Yeah. Shoulder-length hair is cute on you.”

“Do you like it better than my really long hair?”

“I wouldn’t say I like it more or less. I’m sure you’d look cute with any hairstyle.” Hell, she could be bald right now and I’d still be in love with her.

“What were you listening to before I scared you?”

“A meditation app.”

“You were meditating?”

“Yeah. It’s something my z—” I clear my throat to hide my almost slip of the tongue. “Around this time last year, I went into my weekly session with my therapist and asked her to teach me more methods to control my thoughts. She recommended meditating.”

“I never pictured you as someone who likes to meditate.”

That’s because I’m not the type, but after I saw that shiny diamond ring on her finger, I was willing to try anything to keep myself from relapsing.

I still remember bursting into my zerapist’s office that Monday afternoon. I flopped onto her couch and choked out, “She got married yesterday.”

“To that Caleb fella?”

“Yep. Not only that, but they picked the date they supposedly met. The date that I met her.”

That date is coming up again tomorrow. I bet Caleb has special plans to take her somewhere nice for their anniversary.

I bet he’s already picked out a thoughtful gift for her, like a new apron with her dream bakery’s name on it, or maybe some custom-designed baking tools.

After he gives it to her, she’ll thank him by getting into the sheets.

The sheets of their bed, inside their apartment, in their own little world of perfection where he has her and I don’t.

But I have her now. She’s sitting in front of me, and she’s willingly talking to me.

Not only that, but she asked me to stay.

This time, it’s not because she reverted back to remembering me, either.

She asked me to stay as Ari . I don’t know why.

I’m not gonna question it though. I don’t question miracles.

“Do you feel like meditating helps?” Arella asks. Or should I say Ari ? I’m not sure how I should refer to this woman in my head. All I know is that I’m not calling her Ari out loud. Doing so feels like admitting she was never Arella at all.

“Meditating calms my thoughts. It’s why I started coming to this tree. My therapist said I needed to find a place that was secluded to meditate at. This is the only secluded place I know of within driving distance of the two places I live.”

“Are you still in New York?”

I nod.

“Do you still stay with Liz while you’re in LA?”

“For now, yes, but Liz’s boyfriend recently moved in. Even though they turned her office into a guest room for me, I’ve been looking into getting an apartment for myself.”

Arella arches her brows. “Liz has a boyfriend?”

“Yep. Colton.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah. He’s a good man, and he adores Liz even more than I do.”

Colton is as obsessed with Liz as I am with Arella. It’s been pretty validating to know that it’s normal to feel that way about your soul mate. At first, I thought that was just me. Turns out, all soul mates are like this with each other.

According to the z-net, when soul mates are separated, it’s one of the worst emotional pains imaginable. Also according to the z-net, the emotional pain never goes away. When I read that, I scoffed out loud and said, “That’s promising.”

Liz’s response was to look up at her soul mate with gratefulness that he was standing right next to her and he knew who she was.

Colton gave her the same look back. I hope they never get separated, and I hope they never get their minds erased either.

I don’t wish this torture upon anyone, especially not Liz and Colton.

They’re the closest people I have to family.

Even though Arella doesn’t remember who I am, I’m still grateful to be under this tree with her. I don’t need her to remember me to enjoy her company or to appreciate hearing her voice.

“Have you found any potential apartments yet?” she asks.

“Some.” If I really wanted my own place, I would have gotten one by now.

The only reason I’m hesitating is because I don’t trust myself to live alone in LA yet.

Living with Liz and Colton keeps me grounded.

I’ll know I’m ready for my own place once I can go a day without considering drowning myself in alcohol.

“Enough about me,” I say, holding back a huff. “Tell me what’s been going on in your life.”

She perks up with a smile that sends warmth through me. “What would you like to know?”

Everything. Where do you work now? How’s your baking blog going? Do you still want to start a bakery? Are you still obsessed with bacon? Do you still always order your salads with the dressing on the side? Have you had another relapse moment of remembering me?

I don’t ask any of that. I can’t. What I ask instead is “What did you come here to think about?”

She gives me a narrowed stare. “I’ll tell you that private information if you tell me the deep thoughts you wrote on that postcard for me.”

The chuckle that leaves my mouth takes little effort to get out. “You haven’t forgotten about that, huh?”

“I told you I was going to get it out of you by the end of this evening.”

“You can try and beg all you want, Miss Rance, but that information is staying sealed behind these lips.”

The smile on her face falls. At first, I think it’s because I said something to offend her, then it hits me: Her last name probably isn’t Rance anymore. The look in her eyes tells me she’s thinking the same thing, but she doesn’t correct me.

Like the kind person she is, she changes the subject. “If you’re not going to tell me what you wrote, then at least tell me if you’ve been on any dates lately. The last time I saw you, you were lying to women about being unavailable so they’d stop pursuing you.”

Her tactic works, because my little pang of hurt fades away.

“That hasn’t changed. I’m still lying to women about that.

I just did it last night at my band’s meet and greet, and the tipsy woman still wrote her number on my arm—in Sharpie.

I had to scrub for almost ten minutes before it finally came off so my fake girlfriend at home wouldn’t see it. ”

Dramatically, Arella rolls her eyes. “Wow. Must be hard to have to chase women away all the time.”

I lift a finger into the air. “You know what’s actually hard?

Keeping up with this lie that I have a girlfriend.

Last month, I did an interview for a podcast highlighting up-and-coming bands.

The interviewer wanted to know more about how I met my invisible girlfriend than anything regarding my band’s music. ”

“Naturally. That’s the juicy stuff that sells.”

“Yep,” I say with a sigh. “Apparently, nobody wants to know about the inspiration behind our original songs or what we’re releasing next. They just want to know how my girlfriend feels about my relationship with Liz and if she’ll ever get over her camera shyness .”

Arella lets out the most adorable laugh. It floods me with memories of when I used to make her laugh like that on my couch until two in the morning. “You tell people your fake girlfriend is camera shy?”

“How else am I supposed to explain our lack of pictures together?”

Arella continues laughing, and I want to keep making her do it.

“If you have enough money to buy weekly plane tickets,” she says, “then you have enough to hire someone to pretend to be your girlfriend. Actually, I’m sure there’s a long line of women out there who’d do it for free.”

I cringe at the idea of having to talk to a real person and actually bring her places. “That sounds like more work than actually having a girlfriend. I’m not that committed to this lie.”

“You’re pretty committed to your band though. Flying back and forth every week can’t be cheap.”

“It’s not.”

“Once you get your own place in LA, do you think you’d move back here permanently?”

“No,” I say without hesitation.

“Why not? What’s keeping you in New York?”

It’s not what’s keeping me in New York; it’s what’s keeping me out of Los Angeles.

Without me saying it, I think Arella knows that.

I’m sure by now, she’s guessed that the real reason I left LA wasn’t to go find my place in the world.

I already know where my place is; it’s wherever she is.

Since I can’t have that, I guess I’m looking for a place where I can feel half as happy.

I haven’t found it yet, but I’m trying to have faith it exists.