Page 49

TREY

I kick a rock on the ground. It tumbles across the top of the cliff and over it. Then it’s gone forever.

The sky draped over the forest is a swirly mix of pinks and purples intertwining with the dusty blue behind the trees. The October sun is about to set for the evening. Tomorrow, it’ll return to shine on another day of me just trying to make it through.

My zerapist says I need to focus more on living in the moment. Whenever I dwell on the maybe-I-should-haves and what-if-I-hads of the past, I get depressed. Whenever I think about having to do this bullshit for another day, week, or year, I get anxious.

I’ve spent every Sunday over the last two months at our tree, waiting for her to appear out of the woods.

She never does.

Tonight is the first night I’ve told myself I’d stop looking.

That’s why I went for a walk. I needed to stop staring at those damn trees like they hold the answer to all my troubles.

What I really need is to stop living my life as if she’ll come back into it.

She’s not, and it’ll do me some good to accept that and move on.

On the outside, I’ve been trying to move on. I’ve been working on my new career goals. I’ve also been looking into getting more involved with my foundation for kids with deceased parents.

On the inside, though, I’m still with her. It’s like I’m stuck in the mud there, and no tow truck on Earth is strong enough to drag me out. A part of me doesn’t even want to get out, but I have to. It’s not healthy for me to keep hoping for a life I’ll never have.

Liz keeps telling me that time will heal and eventually, things will get easier. Time hasn’t done anything except make me realize that even when I offered everything I had to the only person I can see a future with, she only saw me as a part of her past.

The only thing that’s gotten easier is my ability to hide the pain. I came up with some systems because I got sick of people asking me if I’m okay.

Whenever a bandmate catches me staring off into space, instead of apologizing for it, I tell them I was thinking up lyrics for a new song. It’s been working to get them to leave me alone because I’m “in the zone.”

Whenever a crew member asks me how my week has been, instead of saying fine like I have been, I tell them it was fantastic. I even add a whole bunch of enthusiasm into it, then ask them a question to take the attention off me.

I’ve gotten better at faking smiles too. I learned that if I do it while squinting my eyes, it’s more believable. Many nights of practicing in the mirror helped me figure that out.

My hope is that the more I can make people believe I’m okay, the more I’ll be okay. I lied when I told Arella that my unrealistic want in five years is a wife and kids. Sure, having a family would be great, but what I truly want is inner peace.

I just want to be able to wake up without feeling this constant weight on my chest. I want to be able to brush my teeth and take a shower without it feeling like a chore. I want to be able to perform in front of a crowd without feeling like I don’t deserve to.

I envy the people who can get through their day without second-guessing everything they do or what they have, or wonder why they’re even here.

I’m jealous of the people who can wake up every morning with genuine vigor to live.

And the people who never question their worth.

And the people who’ve got all their shit together.

How can I be like them? What’s their secret?

When I said all that to Liz, she told me that part of their secret is that they didn’t witness their parents’ murder in a mushroom of fire when they were seven.

And they didn’t grow up with their abusive uncle who was really their spiteful aunt.

And they didn’t lose the love of their life to memory scrubbing.

“Everyone has shit they’ve been through,” Liz said. “You’ve got a little more shit than most, but that doesn’t mean some inner peace isn’t achievable.”

So that’s what I’m working toward: some inner peace, because some is better than none. However I can achieve that—without getting high—I’m willing to try it. I even went on a date last week. I’m pretty fucking proud of myself for it too.

It was with the thirty-two-year-old Zordi woman who owns the sandwich shop near my penthouse.

I go there almost every day while I’m in New York.

Usually, she makes conversation with me about food or Disney movies while she puts my sandwich together.

Last week, she asked if I’d like to get dinner with her sometime.

I was about to politely decline when I stopped myself and said, “Why not?” Later that night, I took her to a nice Mediterranean place.

We had a fine conversation over chicken pitas and hummus.

She told me the entire story of how she started her sandwich shop, and I told her about how I started my band.

She laughed at my lame jokes, and I pretended to be interested in her cat.

Overall, I’d say the date served the purpose I was going for: to do more in New York than sit around my apartment, waiting for my next flight back to LA.

I didn’t feel that spark with her that I do with Arella, but I didn’t expect to.

Part of the reason why I haven’t wanted to date other women is because I keep looking for my next Arella.

Since there is no such thing, I’m setting my expectations lower, like someone I can hold a conversation with.

Sandwich shop lady met that expectation.

We didn’t make plans for another date, mostly because I told her I’m moving back to LA full-time.

Once that’s done, I plan to focus on my new career goals, and then maybe I’ll work up to going out with another woman I can hold a conversation with.

Who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll even get to the point of being able to kiss someone—soberly.

No, I don’t have plans to find my “compatible partner,” but I might be able to handle a casual, friends-with-benefits, no-strings-attached type thing. There’s gotta be someone out there who’s looking for that too. And if not, that’s okay. Being alone is my destiny, and I’ve accepted that.

The sun is gone, and a few dim stars are trying to peek out from the depths of the black sky. I think I’ve stood on this cliff, staring aimlessly at the trees below, for long enough. It’s time to head to the airport.

With my hands in my jeans pockets, I turn toward the trail, then jump back and gasp.

“Sorry!” A woman of angelic beauty throws her hands up in surrender as she stumbles out of the tree line. “I didn’t know if it was you. It looked like you from behind, but I didn’t want to say something in case it wasn’t you.”

I probably wouldn’t be this jumpy if I could sense her emotions. I always know when someone is near—unless that someone is her.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. Not that I’m unhappy to see her. My chest is thumpy all of a sudden.

“I sat under our tree for a really looong time, and when you didn’t show, I thought I’d look for you.”

The one fucking time I go for a longer walk... “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“That’s okay. I made you wait two months, so we’re even.”

I close the distance between us to get a better look at her. Her wavy hair looks more wavy than usual, like she spent extra time curling it. She’s wearing more makeup than she normally does too. Not that I mind. I’ll take her any way I can have her.

“I was just about to head back to our tree,” I say, specifically using the word our . “You wanna head back with me?”

“Of course.”

We get about ten steps through the woods before she asks, “How have you been?”

“Fantastic,” I say, coupled with enthusiasm and one of my smiles with the squinty eyes.

Her shoulders perk up. “That’s great to hear.”

All that practice in the mirror is paying off. “How have you been?”

“Good. I finally got a loan for my bakery, and I found a location that’s a good size in a decent location.”

“Congrats. What’s the next step?”

She keeps a steady pace beside me. “I’m meeting with the landlord tomorrow to sign the lease.”

“Wow. I’m excited for you.”

“Me too. This is something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

That peace I always feel when I’m with her eases into me like sweet honey. I wish I could capture this feeling and turn it on whenever I need it. “Can I tell you somethin’ cool?”

“Of course.”

“I bought a studio.”

“What?” She stops in the middle of the trail. “Seriously?”

I stop too. “Yeah. I just signed for it on Thursday. My band is outgrowing the backstage area of the Soul House anyway, so it’ll be a good space for us to write and record our third original album. It’s also where I’ll start my new production company.”

“That’s wonderful! Where is it?”

We continue down the trail as I say, “Pasadena. Pretty close to where Liz lives.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’ve been keeping busy?”

“Trying.” I think about mentioning the first date I had in almost three years, but I don’t want Arella to think I’m unavailable. To her, I’m as available as available can be. “How about you? Have you been keeping busy?”

“I have. Lots of life changes, but they’re all good.”

I’m about to ask her if things are better at home with Caleb, then I stop.

I don’t want to know. Most of me hopes everything is good because I want her to be happy, but I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me that wishes things aren’t good so she’ll come back to me. It’s better to wonder than to know.

When we make it to our tree, her blanket is already draped underneath it, next to my backpack. Her purse is also here, next to our little box of questions.