"And I told you it was fifty-fifty or nothing."
"I'm here, maybe, five months out of the year," he said.
"Until you get hired on here."
"They're not hiring, baby. I've asked--a lot."
"Not yet," I said, pointing at him.
He looked at Kirby and then back at me. "So, what do you propose? I keep up the commute until I'm hired on here? Or that I move here without a job?"
I winced. I knew suggesting either would be an insult. "If I move to Estes Park, you'll be here in the Springs or somewhere else for up to half the year."
"I told you. I have a full-time position at the local station if I want it."
"I can't leave Phaedra and Chuck, not right now. Kirby is leaving soon ..."
Taylor blew out a breath, looking away from me. "I don't want to keep doing this. I hate seeing you only on the weekends."
"Should we go?" Gunnar asked.
We both ignored him.
"So, we're at an impasse," I said.
"And what the hell does that mean?" Taylor was more frustrated than angry.
He had been talking about us moving in together since Christmas, and I'd kept giving him excuses--everything from it being too soon to moving expenses.
"I don't have a car. How am I going to get to work if I move into your condo?"
He shrugged. "We'll figure it out. I can drop you off. It's a shorter drive than coming here every weekend."
"We don't have to decide now."
Taylor took a long drink, sucking the beer bottle dry, and then he took it with him to the kitchen. He tossed it into the trash can before opening the fridge to grab another. He twisted off the cap and threw it into the garbage, too, before returning to me in a huff.
"Taylor ..." I began.
"You're not the one who has to make this drive, Falyn."
"You're right," I said. "That is a fair point."
"We definitely need to go," Gunnar said.
"What's your rush?" Kirby asked.
Gunnar's brows pulled together. "When you start agreeing with me the way Falyn just did, shit goes downhill real fast."
She laughed and nudged him, and Taylor and I couldn't help but smile.
He hugged me to him and kissed my hair. "I'll make the drive as long as I have to. It's the time in between I don't like," Taylor said.
"I know. I don't like it either. The silver lining is that, after we get back from Saint Thomas, you'll be working back here in five weeks."
"Maybe. That's never a guarantee. There's no telling where I'll be."
I cocked my head, getting impatient with his negativity. "You said your crew has been here the last three summers."
"Okay, but what about the year I'm not? That's six months I'll be even farther away from you."
"If I live in Estes and you're called somewhere else, you'll be away from me anyway!" I said.
"Not if we're in Estes! I'll take the local position!"
Gunnar stood up.
"Honey," Kirby said, her voice bordering on a whine.
"I'm going to drink one of those beers if we don't leave right now," he said, towering over her.
He reached out, and she took his hand.
"Let's go do something," he said.
"We could go to the hookah bar," she said, standing next to her boyfriend.
Taylor and I glared at each other.
"It is so incredibly stupid for us to be fighting about seeing each other while we're seeing each other," I said.
"See? That's where we're different. I don't think it's stupid to fight for this at all."
I sighed. He didn't see it as fighting over who was moving where and under what circumstances. He felt like he was fighting for us to be together. How could I argue with that?
"Let's go," Kirby said, pulling me to stand. "I think we all need to be outside for a while."
We walked downstairs and stood next to Taylor's truck, watching the snow fall in thick flakes.
"Snow doesn't look like this in Illinois." Taylor held out his hand, letting the frozen white bits melt against his palm. He rubbed his hands together, zipped up his coat, and then popped a cigarette into his mouth.
"I wish we could go to Cowboys," Kirby said, joining Gunnar on the tailgate of Taylor's truck. She swung her feet for warmth.
"You're not twenty-one yet, are you?" Taylor took a deep drag and blew out a puff of thick white smoke. "I could probably get you in."
Gunnar shook his head. "I can't."
Kirby patted his middle. "Not going to chance getting caught, are we?"
"Nope," Gunnar said, pulling her to his side.
Taylor shrugged and continued to smoke. Once he was finished, he pinched off the cherry, rubbed the end along the top edge of his truck bed, and then put the cigarette butt into his pocket. He pulled his knit cap further down to cover his ears, and then he crossed his arms, tucking his hands under them.
"Your nose is red," I said, playfully nudging him.
He only offered a contrived smile, staring down Tejon Street.
Kirby and Gunnar were having their own conversation in the background, and Taylor was lost in thought. I stood next to him, feeling left out of my own party.
"You're being unusually pensive," I said.
Taylor puffed out a laugh. "You know I hate the big words, Ivy League."
"You haven't called me that in a while," I said.
His lips pressed together, making a hard line. "I hate missing you. I hate it more every day."
"I don't like it either."
He turned to me. "Then let's do something about it. Let's figure out a solution."
"You mean, one that includes me moving into your condo."
He sighed. "Okay. We'll talk about it during the week. I don't want to fight."
Gunnar and Kirby's conversation seemed forced, and they made sure not to look in our direction, probably in an effort not to eavesdrop.
"Who's fighting?" I asked. "Just because I'm not giving in to what you want ..."
He craned his neck at me. "That's not it, and you know it."
"It's a big deal, Taylor. We need to think about it."
"Oh. So, it is the moving-in-together part. You're freaking out about it."
"I'm not freaking out. But if I were, it's not an unreasonable emotion to feel."
"No, you're right. I'm just a little more than irritated that you were all fate and meant-to-be in Eakins, and now, you're acting like we're moving too fast."
I arched an eyebrow. "Did you just throw that in my face?" I left him standing alone, sitting next to Kirby on the tailgate.
Taylor began to speak, but the sounds of footsteps crunching against the snow took away his attention.
A small group of teenagers walked toward us, bumping into each other or the buildings or falling off the curb.
"Hey," one of the guys said, smiling, "you got any weed?"
"Nope," Gunnar said before continuing his conversation with Kirby.
Taylor began to respond to my question, but the man knocked on his truck.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" the man said to Gunnar.
Gunnar and Taylor traded looks.
Then Taylor glowered at the entire group. "Don't touch my fucking truck, kid."
The man puffed out his chest, attempting some form of intimidation, but he was so wasted that he failed to look directly at Taylor. He wasn't completely unfortunate-looking. He had a respectable amount of scruff, and his arms were built nicely enough to fill the sleeves of his flannel shirt.
"Is he high?" Kirby asked.
Gunnar shook his head. "You don't go looking for a fight if you're high. He's just drunk."
Kirby didn't seem fazed as she watched the man sway, waiting for what he might say next.
"Move along," Taylor said.
The man was a couple of inches shorter than Taylor, but he didn't seem to know it. He looked over at Kirby and me. "I'm thinking about crashing your party."
The men behind h
im laughed, slapping each other on the shoulders and trying just as hard as their bearded friend to stand upright.
Gunnar stepped down off the tailgate, towering over all of them. All three men took a step back.
"You have a giant," the first man said, his chin tipped up.
Taylor's posture instantly relaxed, and he laughed. "Yes. Yes, we do. Now, quit fucking with us, and go back to wherever you came from."
They chuckled among one another and began to move on, but the bearded one paused.
"Don't you work at the Bucksaw?"
I wasn't sure which of us he was addressing. None of us answered.
"I'll come see you," he said, attempting to be flirtatious while struggling to keep his balance.
"No, you won't," Taylor said, his jaw working under his skin.
The drunk laughed, bending at the waist to grab his knees, and then he stood up, pointing at me. "Is she your girlfriend? I'm sorry, man. I won't steal her."
"I'm not worried about it," Taylor said.
"Sounds like you are," he said, using the back corner of the truck bed to hold himself up. Then he flattened his hand on the tailgate next to where I sat.
Taylor glared at his hand. "I don't like you touching my truck. Think about it. What am I going to do to you if you touch my girlfriend?"
"Kill me?" the guy said, trying to stand and back away.
Taylor smiled. "No. I'll beat the hell out of you until you want to kill yourself."
The kid paled but quickly recovered, remembering he had an audience.
He began to speak, but I cut him off, "Hey, Jack Daniel's, you want to keep your face, don't you?"
He frowned at me, more confused than offended.
"Keep walking," I said. "These guys are not going to put up with your shit for much longer."
I glanced over at Taylor, who was staring a hole into the kid's forehead.
The bushy-faced stranger startled, seeming to just notice that our giant was still standing there, and he stumbled off without another word.
Gunnar relaxed. "We'd better get a move on, Kirby. I've decided I'm too tired to go anywhere."
She giggled at him. "We're already an old married couple." She hugged me good-bye. "See you Monday."
I watched the couple walk to their truck while Taylor eyed the group of drunken boys stumbling down the street. He pushed his tailgate closed and then followed me to the Bucksaw.
Once inside, I shook out my hair and rubbed my hands together as I climbed the stairs. Taylor was quiet but trying hard to be in a better mood. I tried to chat about anything other than moving in together in Estes Park. Taylor would nod and smile when appropriate. The longer I talked, the more his smiles seemed forced, and that only made me angry.
When he saw the irritated look on my face, his grin vanished. "C'mon, Falyn. I said I don't want to spend the weekend fighting."
"Just because you're pretending not to be mad doesn't mean you're not upset."
He looked forward, clearly struggling to rein in his temper. "I got a package yesterday."
I quietly waited, too aggravated to give in just yet.
"I told my dad you had a VCR. He sent me a tape." Taylor stood up and went to the counter where he'd left his backpack. He unzipped it and pulled out a VHS tape, holding it up. "Spaceballs. Growing up, I used to watch this with my brothers almost every weekend. It was Tommy's favorite."
"Okay," I said. "Let's watch it."
Taylor's eyes brightened, softening my anger. Leaning down in front of the television, he slipped the tape from the sleeve and pushed it into the VCR. When he returned to the couch, he put his hand on my knee, smiling the moment the opening credits began. It was a real smile, something he'd been finding hard to do when around me anymore.
The movie was the perfect distraction, allowing us to spend time together without talking, to sit together without addressing the problem.
Once the ending credits rolled, I left Taylor for the bathroom to take a shower. I pulled the curtain closed, relieved not to be in the same room with him for a while.
Does that mean I'm not ready to move in?
As I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, I cursed myself for knowing exactly how many times I had thought I couldn't be away from Taylor one more day and how many times I had lain in bed while wishing to God he were with me.
Unbelievable. I was annoying myself.
I rinsed the soap off my skin and stepped out onto the bath mat, wrapping the towel around me. The mirror was fogged, so all I could see was a fuzzy shape that was supposed to be me. It was exactly the way I felt. Everything was blurry.
I slipped an oversized T-shirt and crawled into bed next to Taylor, but he wasn't eager to get my nightgown off of me like usual. Instead, he pulled my back against his bare chest and held me while we both fought the urge to say anything more on the subject.
His body heat seared through my nightgown, and I melted against him. He had already warmed the mattress and the sheets. I wanted him there. Sometimes, I needed it. Going to bed alone after spending even one night with him was miserable.
"Falyn," Taylor said from behind, his voice sounding distant.
"Yes?"
"I just ..." He sighed. "I just want to be with you."
"I know. I want that, too."
"Just not as much as I do. Maybe not at all."
"That's not true," I whispered. "We just need a plan, and we'll make one. But it doesn't have to be tonight."
He touched his forehead to the back of my shoulder. "How much longer do you want to wait? Just so I have an idea."
I mulled over his question in my mind. I couldn't say exactly what was keeping me from giving Taylor exactly what he wanted, but I needed more time to find out. "This summer. Can you give me until then?"
"To make a plan?"
"To move."
He pushed himself up on his elbow, hovering over me. "To Estes Park?"
I nodded.
He eyed me for a moment. "You sure?"
"I'm nervous about it."
"Okay, let's talk. What are you nervous about?"
"Change and ... I don't know, Taylor. Something feels off. I can't put my finger on it."
Taylor looked wounded.
"It's not you. Or us. Something is just bugging me about it, like it's not right."
"I'll make it right," he said without hesitation. "I just need you to take a leap of faith. Not even a leap. More like a hop."
I touched his face. He had so much hope in his eyes.
"Why do you want me to move in with you? We've been together less than a year, and you've never been in a serious relationship before. You just know?"
"I'm sure that I love you. I'm sure that being away from you drives me insane. That's all I need to know."
"I can't argue that the distance sucks. If you can commute for three more months, I'll hop. That will give Phaedra time to find and train someone."
Taylor exhaled as if the wind had been knocked out of him, and then a small smile curled up his lips. "I'll apply for the station job this week."
He shook his head in awe of my huge gesture. He had no words, so he leaned down and touched his lips to mine, slow at first. Then he touched his hands to my cheeks, and my mouth parted.
We celebrated between the sheets for hours, and halfway into the night, I collapsed next to him. Within minutes, he was asleep.
As his breathing evened out, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The uncertainty and guilt swirled in my stomach, making me feel sick. I had overturned my life once before and survived.
Why does moving in with my best friend, with the man I love, seem more frightening than leaving my parents while penniless?
I rubbed my temple, feeling as blurry as my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I'd thought maybe if I made a decision, that feeling would go away, but my experiment was an utter failure. The uneasiness became worse. The harder I tried to understand my feelings, the less it made sense. There was something we needed to talk
about, something that was still in the way.
Taylor shifted, letting his hand rest on my stomach, and then the answer came. If he stayed with me, Taylor would have to make a sacrifice, one with which I was all too familiar. Family was important to him. He had said it before. He couldn't do what I had done.
Why did I think he could give up the possibility of having his own child?
My stomach sank. He had done so much for me, and I was going to take that away from him.
How can I really love him and allow him to make such a choice?
Pete chopped green peppers while I spoke, nodding occasionally to let me know he was listening. The sun wasn't up yet, and his white apron was already covered in smears of brown and green.
The kitchen was quiet, except for Pete's knife against the carving block. Like a typewriter, he tapped over and over before sliding the pieces to the side when he was finished, only to start again.
I startled when I heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Taylor pushed through the double doors, wearing only a pair of gray cotton shorts and untied boots. He froze when Pete pointed a knife in his direction.
Taylor looked at me.
"Don't go near the food," I explained.
Taylor stayed put. "What are you doing?" he asked, crossing his arms to ward off the cold.
I wiped my wet cheeks. "Talking to Pete."
"But"--Taylor held up his hand--"no offense, buddy"--his eyes returned to me--"Pete doesn't talk."
I shrugged. "He doesn't share my secrets, and I don't ask him why he doesn't speak."
Taylor's demeanor immediately changed. "I don't share your secrets either. But that was back when you used to tell me everything."
I hopped down off one of the stainless steel counters lining the wall and waved to Pete before taking Taylor's hand. "Let's go back up," I said, tugging on Taylor's wrist.
"Have you been crying?" he asked. He hesitated and then let me pull him back through the doors and up the stairs.
I could tell by his mannerisms that he knew something was up.
I shut the door behind us and leaned against it.
"Falyn," he said, shifting nervously, "is this what I think it is? Because it was just one fucking disagreement. You can't bail on me after one disagreement. And it wasn't even a disagreement. It was a ... passionate discussion. And last thing you said to me last night was that you were moving to Estes. If you're going to freak out about it so much that you're going to dump me, then at least let's talk about options."
"I'm not bailing on you," I said.
His panic was heartbreaking.
"Then what the fuck is going on? Why did you sneak downstairs to talk to Pete at four thirty in the morning?"