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I clear my throat, letting his dark gaze hypnotize me. “I know.”
“I feel free now that you know everything.”
I must stare at him in wonder because he just opened up to me sober. They’re small stepping-stones, yet they build a strong foundation.
A few weeks later, Damon brings me camping hours away from Chicago.
I’m wearing red cotton shorts, fuzzy socks, and a gray sweater of his, with a blanket sitting over my lap as we drive through the remaining sunset of pink and orange hues. I wore a red beanie to settle Damon’s worry that I’ll be cold. If the snowsuit he brought for me to sleep in is any indication, he’s still worried—and we’re in May.
He’s on high alert, his hand clutching the steering wheel, his eyes roaming our surroundings.
“Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?”
“I don’t know. What do you think, Gemma?”
I shrug. “I have a feeling it’s a boy. I call him Blu.”
“Blu?”
“Yeah. Blu. It can be dark and chaotic ... or calm and serene.”
“Blu,” he mutters, testing the word on his tongue. He holds out his hand for me, and we spend the next half hour in complete silence.
A peaceful, yearning, loving silence.
A silence that says I love you and I cherish you. A silence that wires the love and respect together, making it—and us—unbreakable.
The sun dims, and we arrive right before darkness peaks. We put up our tent in no time, as we had each done many times before as college students.
The crackle of the fire heals something in me.
I had lost my way. Lost my sense of self.
And in nature I found myself. And in Damon I found my future.
Damon brought camping chairs, but I prefer sitting on the ground against a tree trunk, feeling the dirt under my sneakers and the blazing heat emitting against different body parts.
“I won’t leave again.”
“Someone once told me to always look at a man’s actions, not his words.” I toss his words back at him. My heart is a weak, fragile little thing. The simple thought of him leaving me again, leaving us, gives me the illusion that I’m breaking into pieces.
“I deserve that.”
“You do,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around my legs. “The next time you feel like leaving, remember that each time you do, the hurt lessens because I get used to it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
His eyes narrow. He stays silent, his thumb settling over my lip. “I’ll do right by you and Blu.”
“You’ll be an amazing father, Damon.”
He scoffs. “I can barely stand kids.”
“It’s not the same when they’re your own. You’ll get to bring Blu camping with you, teach him or her all about the world, science, the environment.”
The light from the fire catches the movement of his Adam’s apple.
