Page 111 of Any Port in a Storm

“Right time?” Nick throws up his hands. “I’ve been in love with you for eight years. There’s no such thing as the right time.”

“I—” My voice breaks. “Nick, I’m sorry. Please⁠—”

He takes a rattling breath. “I need to be alone right now. And you need to go rest your leg.”

Something shatters deep in my soul; the combination of his request for seclusion and his persistent concern for me teaming up to deliver a devastating blow. “Okay.”

I reach for the door, a shell of my former self. Everything in me is screaming to fight for him; for us. But I also want to respect his wishes. “I meant what I said last night,” I whisper before I step back inside.

“Yeah.” His voice is distant as he looks out toward the river. “So did I.”

I don’t come out of my room for the rest of the night. Nick must brush his teeth in the kitchen, because he doesn’t knock on the door to ask for bathroom access at all. With every floorboard creak in the living room, my heart jumps a little—hoping against hope that he’s coming to see me. Wanting to talk, to work through things.

Wanting to give me a chance to explain.

After an hour of dabbing tears on my comforter and staring at the ceiling, I decide I might as well be productive. Grabbing my laptop off my nightstand, I reopen the job listings I’d saved.

Briarford’s an easy application, so I make a few quick tweaks to my cover letter and send it whooshing off into the ether. I apply to U of A next, then Boston Commonwealth University. The Pomona application’s quite long, and I’m starting to fall asleep, so I figure I’ll save that one for another time.

Just as I’m about to power down for the night, I remember the museum job. I don’t know if my emotions are extra volatile because of the fight with Nick or if some small part of me is coming around to the idea of abandoning academia, even with the potential awkwardness of having to deal with a friend of Spillinger’s, but I’m struck by a fervent impulse to give it a shot.

Before I know it, it’s one in the morning, and I’ve managed to draft a passionate love letter to museums, to literature, and to curating the brilliance of authors so they can be celebrated by the masses. It’s a little over-the-top, certainly, but damn it, this is me. I feel each word so deeply, down to every last cell of my body, and I can’t think of the last time I was compelled to speak so ardently about anything.

I’m not sure I ever have, actually.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter as I send it off, filled with equal parts terror and glittering hope.

And then I fall asleep.

I’m all sorts of disoriented when I’m awakened by a faint knock on the door.

Blearily, I roll over to check my phone. It’s 3 AM.

The knock comes again. This time, it’s joined by Nick’s voice, stage-whispering my name.

“Come in,” I call, beyond perplexed as to what he wants at this time of night. Especially given what happened when last we spoke.

Perhaps he couldn’t sleep, or he feels guilty for what happened. On some level, I suppose, I’m expecting an apology, or maybe a request to talk things through.

What I’m not expecting is Nick, openly weeping in the doorway to my bedroom.

“Oh my god.” I sit up in bed. “What’s wrong?’

“He’s gone.” Nick’s shoulders heave, his words punctuated by sobs. “My grandfather. Lucy just called…they got word from the hospital.” He gasps for air. “When the charge nurse went in to check on him, he wasn’t breathing. He…they couldn’t save him.”

Something cracks open in my chest. “Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry.”

He grabs the edge of the dresser, as if it can keep him from crumbling. “He deserved so much better than this.”

“Of course he did,” I say softly. Not sure if I should go to him, hug him. Not knowing if that would make things better or worse. I settle for getting out of my bed and standing awkwardly beside it.

“He lived a whole, full life, you know?” A ragged sob breaks free. “He had so many adventures. So many stories. It shouldn’t have ended this way.”

The fissure in my chest widens.

Nick’s shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’ll never get to see him again.”

I choke back a sob and hold out my arms. “Come here.”