Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Cole

Finally got my flights from SATO, the people that organize our travel. I leave in a week. I need to be at the airport no later than eight in the morning next Saturday.

Tia

What time is your flight?

Cole

It leaves at 8:50 am.

Tia

Your confidence in your airport abilities is astounding.

Cole

Can we plan to meet at the beach at 7:30 am that day to say goodbye? Please?

Tia

Aren't you leaving your car at Luko and Denny's? We should meet there.

Cole

Very practical, very unromantic.

Tia

Touché. I will meet you at the beach at 6:30 and you will leave for the airport no later than 7:00. Final offer, deal or no deal?

Cole

Haha, fine.

I dress in jeans and a tan hoodie with shaking hands and a pit in my stomach. I take the Mustang to Ocean Beach, where Cole and I decided to meet to say goodbye. I park and stare out at the sand and the gray ocean and the gray sky.

I feel sick.

I hear the rumble of the Camaro and I go stand on the sidewalk, my arms wrapped around me. Cole gets out of his car in a black hoodie, tan pants, Vans, and a black hat from a local brewery. His travel outfit is cool, but his face is stressed, his eyebrows knitted together, his fresh scar making him look extra upset. The chilly gray morning is matching his expression. A salty breeze catches my hair, forcing me to keep dragging it back from my face.

"Hey," I say in a light voice, a seagull echoing my greeting.

"Hi," he says flatly.

"C'mon, what is it?"

"I don't want to go."

He steps in front of me on the sidewalk and I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. In an attempt at comic relief, I try to pick him up, unsuccessfully, until he finally wheezes out a laugh.

"Okay, okay, put me down," he says. I memorize every millimeter of his smile.

" Osito ," I say in a whisper. His eyes snap down to mine, and he takes my face in his hands.

"Let me kiss you goodbye."

"It's not goodbye yet. We have a whole twenty-seven minutes left. Let's go walk on the beach. It's our thing."

Cole drops his hands from my face and wraps his arms around me in a giant bear hug. He walks us backwards until I'm leaning against him and he's leaning against the car, and he doesn't give a hint of letting go. I'm nestled against his chest and the warmth of his hoodie, and I soak it up because I won't have this for a whole seven weeks.

It all comes rolling over my heart like a sleeper wave. I won't have this for seven weeks. I grab his sweatshirt in my fists and press my forehead to his chest and fight against the sadness that's now drowning me. Dang it, I was doing so good.

"I'm going to miss you so much," I admit, unable to fight it anymore.

"Really?" he asks, leaning his head down to press his cheek against the top of my head.

"I knew I would, but it didn't really hit me until this moment."

"I'll be home soon. It's just a month and a half."

"That's so long."

"You'll have time for yourself. Think of all the paintings you could do, and I'll be a better corpsman for it."

I can't imagine saying goodbye like this over and over and over for longer and longer periods of time. I know Anisha does it, but how? My respect for her shoots up times one million.

"The homecoming will make it all worth it, okay?" Cole murmurs to me, running his hand over my hair. "That, I can promise."

"Are you going to be too busy to call?"

"I don't know, I hope not. But if I'm clingy and calling you every night, you'll get annoyed with me."

"Please be clingy. Please be needy and desperate and call me every spare moment you have."

Cole laughs, and the deep vibration of his chest shakes me along with him.

I squeeze him tight until he huffs a laugh and eases my arms away from him. I sniffle. "I swear, I was not even sad, I was ready for you to go, and then you hugged me, and I realized I have to live without your hugs for seven weeks, and I don't know. It just got to me all of a sudden."

"You want a kiss to make it better?" he asks, looking down at me with the sweetest, saddest brown eyes.

"Yes, please," I murmur.

He reaches up to turn his hat backwards, then wraps his hands around my face, and gives me the most comforting kiss of my life. It's beautiful and unassuming, powerful and commanding at the same time. His affection for me is not at the mercy of our circumstances. He tells me things with his kiss, things that sink deep into my soul, wrapping me up in love.

Slowly, in subtle movements, Cole turns us around, until I'm the one leaning back against the car. He cages me in with his arms, his mouth never leaving mine. My hands hold his face, and I pour my whole heart into kissing him back. We keep up this public display of deep affection, a feeble attempt to make up for all the days we won't get to kiss each other.

Cole presses his forehead to mine, and when he tries to say something, he's breathless. "It…it'll be okay, right? You'll be okay?"

"Yes," I say, my breath ragged.

"Can I be honest?" I nod. "I'm freaking out. How are we supposed to do this?"

I run my hands up the back of his head and pull him back down to meet my lips. Kissing him has slipped into something that offers both solace and the promise of addiction. And I'm supposed to let him go, just get back in his car, drive away, and leave for seven weeks. But whether we want it or not, it's happening, so the only thing I can do is try to make it easier. I ease his face back to look in his eyes.

"We're going to be more than okay. I swear, we're going to be great, Cole."

I can feel the effect of my words as his shoulders relax under my hands and his pinched expression disappears. He straightens up, stands tall, there's even a hint of a smile as he looks down at me.

"Oh, I almost forgot—I got you something." He opens the back passenger door and pulls out a small brown gift bag with white tissue paper sticking out. "I'll never leave you empty-handed," he says before he passes it to me.

"Should I open it now?" I ask.

"Yeah, go for it."

I walk around to the back so I can set the bag on the trunk. Cole leans against the side of the car, his hat still backwards, his face a handsome portrait of tension.

After taking a layer of tissue paper out of the bag, I pull out something carefully covered in more tissue paper and unwrap it to find a delicate gold desktop frame with a picture of us in it.

It's the selfie Cole took of us on the beach. Our faces are pressed close together and I'm softly smiling, my hair whipping around in all directions. I love it so much. I don't think I've ever bothered to frame a photo, so knowing Cole took the time to buy a frame and get this printed in the midst of his demanding life makes it that much more valuable. I hold it up and grin, misty-eyed.

"Cole, this is so special."

"I know it may be kind of cheesy, but I made myself one too, to have with me in North Carolina."

"Not cheesy. Not cheesy at all," I reply, giving him a quick—then lingering—kiss. "Thank you."

"And this," he reaches for something from his back pocket and slides it into my hands, "is to keep you busy."

I turn over the little envelope and see it's a gift card to my favorite art store. For a significant amount. I look up at him wide-eyed, my mouth hanging open.

"Don't argue. It's yours," he says. "You'll make me happy if you spend it all before I get back."

My heart overflows at his thoughtfulness and generosity. He knows exactly how to make me feel seen and loved, and he does it willingly.

"Now I kind of want you to leave so we can start the countdown to you coming back. I hate this," I say with a laugh, brushing away tears.

"When I come back though…" says Cole, trailing off.

"I'll be here," I promise. I look into his eyes, then memorize his face all over again. He is so beautifully handsome. My possessive need for him grows the longer I look at him. I don't ever want to let him go. "Please, just rip the band-aid off."

He nods and wraps his arms low around my waist.

"Bye, Cole," I say, as I hug him, memorizing every curve of his body against mine.

"Bye, I love you." He gives me a long, passionate kiss that ends in a dip, then sets me upright and jumps in the Camaro. I stay on the sidewalk and wave to him until he's out of sight, my heart dropping the whole time.

There's a ringing silence when I get in the Mustang and close the door. My chest hurts, and each time I try to take a deep breath, it's accompanied by squeezes of panic. It all feels so wrong. A part of me is missing, traveling farther and farther away with each passing minute.

My love…

I'm so in love with him.

Not just, "Oh I love him, what a great guy."

I love him, I need him, I want him. Forever. The feeling scares me with its forcefulness, the desperation and raw need.

I'm in love. I love Cole.

I'm running for my life on my third loop around the island. The palm trees are loudly rustling and the wind pushes against me, offering more resistance as my feet pound the pavement.

I'm running scared.

So what if I love him? So what?

It doesn't mean I have to marry him. I can love him and keep it to myself and never make any sort of commitment to him. We could date until it fizzles, or the Navy could ask him to move to the other side of the country, and I could just say goodbye. I do not have to rearrange my life or my plans because I happened to fall in love with him. Plenty of people love people that they can never be with. Call it a curse, call it your soulmate, call it true love, but it doesn't mean that's who you get to spend the rest of your life with.

Doesn't matter that he kisses me so well.

Doesn't matter how hot he is.

Doesn't matter how well he cares for me.

Doesn't matter that he is the most trustworthy person I've ever known.

Doesn't matter that I love his whole heart and soul, his mind and his body, his triumph and his tragedy, his strength and his gentleness.

I love him.

I love him with my whole heart and soul, in a way that I have never loved anyone before.

I love him, but I'm going to stay sane and rational and figure things out in a logical way first. That's what I tell myself over and over as I shower and change and wearily flop onto my bed. Saying the word "love" in my mind is changing everything. And he's gone now. I groan into the mattress in frustration.

Burrowing under the covers gives me little relief from the pressing sense of longing and absence. The pillow next to me still smells a little like Cole, and I hug it to my chest, burying my nose in it as I cry. It seems pathetic to be crying when he's a phone call and only three time zones away, but I don't care. If I pretend I'm not sad, I'll hold it in until something reminds me of Cole. The Gulf War veteran will come to the coffee shop, and then I'll break down in ugly sobs, and no one wants that. Better to let it all out now in the comfort and privacy of my room, snuggled in bed.

My phone vibrates with a text from Lorraine asking me to come by the gallery as soon as I can. I'm tempted to give her some excuse. I want to wallow.

But I can't afford to fall into a pit of despair. These seven weeks of Cole being gone are supposed to be all about next steps for me, moving forward in my career in any way I can, so I shouldn't ignore anything from Lorraine.

I give myself five more minutes of sadness. Then, after washing my tears away, I take a slow walk over to the gallery. The warm, emerging sun comforts my face and the bougainvillea bushes trailing over fences offer some cheer with their pops of magenta.

But he's still gone.

I step into the gallery, composed and calm. Lorraine takes one look at me and says, "Oh, what's happened?"

"Nothing," I say, double-checking behind me to make sure I haven't grown a tail.

"No, you look so sad," she says, coming out from behind the register and meeting me in the middle of the gallery floor. "Has something happened to Cole?"

"Oh, he left for some training today, a seven-week course in North Carolina. I'm kind of missing him already." Really missing him. Really wanting him back. Because I'm in love with him.

"Well, I'm happy this news has come today," Lorraine says, giving me a big hug. I welcome it, hugging her back.

"Listen," she says, pulling back to look me in the eye, then leading me to the computer. "An acquaintance of mine is a renowned portrait artist turned art instructor. Her name's Giada Burke. She was in my MFA cohort, and she was always head and shoulders above the rest of us, but very kind and helpful. Anyways, I asked her if she has any spots available on her next art intensive, and at first she said no, but I sent her the pictures of the paintings you've done, including Cole's portrait, and she said she could add a spot and make an exception for you in her next class. It's in four weeks."

"What?" I say, a smile growing on my face. "Are you serious?"

"Here, come to the computer and look. See if you're interested."

A website is already up on the screen, and I start scrolling, my mouth dropping open in amazement. The photos show a small circle of six students painting a live model, while a tall woman clothed in boxy black linen offers instruction. They're in an airy room with tons of natural light and pale hardwood floors, their easels evenly spaced apart. All their faces look positively delighted.

"I don't know what to say," I tell Lorraine. "I'm speechless. This looks like a very elite course."

"She's an excellent instructor and I highly recommend you take the spot she's offering you."

"It's in Marina Del Rey," I say as I scroll more. I'd have to commute, it's nearly three hours one way.

"There's a residency option, for which Giada offers a scholarship."

"It's a one-week course. I'd have to take off work."

"I'm sure you have some vacation time."

"I guess I'd take the train up there? Actually, I could drive the Camaro?—"

"Tia, are you trying to find reasons not to do this?" Lorraine asks, putting one hand on her hip and furrowing her eyebrows at me.

"No, I'm just…" Worried I won't be good enough, scared of being the worst painter there, intimidated by the aesthetic of the class already. And I'm tired and sad and want to curl up in a ball.

"Listen, Cole is gone. Now is the time to invest in yourself and do something that will further your career. I'm not saying he has to be gone for you to do those things, but as a former Navy wife, I'm telling you it's good to keep yourself busy."

I bite my lip and scroll some more. "Thank you for putting in a word for me," I murmur. I know I need this. I know I need a shot in the arm to keep me going with my art. The time is now. I have to take the plunge. "I won't let you down."

"Don't worry about me," Lorraine says, waving away my statement. "Do it for you. Prove to yourself how talented and brave you are."