8. Luna - 14 months earlier

8

LUNA - 14 MONTHS EARLIER

SONG: “NEVER THIS EASY” – THE RED LEMONS

W henever May rolls around, Chicago never ceases to amaze me with how it transforms itself into a completely different city than it is during the winter months.

The once icy streets thaw and come alive with vibrant colors and bustling activity. Lake Michigan, no longer shrouded in a gray haze, sparkles under the sun, inviting people to its shores. Parks and gardens, dormant and covered in snow, burst into bloom with tulips, daffodils, and cherry blossoms. The city's iconic skyline seems to stand taller against the clear blue skies. The river, now free from its icy constraints, flows with a renewed vigor. Sidewalk cafes set up tables outside, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the scent of blooming flowers. Street performers return to their usual spots, filling the air with music and laughter. There's a palpable energy in the air, a collective sigh of relief from the city's residents who have endured the long, harsh winter.

Personally I can attest that on the first seventy degree day hit I can feel the seasonal depression lifting from my body.

I’m not from here originally—I was born and raised in Houston—but a couple of years ago, when I was living in Florida, I had an experience at an EDM festival that scarred me for life and as a result, I ended up here.

I won’t go into full detail, but let’s just say I got on a boat off the coast of Miami and woke up in New York, and somehow I escaped out of the building I was in.

I don’t mean to be dramatic—but it was, actually, quite dramatic. I’d never been religious really until that day, when I prayed and through divine intervention I made it out.

That was a couple of years ago.

After that, I moved here to live with my aunt.

Aunt Sarah is my mother’s oldest sibling, and she took me in with no questions asked. At the time I was still processing everything I’d been through, so that was very much appreciated. With no kids of her own, Aunt Sarah has a sort of pseudo-Grandmother relationship to me.

I spent the following year and a half of my twenties figuring out how I’d gotten myself into a situation that I was determined never to get into again.

It was a deep healing period. I had to separate myself from my old life and from some habits that might not have been the healthiest for me. Aunt Sarah paid for therapy, and she even recommended that I start coming to church with her. She didn’t insist that I adopt her beliefs or anything like that, she just said it would be ‘good personal reflective time with others.’ This didn’t make sense to me at first to have ‘reflective time with others,’ but after a while I came to enjoy the paradox she was referring to.

Aunt Sarah, I’m learning, is full of paradoxes.

Then there was the yoga, the stacks of self-help books, the podcasts, learning to meditate, everything. It wasn’t easy, and it felt like I was becoming someone totally new. In some ways, that was true. I was shedding my old skin.

Now, a year and ten months later, I’m still “me” but in Chicago I have new friends, a new job bartending, and I’ve moved into my own place.

What I once viewed as a traumatic experience that I wanted to forget about forever, I now think of as the catalyst for me to make changes I already knew in my heart I needed in my life.

I hate to say it because it makes me sound needy, but if I had to say one thing that is missing?

It would be a boyfriend. I’ve yet to date since I’ve moved here.

“I think I’m going to start opening myself up to dating,” I tell Aunt Sarah over coffee today, as I look out at Lake Michigan, enjoying the gorgeous view from her north side luxury apartment.

I chuckle inwardly, thinking that being single for your whole life has it’s perks. I love Aunt Sarah, and I love her life, too.

“Well, just make sure you hold out for the right one. You, my darling, are an incredibly special girl,” She says, cupping her hands around her espresso.

“Thanks,” I smile shyly.

“Darling.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of mine. “I need to make sure you hear me. All girls are special, that’s true. But you are very special. Once you’re in a man’s life, he’s going to become very successful. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done the past couple of years. Don’t become distrustful of men in general. But make sure you choose the right one.”

More paradoxes from Aunt Sarah. Big surprise .

“Do you trust my judgment?”

“I absolutely trust you. But that’s not what matters. What matter is that you learn to trust yourself. After all, you’re living life for you. Not for anyone else.”

“But I value your opinion.”

“And I appreciate that. But ultimately, it’s your responsibility to learn and grow from your decisions and experiences, which…” Her eyes dart toward the clock on the wall that has lighthouses for numbers. “Oh my goodness. I’m fifteen minutes late for a showing. Why does that always happen with our coffee chats?”

I smile. “Because I love listening to your wisdom.”

“I’m so glad you came by. Stay as long as you want, as usual. Love you, honey,” she says, and walks out of the apartment.

I sigh, looking out at the water again. It’s mid-morning, and I can see the first boats of the summer scuttling around on the water.

After I finish my coffee, I sit cross-legged on Aunt Sarah’s carpet, close my eyes, and try to manifest the perfect man: tall, handsome, charming, and—why not?—rich.

After finishing my daytime shift bartending at the fancy restaurant where I work, I walk across the street to Marquee Lounge, my favorite neighborhood bar, to grab a drink like I often do.

The bartender has just slid my margarita across the bar when my phone vibrates with a text.

Larissa: Can you pretty please sub for our volleyball team tonight? It’s a six player league and we only have two players

Luna: I’m basically just a warm body. Volleyball is not my sport

Larissa: That’s okay! Drinks on me after. I’ve exhausted all possible subs. And I don’t want to forfeit. Also it’s a gorgeous night, and the beach will be so pretty

Luna: I still don’t think I solve your problem. How many do you need?

Larissa: Four, minimum. But if you come, this other guy I know from work might come. He said he doesn’t want to come just to forfeit though. I get the feeling he’s pretty competitive.

I sip my margarita and sigh. My plan was to head home, put my headphones on, get my oil paints out, and spend the night working on my latest piece. But I’m a sucker for my friends.

Luna: Fine. I’ll come :)

I go back to my tiny apartment in Logan Square, change, and head back downtown to North Avenue Beach.

There I meet Larissa, our friend Jade, and Larissa’s guy from work.

“Hey,” he says with a cocky nod. “I’m Gatsby.”

“Gatsby? Like the great one?”

“Close enough, yeah.”

Gatsby is tall, trim, and handsome, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He is also, I have to admit, very good at volleyball.

Even with our cobbled-together team, we win both of our matches, and Larissa is thrilled. Afterwards, she herds us all over to a po-dunk bar on Wells Street for some post-victory grub.

“Beers on me, ladies,” Gatsby says, setting four Summer Shandies in front of us at our patio table. We clink our bottles together and make conversation. Larissa is chatting away with Jade about some friend drama, so that leaves me to chat with Gatsby.

“Beautiful night,” he says, looking around. “And you played well.”

“I barely know how to play.” I laugh. “Thanks for taking my balls.”

I squint, realizing that the wording probably came out somewhat awkwardly.

“What can I say? I’m great at handling…balls.”

I laugh.

“So what’s your deal? Are you single?” Gatsby asks.

“Yeah.”

“Really? That’s surprising. You’re pretty.”

I arch an eyebrow. “So? A pretty girl can’t be single? What about you?”

“The last girl I dated is now engaged to the backup quarterback for the Bears.”

“Seriously?”

He pulls out his phone and shows me a photo of the two of them. “Here we are, a year ago. Then—boom—she broke my heart.”

She’s gorgeous. Model-like. It’s no surprise she pulled a professional athlete.

He sighs. “She dated me, and then switched to him.”

He googles Ryan Dawkins fiancée and shows me the news clip. “Not sure if that’s good or bad for me.” He laughs. “Guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“So you wanted to marry her?”

“Eh, not really. Sometimes I think I’m too damaged for a relationship.”

“How so?”

“That’s pretty personal.”

“I can deal with personal. Tell me.”

He takes another pull of his beer. “When I was in college, my best friend committed suicide. It was a whole thing. Fucked me up pretty good. I found him in his room. He’d hung himself after a bad breakup.”

My chest tightens. “For real?”

“Yeah.” He pulls up another news story: Forrest Jenkins, 22, found dead. Loved by his family and friends.

“That’s awful!”

He stares at the phone for a second and then nods. “It was rough for a while. I don’t know why people do that, you know? They leave their friends and family behind to pick up the pieces. That’s the worst part.” He shrugs, shakes his head, and smiles. “I try to keep a positive attitude about things, though. How about you? Have you ever been through anything like that?”

“I have, yes.” It’s something I don’t normally share, but since Gatsby just shared his trauma with me, it feels like we’re on an even playing field if I go deep, too. So I tell him a little about what happened to me a few years back at that house music festival. How I barely made it out alive, yet now I’m mostly unscathed.

He shakes his head. “Someone drugged you? What the fuck?”

“Yeah.” I choose not to get into the weeds about the healing I did to work myself out of the mental hole I was in. I was teetering on the verge of a serious breakdown when I moved in with my aunt.

He shakes his head. “I’d fucking kill someone if they did something like that to me or my family.”

I laugh awkwardly. He doesn’t look like a killer. Not really.

“You think I’m joking? I’m not.”

That makes it even more awkward. “That’s…sweet? I guess.”

“Not really. Just a reality.” He laughs, easing my tension. “Just kidding… Not really, though.”

We drink a few more rounds and have dinner with the group. As we’re waiting for a Lyft at the end of the evening, he turns to me.

“Hey,” he says. “I was thinking… I’d love to take you out some time, if you’re okay with that.”

“Smooth,” I say, smiling. I give him my number.

A few nights later, Gatsby and I go out for drinks. I tell him about my hesitance to jump into a relationship with someone.

“I feel that,” he says, followed by a steady stream of compliments about how pretty I am.

I haven’t dated anyone in some time, and I have to admit, I like the attention. And I like him.

That night, we end up bonding over our mutual trauma and love of animals. After I tell him how much I love dolphins in particular, he takes me to the Shedd Aquarium for our second date.

On our third date, he makes me dinner back at his place, and we make out on the couch.

But as he slides his hand lower, I stop him. “Hey. I think we’re moving kind of fast. I don’t like sharing my body with just anyone.”

“Understood,” he says.

We sleep in his bed that night, but we don’t do a thing. When I wake up the next day, he brushes my hair out of my face and kisses me.

“Hey,” he says. “This is a crazy idea, but have you ever been to Hawaii?”

“No. Always wanted to go.”

“I’ve got some PTO I need to use. Want to go?”

My eyes widened. “Like right now?”

“Like in a couple of weeks.” He laughs.

“Well, I do love dolphins, as you know. I think you can swim with them out there.”

“Seriously? I thought that was an environmental no-no.” He googles it on his phone and then nods. “Seems like it can be done responsibly. Let’s go. Can you get off work?”

“I mean, maybe. But I make a lot of money bartending in the summer.”

“My treat,” he assures me.

Nerves crop up, and an alarm bell sounds somewhere inside me. I’m not the type to get wrapped up in a relationship so quickly. Don’t be a fool.

But I’ve also heard somewhere that only fools get to fall in love. Why not give myself a chance to live the dream? Don’t I deserve that?

“Okay.” I grin. “I’ll go. I can’t wait!”

A month later, we board a plane together to Hawaii.

When we arrive, we swim with the dolphins and then get wine-drunk at our Airbnb as we watch the sun set on the west side of the Big Island.

Once the sun dips below the horizon, Gatsby takes me by the hand. “Come on.”

Inside, we get into bed and make out.

“You looked so fucking perfect today,” he says. “You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen in a bikini.”

I feel myself blush, my body warming as he slides his hand up my thigh.

“I know you’re protective of your body, but I love you. Let’s have sex.”

My breath stills in my throat. “You love me?”

“Yes.”

I’m awestruck.

He whispers in my ear. “And I have a huge dick, FYI.”

High on adrenaline, on swimming with dolphins, on sun and the newness of traveling together, we make love that night. It’s perfect. He’s handsome, athletic, wealthy, organized. He says all the right things at all the right times.

I make coffee the next morning, then get back into bed with a book and sit up next to him while he sleeps. This is so easy. We just fit together.

A song from a band I like, the Red Lemons, plays on my mix that morning:

I always thought true love was a fantasy

My friends get shot by Cupid’s arrow but that’s just not me

What would you do if I were you and you were me?

It’s never this easy, baby, can’t you see?

While I listen, I wonder:

Are they singing its ‘never this easy’ because this song is all just a fantasy of growing old with someone?

Or is the whole song is just a fantasy and a deep relationship truly is ‘never this easy?’

I make a note to myself to look into the Red Lemons and their romances as a band.