Page 59 of Let's Call a Truce
Ben and I headed to the security line, both turning back to wave to our kids one more time. My heart pinched, wondering how I would get through five days without getting to hug them or kiss them good night.
A reassuring hand ran down my back. “We’ll FaceTime with them every night. It will be like we’re there.” I nodded, blinking back my tears as I watched them walk toward the exit.
The rest of the trip to Boston passed uneventfully. We gathered our bags and hopped in a taxi for downtown. Billings College was in the heart of Boston, right next to Boston Common and the Public Garden.
It was my first trip to Boston, and I was hoping to squeeze in a bit of sightseeing between meetings. Dean Warren had written up a whole schedule for us, complete with meetings with faculty members, interviews with students, and a fancy dinner with President Munchen, but he left our first day open to get settled into our hotel and to account for potential flight delays.
Our hotel rooms weren’t ready for check-in yet, so we dropped our bags and headed out.
“Let’s walk through the gardens.”
Ben grabbed my hand and started towing me in their direction. A zing of energy flew up my arm from the contact, butterflies erupting in my stomach as he wove our fingers together, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s freezing. Don’t you want to do something indoors?”
“Stop being a baby. It’s forty-five degrees out. You can’t come to Boston and not see the Public Garden. Plus, all the best parts of Boston are outside.”
“That seems like a design flaw,” I muttered, dragging myfeet as he pulled me into a city way colder than my poor Floridian blood could handle.
The snow had melted, and the flower beds were still empty. Ben stopped me at the entrance to the park, looking out over the statue of George Washington and the beautiful soft-blue footbridge cutting through the middle of the gardens. Ben stood close behind me, dropping his mouth to my ear.
“It doesn’t look like much, but take a minute to imagine it at other times of year. Spring doesn’t actually spring in Boston for another month, but in May, every bed is filled with tulips. Asia mentioned they are your favorite. They reach as far as you can see, all different colors creating a rainbow. They trade them out in summer for all different kinds of flowers. Fall is a flood of reds, yellows, and oranges, and winter is a blanket of white with icicles hanging off the willows and people ice-skating on the pond. It’s magical.”
I leaned back into him, letting his words transport me to the beauty he described, even though I found the garden beautiful as it was. He slipped his arms around my waist, hugging me even closer.
“I’d love to see that.” I left offwith youeven though it rang in my mind.
His smile was contagious as he pulled me farther into the gardens. “Maybe we can come back.”
He pointed out his favorite parts of the park, spouting off about both United States history and his own. It was like I was meeting him for the first time, understanding a bit more about where he came from as he dragged me farther into the city.
Travel wasn’t a part of my life growing up. My parents both moved to Florida from other states, and any money saved for vacation went toward visiting family members. Our “hotels” were family guest rooms, our “sights” the cornfields of Ohio or Nebraska. It was a great way to get to know my grandparents and cousins, especially since we didn’t have FaceTime orFacebook to keep us easily connected, but it meant by the time I was eighteen I had really never been anywhere.
When I found out getting to live abroad as a student was an option, I became obsessed. I fixated on the image of me strutting around Paris in the latest fashions, of hiking the Andes to study Incan culture, of being doused in different colors at the Holi festival in India. I didn’t know then what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I wanted to do some of it in a different country. Every cent I saved flew straight into my study-abroad fund.
Years later, when the time came to leave for Vienna, I was terrified. But the trip was life-changing. The new culture mesmerized me—the art and history that can’t be found in the United States. Travel became a bit of a drug for me. Jason and I constantly prioritized travel savings so we could go someplace new at least once a year.
Between the heartbreak of losing him and the substantial decrease in income, travel had fallen by the wayside. It’s hard to think about adventures when you’re trying to keep your head above water. This was the first time I had left Orlando since he died, and I was shocked to realize just how much of my soul had been missing. My heart swelled in my chest, a tingling sensation as I took in the new buildings, the unique New England food, the places that laid the foundation of our country. I needed to bring this back into our lives. For me, this was living.
My eyes flitted back and forth between the stores and incredible architecture around Quincy Market. I let out a squeak as Ben tugged me to the side, sliding into a quiet alcove.
His twinkling eyes enthralled me as the small area forced him into my space. “So, what do you think?”
“Think?” My eyes dropped to his lips as I tried to focus my mind on what we were discussing. He chuckled.
“Of my city.” He inched closer as his hands moved to my waist.
“It’s incredible. I would have expected you to be more interesting after growing up somewhere so cool.” He dropped his face to the crook of my neck, laughing lightly into my skin. His breath set off a chain reaction, heating my body to the tips of my toes.
“I’m sure you find me plenty interesting. Need me to remind you of just how interesting I can be?” His lips ghosted up my neck, and a soft mewling sound escaped me.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed this.” Ben pulled back, looking at me questioningly. “Traveling, I mean. It had meant so much to me before my husband died.”
He smiled, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. “Then let’s show you the real Boston. Give you a taste of travel before we get stuck in meeting rooms for the next three days.”
We stopped back at the hotel to get into our rooms before he took me out to a hole-in-the-wall that had been around since his parents were kids. I savored the bit of personal history as much as I savored the food—oysters and lobster and fish the Bostonians prided themselves on.
“How could you leave this place?” I wasn’t sure if I meant the city or literally this restaurant.
