Page 9 of You Met Me There

He doesn’t say anymore, and he walks away in the reflection on the window as I look out toward the blackness.

All I wanted was to drink alone after the crappy day I’ve had where I probably just blew up my life. So if giving this guy the cold shoulder is what’s needed to get that, well … so be it. I do feel a little bad, but not that bad.

As I continue to sip my whiskey, I fall back on the thoughts ping-ponging around in my head. Leaving Maple Lake was hard, but leaving Luke is brutal. Never in a million years did I think I’d be going back home—if I can even still call it that. It hasn’t been my home for close to ten years. And look where I am. All of my choices and mistakes have led me here, to a hotel bar in a town I’ve never been to, downing alcohol to numb the pain.

It doesn’t help. It never has—not for long anyway. But at least I’ll get some sleep tonight. Alcohol always puts me to sleep, and it keeps the dreams away.

I rest the back of my hand against my cheek, feeling the flush on my skin. With one last swig, I down the Jack.

“I’ll be right back for more,” I tell the bartender. He nods his head at me in acknowledgment.

I aim for the door facing the beach, stepping out onto the terrace where I pass men playing cornhole and couples whispering in each other’s ears near the shimmering pool. Blue lights shine through the water, but no one’s swimming. The music is still loud, but out here I can hear the ocean waves lapping against the sand.

In one messy collage of thoughts, I’m bombarded with wanting Luke to be here with me, but anger peeks through, taking over my train of emotion. Why can’t he get over his fear of having a baby? Why are his fears more important than my desires? It’s like he doesn’t consider what’s really best for me, what I value. Why does he get to dictate how the rest of my life will go?

With a baby, everything would be different. I don’t want to chase Luke around the country as he checks on his properties or work the rest of my life photographing other people’s accomplishments. At one point, I was happy to do all that, but I want a change. I want the change that comes with being a mother.

I’ve always wanted a child, but seeing a friend bloom as a mother only put it at the forefront of my mind.

The pull grew stronger when Emma was pregnant. Emma was glowing with happiness throughout her whole pregnancy, and even though she didn’t have a partner to share her burdens with, she shined with joy. I want that. The seed of desire was planted when Emma told me she was expecting, and it grew like a rising sun when I met baby Ceecee in the hospital. The way her tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine, and how her wide-set eyes searched for my voice.

When Emma let me hold her that first day, I was a goner. I thought of nothing else other than being a mother; I wanted someone to look at me the way Ceecee looked at her mom. I made Pinterest boards for a baby shower I wanted to plan one day, spent hours walking through the baby aisles in stores, and I watched videos on YouTube on how to sleep train a baby I didn’t have. I even talked about babies in my sleep. Luke told me it happened one night, but he never mentioned it again.

When I near the steps leading down to the beach, I slide my sandals off. They dangle from my fingers as I walk, and I savor the feel of the cool sand sliding between my toes. It’s a minute before I reach the water, but when the waves lap at my feet I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the ocean.

The ocean is a funny thing. Not a ha-ha kind of funny, but a I-have-trouble-explaining-it kind of funny. Oceans are wild, untamed, dangerous things. And yet, they soothe us. We enjoy them. We desire to be where the water is, even though it’s deep and dark and we don’t know what lies under the surface.

People are a lot like that sometimes, but only a few will want to stay around to discover our depths and all the oddities that make up who we are.

A lone tear slips from my eye, tickling my lashes before sliding gracefully down my warm cheek. The sand is cold; the water is cold; my tears are cold against my alcohol-induced blush. Everything in life is cold right now, and as beautiful as the white crescent moon is on the lapping waves, I wonder if my life will ever truly see the sun again.

I trudge back to the bar through the sand, with my thoughts swirling around my head and my shoes in my hand. I order another drink, down the glass like my sleep depends on it—because it does—close my tab, and go back to bed, hoping to dream of the sun.

Chapter 6

Natalie

“I’m so sorry I can’t be there to do your engagement shoot, Madison. A family emergency came up, and I had to leave town for a while. But, don’t worry. I know a lot of amazing photographers in the Miami area who I’m sure would love to book a session with you.” I pause while Madison tells me her worries around scheduling a different day and finding a photographer who matches the style she wants for her pictures. I nod along, trying to keep a smile on my face. Smiles travel through voices, you know.

Once Madison takes a breath, I jump in. “I know. It’s a lot to think about during a chaotic time, with all the planning you’re doing for the wedding. And, again, I’m so extremely sorry I had to cancel. But you’ll get your deposit back in full, so don’t worry at all about that … Uh-huh.” Madison speed-talks again and then she begins to cry.

“Madison, don’t cry,” I say, trying to calm her. My hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, and I turn down the volume on the speakers to muffle her sobs. “Everything will be okay. I’ll send you a list of photographers I know in the area, and I’ll personally reach out to a few I’ve worked with to make sure you get booked around the same time as your original session. The photos you get will look amazing. I’m so excited to see them posted on your page.”

Madison’s tears finally subside. She thanks me while sniffling through the phone. I reassure her once more and hang up.

I rub at my temple. I knew canceling all my scheduled sessions would be hard but hadn’t had the forethought to mentally prepare for emotional breakdowns. I’m busy enough trying to get off my own emotional roller coaster.

With a deep sigh, I click the phone number of the next client with a scheduled photography session on my digital planner. The phone rings, and a man’s voice answers.

“Hello?” he says gruffly.

“Hi, this is Natalie Hamilton,” I reply, “from NataLily Studios. I’m looking for”—I check the name on my planner again, only looking away from the road for a second—“Cynthia?”

“Cynthia can’t come to the phone, but I’m her husband, Craig. Is this about the photo thingy she scheduled next month?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to say that something came up—a family emergency—and I won’t be in town to take your photos. I’m so sorry. I can⁠—”

“Oh, really? That’s too bad,” says Craig, interrupting me. I can tell from his voice, however, that he definitely does not think it’s too bad. If I were to guess, he’s probably smiling. “Cynthia won’t be happy,” he states. “Did she pay you already?”