Anyone but Him

by Cassie Graham

  Since that first moment of clarity, that moment that I realized I loved Jennings, my heart became something it never was.

  Sure.

  Positive.

  No longer fickle.

  My heart was unequivocally his.

  Not mine.

  And I still don’t want it back.

  My heart saw what it wanted the second it knew Jennings was it. I couldn’t fight it or coax it in another direction. It had put its proverbial foot down and was holding its ground.

  It’s the unknown that scares me the most.

  I fall into my bed and listen to the quiet sounds of the house. Outside, an owl hoots and the waves crash dangerously close to the shore. This is the first house I’ve stayed at since I started my journey here in Europe that is on a coastline. It’s the most I’ve felt at home since leaving California. A sense of calm resonates over me, and I let my eyes close.

  So, I guess space is the best thing for me right now. Time to think. Time to give my un-fickle-bitch heart time to sort stuff out. Get my mind right. I need time to cry. I need time to mourn the possibility of never getting Jennings back into my life.

  For how long?

  I honestly couldn’t tell you.

  I went from having a really great friend in Oliver and an amazing boyfriend in Jennings, to having no one.

  This sucks.

  I suck.

  I suck the life out of my own life.

  DAY 12

  (Post Jennings)

  I wake early to the sound of a knock at the door. I haul myself out of my temporary bed and open it to find the two seven-year olds on the other side, giggling.

  “Bonjour,” I greet, smiling at the small blonde girls.

  “Bonjour,” they offer. “Quelque chose est venu dans l’e-mail pour vous.” Good morning, something came in the mail for you.

  One of the girls, the one with dark brown eyes, hands me a tiny piece of paper and the other, the one with blue eyes, presents a flower. The same flower that Jennings gave me in Mexico.

  I thank them, making my way to the bed. Gently, I set the flower down, and brace myself for the letter. I know the handwriting. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. So, I take a deep breath and peel the flap of the envelope back.

  It reads, in Jennings’ elegant script,

  Tears drop from my eyes, and I tuck the note in my suitcase.

  DAY 19

  (Post Jennings)

  I’ve made my way to Belgium now and I’ve found myself in a small café just outside the city. A steaming cup of coffee sits in front of me, the froth in the shape of a heart, and a book in my hands. I’m deep within the world when a young man, possibly fifteen, taps me on my shoulder.

  “Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,” he announces in a timid voice. “Ceci est pour vous.” Excuse me, Miss. This is for you.

  He hands me a letter in the shape of a star.

  I take the note from his hands, smiling at his shy behavior. “Merci, ami.” Thank you, friend.

  The young man leaves, crossing the street, heading into a little bookstore.

  Flap by flap, I open the elaborate folded paper, reading Jennings’ message.

  DAY 24

  (Post Jennings)

  I’ve finally got the hang of living in a different country. My French has sharpened quite a bit since I arrived here, and getting around all of the many countries seems to be easier.

  So far, my internship has been a complete success. Each family that I’ve been with so far has gained great knowledge of the English language. To say I’m proud of the work I done would be an understatement. I finally feel like I’m making my mark in the world. I’m honored to be here, making a difference, hopefully changing the lives of the people I come into contact with.

  My time alone has given me great perspective.

  I miss Jennings.

  I want to be with him.

  But, that doesn’t mean I have to jump right back in. He hurt me. I’m not wounded anymore, my injuries have healed, and I can now fully understand why he did what he did. It wasn’t about me, he did all of this for him. And, his actions, though incredibly stupid, were only made because he didn’t see any other way.

  I can’t fault him for not wanting his world to implode. He wanted a normal life. I get it.

  My internship still has a couple more weeks, and I’m determined to have the most fun while I’m here. And, can you believe it? I’m finally in France. This is the first country I’ve encountered where absolutely no one speaks another language but French.

  I’m extremely glad I didn’t start here first.

  The bookstore down the street from my host family is quaint and smells of mold, but the life it houses might make it the most magical place in the world. There aren’t places to sit like the big chain bookstores back home. The only place to sit is on the floor, and the carpet has dirt imbedded in it from the early nineteen hundreds, but I don’t care. This place is fairy-tale like. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found Belle walking around, singing songs from Beauty and the Beast.

  An early edition of Pride and Prejudice catches my eye and I snatch it from the bookshelf. Satisfied with my discovery, I approach the cashier.

  The old, graying woman smiles at me. “Oh, bon choix. Un classique. Mais, j’ai quelque chose de mieux.” Oh, good choice. A classic. But, I have something better.

  She produces yet another note from Jennings. This time, it’s speckled with glitter. The envelope is black, like the night sky, and my name is written in Jennings’ handwriting.

  I don’t know why, but this one speaks louder than all of the others. I thank the kind woman and pay for my book.

  Day 37

  (Post Jennings)

  It’s officially my last day in the program. I’ve traveled the country teaching seven families English and in the process, my life has become something I didn’t think it would ever be.

  Meaningful.

  I’ve come to the realization that even though I can’t change the world and make up for what happened to Sydney, I can find a way to help in my own little ways.

  Trying is a lot better than giving up, right?

  I don’t know what I’ll do now that it’s all over. I don’t know if I’ll search the job listings for an opening, or if I’ll stay here.

  Europe as a whole, has become something like a home to me. The laid back lifestyle of France is a way of living I’ve never fully experienced until now.

  Plus, Blaine plans on moving into the house once he returns from his current job, so it might be prudent for me to stay here.

  Start a new life.

  Jennings will always be with me. And for what it’s worth, forgiveness came a long time ago. But, I don’t want to live in the shadow of my former life, anymore. I’m ready to pave a new way for myself and go in another direction.

  That isn’t to say I won’t miss my old life. I will. I’ll miss the sandy beach and our little bungalow. I’ll miss the certain way the wind hits just as the surf comes in, making our little space seem a tad whimsical. Mostly though, I’ll miss the people. My friends from college, Bradley, Sophia, little Addie, Blaine and Holli…I’ll seriously miss Holli. Not having her in the same home will almost feel like a limb has been ripped away.

  But, starting over seems to be a good choice.

  Maybe going back will prove to beat me down. I can make new friends here. I can find a job, become a contractor and keep teaching English. It’s a good, sturdy plan.

  There’s only one problem.

  I don’t know if I can actually leave Jennings behind.

  The memory of him, it’s on a constant loop in my mind. Every time I close my eyes, he’s there, standing front and center. Any time I let my mind wander, he’s around.

  I plop myself down at a table at yet another coffee shop, and swipe my hair away from my face. Since leaving, I’ve cut a good portion of it off. It was long when I left, falling just below the middle of my back. But you know what they say, if you want to change your l
ife, change your hair.

  Okay…no one says that, but at the time, it sounded good to me. So, now, I feel edgy. It’s short, just above my shoulders and I let the natural curl take over. I like it.

  I finally like my life.

  Pulling out the bookmark that I used to keep my place, I take a sip of tea and delve into the world written before me.

  The sun is low in the sky, turning the inside of the café a light orange color.

  I hum. Happy to be content.

  I must have sat for hours. The café is bursting at the seams the next time I look up from my book. Every surface is taken up by a body. I was so engrossed, I hadn’t noticed the influx of customers.

  “Escusez-moi, mais puis-je m’asseoir ici?” someone asks in a gentle voice behind me. Excuse me, but may I sit here?

  The jazz band now plays in the front, creating an ambiance. Laid back and easy going.

  Without looking up from my book, I reply, “Aller de l’avant.” Go ahead.

  The person moves by me swiftly, sitting down, but I don’t look away. I’m too entranced in my book to see who it is.

  So, I sit, reading, listening to the smooth music coming from the front of the shop.

  It’s not until later when my phone rings that my trance is broken.

  “Hi, Holls,” I say into the receiver, trying to read words as I talk.

  “Hello, Miss France. How’s it going?” she asks, excited.

  I shrug, though she can’t see me. “Good. Sitting in a little shop just outside of the city.”

  “Is that music I hear?”

  I set the book down on the table, dropping my elbow on top so I can still read and take a drink of tea. “Yep, there’s a little three-man band playing.”

  “Sounds amazing. It’s cold here in Vancouver. I can’t wait to go back to Europe.”

  “Speaking of, I don’t know when I’ll be home, Holls.”

  “What?” The line goes silent.

  I huff, playing with the bracelet Jennings gave me at the wedding. “I’m just not ready to come back yet.”

  “Do you—uhh, are you thinking about moving there?” she asks.

  “Maybe. I don’t know if I want to come back.”

  “Why? Because of what happened with Jennings?”

  “No—maybe. It’s not just him. It’s everything. It’s the memories I left behind. Sydney…Amy,” I say her name in a whisper because thinking about her still hurts. My scar pulses in my stomach and I have to force myself not to go back to that basement.

  “I know, but there’s a lot here that makes your life good.”

  “I know,” I agree, feeling more confused than ever.

  “We all want you here.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “Especially Jennings. I know you still love him,” Holli taunts.

  “I do love him. Loving him isn’t the problem.”

  She laughs. “Then, what is?”

  “Honestly?” I ask. “I have no idea. It’s just the idea of being here, it seems simpler.”

  “Easier isn’t always better,” Holli counters.

  “And, why not?” I question.

  “Look up, Whit,” she tells me.

  “What?” I ask. “Why?” But, my eyes flutter up to find Jennings sitting in the seat across the table from me. His eyes smile when I finally see him. He crosses his arms and smiles his warm, generous, toothy grin. The phone drops from my hand and I break our contact to pick it up.

  “Uh, Holli, I need to call you back.”

  She snickers ending the call.

  “Wh—how are you here?” I stutter, baffled.

  He laughs, his eyes finding my clutched hands on the table. “It’s time, Whitley.”

  “Time for what?” I ask, breathless.

  “It’s time for me and you to be us, again,” he professes without a hint of doubt. “I’m only me when I’m with you. You, and me, we are the only real thing in my life. And, I don’t like to live life without giving myself everything I want.” He doesn’t blink. “Be with me, Whitley. Please.” His eyes shine like he’s about to cry and I can’t quiet the sob reaching up into my throat.

  “Jennings,” I exhale. “I want that. All of it, but I don’t know…”

  “You don’t know what? You don’t know if you love me?”

  “No, my love for you is still intact,” I persist.

  “Then what is it?” he probes.

  I shake my head and look out of the window, watching people pass by us.

  How is it possible that he’s here? Was it only hours ago that I thought I was alone?

  “Home lacks the magic that France has,” I state.

  He huffs. “The problem with our world is we don’t believe in magic. We always want it to somehow solve our problems, but then we don’t actually trust in it. Maybe we need to start seeing the magic in all of the good things in our life and embrace it’s power.”

  My nose sniffles and I laugh. “I guess it doesn’t matter where you are. You can be miserable. Misery doesn’t care how beautiful the city is. When you’re alone, the lights are dimmer and the sounds are dull. Hell, people even move in slow motion.”

  How did I miss the vibrancy of the red wall behind him? Or the bright yellow chairs strewn about the café? The building outside is a midnight blue and even that is a totally different color than it was an hour ago.

  “I’m miserable without you, Pretty Girl,” Jennings confesses.

  I laugh and unclench my hands, becoming lax. “There are other fates worse than yours, Jennings.”

  “Maybe, but my world without you is a fate I don’t want. I’ve lived in this twisted paradise for weeks now. A paradise of my own doing, mind you, and I have no one to blame but myself. But, I want you, Whitley. I’m so very sorry for what I did.”

  I wipe my cheeks, the salty moisture dampening them. “I know you are.”

  “I’ve never missed anyone the way I missed you,” he whispers, leaning onto the table.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Want to get out of here?” he asks, looking outside.

  I close my book and stuff it in my purse, throwing my phone into the pocket next to it. “Yeah.”

  He takes me by the hand, leading me to the center of the city. Motorized bikes and people walking at jog-like speeds pass by us because it’s freezing, but I don’t hear anything but Jennings breathing. Car lights flash in front of us, but we never stop walking. With effortless steps, he takes me to a fountain just inside the square.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask, letting the smile over take my face.

  Bright flashes of color dance in unison with the spray of water and I watch with rapt attention. With his boots, black leather jacket, and jeans, he steps into the fountain, offering me his hand.

  “It’s freezing, Jennings,” I shout over the slapping water.

  “That’s the point,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and grind my teeth. I was already cold. But instead of telling him I won’t go in the icy water, I take his hand, letting my feet fall into the arctic liquid.

  The spray cascades over us, and once again, it feels as if the rain is washing over us.

  Jennings pulls me to him, embracing me in his strong hold. “Feel the water,” he says. “Don’t just let it soak you. Don’t let it drown you. Swim in it, let the magic work its way into you and do something worth believing.” His grasp loosens a little bit so he can look at me. “Believe in me. Believe in us.”

  Air stops in my lungs, and I swallow. Our love wasn’t instant. It gradually grew in the moments we shared together. It brought light into my unstable world. It sparked from the embers of our instant passion. It grew from my heartache. It even sprouted from betrayal. But, it grew.

  “It’s time,” I agree bringing my face close to kiss him.

  “Hey!” someone shouts at us. “Sortez de cette fontaine!” Hey! Get out of that fountain!

  Jennings sniggers, kisses my forehead, and pulls me out of the w
ater. “I love you, Pretty Girl. The stars didn’t shine while you were gone.”

  “It really is wrong that as soon as we get home, you have to go back to Arizona,” I say to Jennings as we stand outside the jet.

  “It’s the life, Whit. But, I’m only a couple hours away. The moment you want to get on the plane to see me, I’ll send Stewart.”

  I nod my head, biting my lip, forcing my eyes to not leak.

  He kisses my knuckles and I attempt to muster a smile.

  “Let’s make a promise to each other,” he offers while a tear falls from my eye. He wipes it away with his thumb. “Let’s promise that no matter what’s going on, no matter what we are doing, we’ll go outside at the same time every night and look at the moon.”

  My eyes crinkle, and my bottom lip trembles. “Okay?” It comes out like a question.

  A lungful of air blows out of his nose in silent laughter, and he caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. “No matter how far I am from you, the moon and stars will always be the same. It’s our constant. You’ll see the same moon that I see. It’ll connect us. As long as we see the moon, we will know that we have a fighting chance. The distance won’t matter.”

  “A moon date?” I joke.

  He kisses my nose. “Exactly.”

  A sob rips from my chest and I lay my head on his shoulder. “I’m not ready to let you go, yet,” I say in a small voice.

  Jennings brings his arms around me tight, and places his lips on mine. “I don’t want to go either.”

  I breathe in deep. “But, you have to.”

  He closes his eyes.

  God, this sucks.

  “I do,” he agrees.

  “I love you, you know.”

  Jennings gives a little laugh. “I know. And I love you, too. More than I can put into words.”

  I gulp. “Those will do.”

  Isn’t it funny? Love mends the broken. It somehow makes it whole again. What I thought I wanted suddenly didn’t seem like an option anymore. Jennings took every preconceived notion I had about love and threw them on its ass. My beliefs didn’t know what hit them when Jennings walked into my life.

  He places his forehead on mine, looking deep into my eyes. “Goodbye’s aren’t easy. They have a way of beating you down, I know. They make you bleed. They pull at your insides and make you feel empty. Distance always meant freedom. Freedom to do bad things. A free pass. A restart button.”