by Linda Seed
Nix balled up his napkin and threw it at Evan, striking him on the left shoulder.
“Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to tell you what happened.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Evan stopped smiling at his own joke and leaned forward to listen, his forearms on the table. “But, I mean … you proposed? I had no idea.”
“Yeah, I did. And she said no. And now … is there some kind of rule about what happens if you propose to someone and they turn you down? Are you supposed to break up, or can you just … I don’t know. Dial it back and try again later?”
“I’m not sure there’s an actual rule book, dude.”
Of course there wasn’t, but it would be so much easier if there were. He could look at Chapter Six: Failed Proposals for step-by-step instructions on what to do now. Failing that, he had to make it up as he went along.
He gave Evan the summary: how he’d proposed, what she’d said, and how he’d reacted. And, finally, how she’d gone back to Los Angeles, maybe forever.
Evan’s expression indicated he was either impressed or horrified by the sheer magnitude of Nix’s mishandling of the situation.
“I assume you’ve called her.”
“She doesn’t pick up.”
“Then you called her friend.”
“Yes.”
Evan filled his cheeks with air, then blew it out slowly. “The question is, did her no mean she’s not ready right now, or that she wouldn’t be ready if you and she were one of the last surviving male-female pairs on a post-apocalyptic planet and it was dependent on you to repopulate the species.”
“Colorfully put, but basically … yes.”
“Did you ask her?”
“Like I said, she doesn’t pick up when I call her. But her friend said I’m not necessarily wasting my time, for what that’s worth.”
The waitress brought plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes and set them on the table. Then she set down a pitcher of maple syrup and a little plate of butter pats.
When she was gone, Nix poured syrup on his pancakes and sighed. “I just don’t know what to do, man.”
“You kept the ring,” Evan pointed out.
“Yeah.”
“You know what you’re going to do, then. You just have to summon up the balls to do it.”
“I guess.”
They ate for a while, thinking about that.
Finally, Nix asked, “So, how much space do I give her before I go down there and apologize for being an ass and ask her to take me back?”
“I don’t know, man. But if she’s not taking your calls, I’d say she needs more.”
He was right. If Nix went down there demanding to see her when she wasn’t ready for that, then it was only going to make things worse. He was perfectly willing to grovel and beg, but he didn’t want to do it until he was reasonably confident it might work.
“Women are a mystery,” Evan declared, a piece of bacon held between his fingers.
“How would you know?” Nix said. “It’s been, what, six months since you’ve had a date?”
“That’s why I haven’t had a date in six months.” Evan pointed the bacon slice at Nix. “Because the ways of women are dark and unfathomable.”
It occurred to Nix that he might have asked the wrong guy for advice.
Chapter 32
Joy was out of Amber’s place within two weeks.
She found a studio apartment over someone’s garage in Ventura, at a rent that was roughly the same as what she’d paid Nix. It was a fraction of the size of her condo, so she’d only have to get a few key items of furniture from storage: her bed, the kitchen table and chairs, a sofa, some side tables and lamps.
She’d looked halfheartedly for a place in Los Angeles, but the more she looked at photos of apartments and maps of neighborhoods, the more she knew she didn’t want to live there anymore. She’d fallen in love with the Central Coast, and Ventura was closer to that feeling—that vibe—than L.A. was, while also being reasonably close to Amber. It was also closer to Nix than L.A. was, though she told herself that wasn’t a factor.
The apartment was nice enough—the main house was an old Victorian on Main Street, and the garage and apartment had been added later—with high ceilings and big windows that let in lots of light. The kitchenette was tiny, but it had been recently renovated, with granite countertops and new compact appliances.
Still, she couldn’t help comparing it to Nix’s tiny house. Nix had built the house with love, something she hadn’t appreciated when she’d moved in but which she did now. Her new place had been constructed by some anonymous crew, no doubt, while the tiny house had been put together piece by piece like an inhabitable work of art.
Also, she had to admit that missing his place was about more than just the craftsmanship. The tiny house was so infused with Nix’s personality—was so him—that she could feel him in every corner, every space, even when he wasn’t there.
The apartment was just a place to live. Nix’s house had been an extension of his personality.
But there was no point in looking back, Joy reminded herself. The new place would be fine for now. It wasn’t long-term; it was just until she figured out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
One thing it did have that reminded her of Nix’s place was the coziness of a small space. Before the past year, she’d always thought bigger was better. Now she knew that bigger was just … bigger.
More space had always made her feel that she had to fill it with more stuff, and before she’d known it, she’d been serving her belongings more than they were serving her.
Getting out of that cycle had been a change she wanted to maintain in her life regardless of what she might do next.
Joy hired movers to bring her things down from Cambria and put some of them in the apartment and the rest in a storage unit close to her new place.
She decorated the apartment with a few favorite things, choosing the look of her surroundings based on what she liked, not what would look good on Instagram.
That was a start.
She’d set up a small desk and chair in a corner of the tiny apartment, and she gave herself a daily writing schedule. Every day, she worked on her book and on her blog, and the regularity of that—the routine of it—helped to structure her day and make her feel less unmoored.
She visited Amber, and sometimes Amber visited her. She walked on the beach or on Main Street, took drives into the hills of Ventura County, took daily runs on the streets surrounding her new home, and tried not to shop.
Sometimes, she took her laptop to a funky coffeehouse in the city’s historic downtown to work there. She sipped and typed and took in the people-watching and the gritty but interesting downtown vibe.
She was doing okay, she really was. Even if she missed Nix so much it felt like sharp claws ripping at her heart.
Joy knew she could call him. He’d tried to call her, after all, so that meant he wanted to see her. She could so easily pick up where they’d left off, falling into his arms and forgetting their breakup had ever happened.
But that would leave her right back where she’d started—unsure about what she wanted from her future and from him.
And it wouldn’t change how impatient he’d been—how angry and harsh—when she’d needed more time to decide. If he couldn’t wait for her to be sure, then there was no future for them, anyway.
Much of the time, she was just existing: eating, sleeping, writing, going through the motions of living but not feeling any of it. Even so, she knew it was in service of something greater, something more.
Joy couldn’t have continued the way she’d been going, so taking her life in a different direction had been necessary, essential.
Change was never easy. Hers certainly hadn’t been, and it wasn’t now.
This part of it—this phase of her becoming—was unavoidable and hard. She was no longer who she had been, but she wasn’t yet who she was going to be.
She was still waiting. And
right now, she wanted nothing more than for Nix to wait with her.
If he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—then she’d just have to do this essential, difficult work herself.
When Nix had been back in his tiny house for a month, things had gone back to normal—mostly.
He worked at the market, tended his organic garden, saw friends, and, more exciting, worked on plans for a tiny house for someone who had seen his on Joy’s blog and had contacted him wanting one of their own.
He’d always dreamed of having his own business designing tiny houses, and now it seemed like he had a start on it—thanks to Joy.
But it was hard to think of Joy without reliving the searing pain of her absence.
He still had the ring, and he still hadn’t given up on her.
He knew she needed space, so he was waiting.
The problem was, there wouldn’t be some sort of divine signal when she was ready to see him again, so how would he know? It wasn’t like there’d be skywriting. It wasn’t like it would come to him in a dream.
A couple of weeks after she left, he’d texted her.
I don’t want this to be over between us. I know you need time, so take it. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be waiting.
He was still waiting.
“Heard from Joy yet?” Louise asked him every now and then at the market, when they were both in the break room or when they passed each other in the cereal aisle.
“Not yet.” He tried to keep his tone upbeat. Tried not to sound like a man on the edge of despair.
“You think it’s time to go down there and find her?” Louise asked, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised.
She was assuming that at some point, he would do just that.
Every time he had a day off, every time he had some time on his hands, he fought with himself.
Go down there? Amber’s home address was listed online, and Nix assumed Joy was still staying with her.
If not, Amber would know where she was, and he was pretty sure he could persuade her to tell him.
Stay here and keep waiting?
Wasn’t it true that people who failed to take decisive action often ended up regretting their passivity for the rest of their lives?
Whatever was best for Joy, he was willing to do it. But how could he know what that was if she wouldn’t talk to him? If she wouldn’t tell him?
When Joy had been gone for two months, Nix started dating again.
He didn’t want to, not particularly. But he was proving to himself that he could move on. Proving that his life wasn’t over just because Joy had left.
One warm Saturday evening, he went to dinner with a woman he’d met at the market. He picked her up at her house on Lodge Hill and took her to a restaurant with an ocean view.
They sat and talked and sipped wine and ate, and the whole time, Nix kept comparing her to Joy.
Through the entire date, he felt an unpleasant tug in his chest, a gnawing ache, because he was here with the wrong woman, and she would never be the right one, no matter how lovely and kind she might be, no matter how funny and smart.
There was only one right one, and she wasn’t here.
It felt like a death, really. He’d been in mourning before, and it was a lot like this. Just breathing in and out and going through the motions in the hope that one day you might feel better.
Even though you were certain that such a thing was not possible and never would be again.
Joy finished her manuscript after two months of sustained work at her desk in her new home.
She sent it to Paula Green, her editor, along with the photos she planned to use—some were images she’d used on Instagram, and some were photos she’d held back for the book.
Paula got back to her a few days later and told her they’d need Nix to sign a release so they could use the photos that included him or his property. He himself was only in a couple of the images, but his house was in many, many more.
Somehow, Joy hadn’t anticipated that, and she froze, speechless.
“But … is that really necessary? I mean, it’s just a precaution, right?”
“Well, no. It’s required. We can’t publish the photos of him or his property without his signature.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a problem?” Paula sounded distracted, and Joy could hear the sound of typing on the other end of the line.
“No. No problem. It’s just … we didn’t exactly leave things on good terms, so …”
“Nasty breakup?”
Joy hadn’t told Paula that she’d been seeing Nix in the first place, so she hedged.
“That’s not … I didn’t …”
“I can send him a letter with the forms if you’d like. Nice and informal, so you won’t have to talk to him.”
But that would be like a slap in the face, and she knew it. Joy didn’t want to be a coward.
“No. No, it’s fine. E-mail me the forms and I’ll … I’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him to sign them.”
Joy heard the tap-tap-tap of Paula’s keyboard. “Done. They should be in your inbox now.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want to alarm you, Joy, but if he doesn’t sign, we’ve got a problem.”
“No, I get it. I’ll take care of it.”
For a good half hour after she got off the phone, Joy went back and forth with herself on whether she should take him the forms in person or deal with it all through e-mail.
She reminded herself that she didn’t want to be a coward.
On the other hand, there was something to be said for caution.
She composed an e-mail—a careful, professional one—and sent him the forms.
Surely he wouldn’t stand in the way of her getting her book published.
Nix would never do that.
Chapter 33
When Nix saw a message from Joy in his e-mail inbox, his heart nearly stopped. Or, it probably didn’t, but it felt that way.
He hadn’t opened it yet. He was afraid to. What if she was saying she wanted to end things with him for good? What if this was her definitive statement that she didn’t want him?
It could be good news, though. Maybe she was ready to talk to him. Maybe she was even ready to see him.
He got up from his little kitchen table where he’d been looking at his laptop and paced the length of his tiny house, his hands on top of his head, fingers entangled in his hair.
Calm down. You’re just going to read it, and you’re not going to lose your shit.
He was so prepared for it to be either a breakup letter or a reconciliation letter that he was taken off guard when it turned out to be a business letter.
Photos of him and his house—legal release forms.
He felt so let down that at first, he didn’t see it for the opportunity it was.
Sign it or don’t sign it. Those were his choices.
Then, he realized he had another option.
I’ll sign the forms, but only in person, he wrote to her after lengthy deliberation. You can bring them here or I can come to you. But we’re doing this face to face.
He sent the e-mail feeling satisfied with himself. Seeing Joy was no guarantee that she’d want to get back together with him, but it was an open door. Now he just had to see if he could get her to walk through it.
In person?
Joy read Nix’s e-mail with her eyebrows drawn together, her mouth slightly open in either fear or surprise.
Or maybe it was excitement.
She didn’t know. She didn’t even understand her own mind.
Was she angry that he was backing her into a corner? A little, yes. Maybe. But she’d effectively shut him out for months, and she couldn’t blame him if he wanted some closure.
And maybe, a voice inside her whispered, it isn’t closure. Maybe it’s a new beginning.
And maybe I’m an idiot for expecting anything but his signature.
Joy might not know yet who she wanted to be or what she wanted her future
to look like. But she did know that over the past year she’d become strong enough to face the unfinished things in her life.
At least she could do that.
I’ll come to Cambria, she wrote to Nix, her fingers shaking a little on the keyboard. What’s a good day for you?
Nix had a hard time concentrating on anything in the twenty-four hours before Joy was scheduled to visit.
He did his shift at the market, where he dropped a box full of glass jars of pasta sauce, creating a mess that looked like a crime scene.
He tried to work on the tiny house design for his new client but found that he’d accidentally placed the floor of the sleeping loft two feet below the ceiling.
Finally, he gave up. He went into the loft, stretched out on his bed, and looked at the sky through the skylight, examining his options.
One: he could ask her to give him another chance. Two: he could beg her to give him another chance. And three: well, there was no three.
Maybe he’d change his mind once he saw her. Maybe he’d realize that the Joy he’d constructed in his mind since she’d left wasn’t the same as the real one. Maybe he’d realize he’d been longing for a lie. Then he could just let go and get on with his life.
Not likely, but it was possible.
He just hoped he’d be able to conduct himself like a man when he saw her. He hoped he would maintain his dignity instead of throwing himself at her feet.
Though, if throwing himself at her feet would work, he was willing to try it.
She’d said she would meet him for lunch at a restaurant on Main Street. She got there early and slid into a booth, the papers she needed him to sign tucked into her purse.
She had a mug of coffee in front of her, though she was only sipping at it halfheartedly. Her nerves were already jittery as it was.
Her eyes locked onto his the moment he came in the door. He froze when he saw her, then she watched him gather himself and put on a neutral expression before he walked over to her.
