But here, in Scotland, I could totally be a barmaid. Here, I can be anyone I want to be. That’s the beauty of travel, of throwing everything you know aside and starting over.
That said, I don’t want to start seriously looking until everything is official. That means as soon as I’ve officially resigned from my job, as soon as I’ve filled in my friends and family, well that’s when the work begins.
I just wish, wish, that there wasn’t this tiny, niggling feeling in the back of my chest that’s telling me that things aren’t going to work out the way I want them to. That it won’t be that easy. And that there is a lot of heartache coming my way.
When Monday morning rolls around I get up with the intention that when everyone else in the world rises, when Monday hits on Pacific Time, then I’ll make the phone calls. Maybe that notion makes me already a bit irritable to begin with, I don’t know. But Lachlan wakes up on the wrong side of the bed too. Even Emily is a bit snappish, though Lionel is about as chill as can be, regarding us all warily.
I guess I’m leaving it down to the wire here. Technically there’s only a few days left for me here and if I had been proactive, and already booked my flight, I’d be leaving at the end of the week. Maybe that’s also adding to the prickly stew, the sense of the unknown.
But if I know anything it’s that coffee solves everything. I head into the kitchen to make a whole bunch of it, while grumpy pants Lachlan takes his monosyllabic caveman speak to the washroom.
After one cup I’m feeling better, the cobwebs clearing, and Lachlan strides into the kitchen with the towel around his waist, hair damp from the shower. I always make time to check him out, I mean, a girl can’t help it. Living with him is like living in some girl’s Tumblr account filled with tall, muscular, tattooed, men. And by “some girl,” I totally mean my account from a few years ago.
“I made coffee,” I say to him rather dumbly but coffee doesn’t give me a new brain until the second cup.
He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs. “Thanks,” he says, but doesn’t look at me.
“Rough night?” I ask him. We’d both gone to bed at a decent hour and I know that it still took me a few hours to fall asleep, my mind going over every big thing I needed to do.
He shrugs and finally looks at me. His eyes are a bit wired looking, bloodshot. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep well either.
“I’m fine,” he says, getting out a frying pan to make some eggs. “So today you’re going to talk to work, yeah?”
Right. So this is weighing on him.
I nod, hoping my smile hides how unsure I am. Again, not about moving here it’s just…well, nothing is for certain it seems and all my fears keep sneaking up on me. “As soon as it rolls around to nine a.m. over there, I’m making the call.”
He studies me sharply. “You’re actually going to quit your job?”
Jesus. Did he have to voice it so plainly? My fear multiplies.
“Like we said.”
“Good,” he says and turns back to busying himself with breakfast.
“Are you all right?” I ask him, coming over and placing my hand on the hard, sinewy muscles of his back.
He pauses, his chin dipping down for a moment. “Yeah. No. Sorry. Sorry, love.” He gives me a tight smile. “One of those mornings when you wake up with a monkey on your back. You know?”
“Of course,” I tell him, reaching for a cup and pouring him some coffee. “But coffee is the cure for everything, we know this.”
“Thanks,” he says softly, taking it from me. “I’m just…holding my breath, I guess.” He takes a sip before putting it down and getting back to eggs. “And the first game is coming up, against Glasgow, and I both want to play and I don’t. I want to prove myself, that I’m back, but I don’t want to risk going out there and fucking it all up. Or fucking myself up.”
“I think you know your body better than anything,” I tell him, hoping I make sense. The last thing I want is for him to stress even more. “And your body knows exactly what to do to win a game. Granted, I haven’t seen you practice much but I would be totally lying if I told you I hadn’t been watch Youtube video after Youtube video of you playing, running people over, scoring tries and just fucking owning it. You’re going to be fine.”
“And us?” he asks, glancing at me. “What about us?”
“You should never worry about us,” I tell him and in the moment I say it, I believe it completely.
***
While Lachlan goes off to rugby practice, I stay in the flat thinking about all the phone calls I have to make. While I know it’s the right thing to do, what I want to do, I’m not sure how responsible it is. Okay, I know how responsible it isn’t. That’s what’s making me hesitate when I stare at the phone, turning it over and over in my hands, counting down to when I have to pull the trigger.
What if it doesn’t work out between us? What if I give up everything for him, to stay here, to be with him, and our relationship isn’t strong enough to survive whatever will be thrown our way? We’re so new at this, not just in terms of knowing each other, but in terms of love. We both haven’t had a lot of experience, least I know I haven’t. Not like this. And what if moving here is harder than it looks, that once the honeymoon period wears off I start resenting Lachlan for never having to make any sacrifices himself?
I don’t want that to happen. But if I don’t take the risk, I’ll never know. It’s the honest truth that I love him so much that it’s consuming me. My first encounter with him planted a seed and I had no idea how fast and lush it would grow inside of me. I’m tangled in love, hopelessly, as it grows over me like a beautiful weed, ruthless to the root.
Part of me wants to bring out the weed killer and spray the shit out of myself, because I’ve never been the kind of girl to feel this way, to do the insane things I’m about to do. The other part wants to revel in the wildness, to embrace it, to grow crazy and merciless and unchecked.
At around four p.m., Lachlan hasn’t arrived back from practice yet and I decide to make the call. I choose my mother because she always has to come first, even before my job.
The phone rings and rings and rings. It’s early at home but she’s always gotten up at the crack of dawn anyway. I sigh and hang up, feeling a strange sense of relief that I don’t have to break the news to her just yet.
I’m about to call Stephanie, just to feel like I’ve done something, when I hear Lachlan’s keys in the door. I also hear voices.
I crane my neck from the couch to see him come inside the hall with Brigs. Lionel and Emily jump off the couch from beside me, Lionel wagging his tail at Lachlan’s brother, Emily barking at him.
“Oy, shut up,” Lachlan says to her and it’s the first time I’ve heard him yell at a dog. It puts a sour taste in my mouth.
I cautiously get off the couch and come over to them.
Lachlan is different. The change in him is immediate. His head is lower, shoulders hunched up, a cagey tightness in his eyes. He’s out of his uniform and in jeans and a V-necked shirt, but I don’t think he’s showered from after practice. A patch of mud clings to his arm.
“Hi,” I say to Brigs, bringing my eyes over to him. “Nice to see you again. If I knew you were coming, I would have made myself look more presentable.”
“Oh, please,” Brigs says to me, displaying a charming smile and very white, straight teeth that no doubt was created by an orthodontist. “You look lovely.”
Lachlan stalks off into the dining room, heading for the kitchen. I watch him go then look back to Brigs expectantly.
“Did something happen?” I ask quickly, lowering my voice.
He purses his lips, eyes darting to the dining room. “I had time today, so I went by to watch his practice. I told him a few days ago I might stop by, so he knew. I always try and see a few games, kind of tradition, aye? Well, I only caught the last half of practice cuz I was running late and I got there just in time to see him completely plow into Denny. Denny’s his teammate. Lachlan didn’t pull back at all. I know he normally does. Now Denny’s fucking injured, who knows how bad. Might have dislocated his shoulder.”