Page 76 of Holding Out for a Gyro
Challenge: Visit a museum
I hadn’t expected Chelsea to let me back in. I’d considered advice from every angle and realized my only recourse was to lay our cards on the table and see where we stood. Before Thanksgiving, I’d been following some kind of script, expecting our relationship to develop from one level to the next despite Chelsea’s well-articulated defenses. I thought I’d be the one to blow through her walls and make her love me. Zoe had been right about that.
The pig-headed side of me thought I needed to claim her, worried more about how to define our relationship than on keeping it. And then it hit me like a truck falling from the sky: I’d been waiting for something I already had. I’d hadher. But then I lost her.
I considered it a gift that she wanted to stay friends.
My sister teased me, saying, “I told you to give her space, but leave it to you to find a way to quit your big dream and get left with the part-time job.”
I didn’t see it that way. Thanks to Chelsea’s astute observation, I could say, “We’re making this work our own way.”
The lack of conventional structure took the pressure off both of us. Chelsea wanted safety, and while she expected romance to blow up in her face, she was a champion friend. Meanwhile, I needed to stop trying towinat a relationship and just let things be. Basically, we were both learning to trust each other withoutthe false expectations.
Coming to terms with reality liberated me to make plans that didn’t involve Chelsea, so I asked myself what my future should look like. And then I called my uncle.
Come January, I’d move on with my life and my career.
But December was ours.
Even in the midst of all the extra holiday work, I saw Chelsea nearly every day. Sometimes it was a phone call, but more often than not, she’d bring over a bottle of wine or I’d offer to cook at her place. And we’d just hang out while we worked on our laptops or she designed pretty jewelry. Passing the time together, we chatted and shared pieces of ourselves.
One morning, I dropped by on my way to work to feed her. While she worked on her graphic design on the sofa, I whipped up some batter and fried doughnut holes in a cast iron skillet. I sprinkled powdered sugar and drizzled syrup over for glue, then built a small pyramid to present with glee. Chelsea’s jaw dropped when I set my project on the coffee table.
“Too much?”
“I doughnut believe you did that,” she said, laughing.
I grinned, pleased at how openly corny she’d become under my tutelage.
Another evening, I sat on her loveseat with my own laptop open, filling out job applications at restaurants closer to home on the off chance I could relaunch my career here, on the off-off chance Chelsea and I would ever get our shit together. I cast a wider net, searching Richmond and D.C. at first, then the entire country. Chelsea was right. I needed to set my sights beyond Virginia.
Theo Kostas emailed me every other day to detail the many things I needed to do prior to my arrival in Greece. Ma nagged me to visit Yia Yia and tour every nook and cranny from Athens to Thessaloniki. As if I’d have time to take a boat to Mykonos. Ichortled.
“What’s so funny?” Chelsea asked, looking up from a chain she’d been painstakingly twisting into a silver necklace.
“Cat video,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t ask to see it.
I wanted to talk to her about my trip to Greece, but every time I’d open my mouth to confess, I worried if I told her of my plans to leave, she’d misconstrue my words as an ultimatum when my intention was the opposite. I didn’t want to push her into a future she didn’t want.
Chelsea and Elizabeth had booked a week in France in January, despite being a few points shy of their self-imposed checklist requirement. This gave us a legit excuse to fall back on the list for things to do. So we spent an afternoon at the National Gallery, where she showed me all the paintings she loved, and I watched her, soaking her up.
On the drive home, she said, “You and I should create our own goals.”
I felt like I’d been invited into a special club. “We could go tubing up at Wintergreen.”
“Oh, yes.” She wrote it down on her phone. “How do you feel about musicals?”
“What?” I feigned horror, but the truth was I loved musicals. My sister, Ana, had gone through a whole phase, and subsequently, I knew all the lyrics to “I Dreamed a Dream.”
“The list is meant to push you out of your comfort zone, Bas.” She chucked my shoulder, and I pretended to grudgingly agree.
The next week, I sat on her sofa, reading the latest email from my uncle, while she and Elizabeth researched activities in Saint-Tropez. Chelsea looked up from her laptop. “It’s too bad you can’t come with us to France.” She shot me a flirty grin before turning back to her search, and my heart fluttered at her hint of an invitation.
The thought of her in France with Elizabeth filled me withirrational envy. It was impractical, but the idea took hold and wouldn’t let go: Chelsea and me in Saint-Tropez. My sisters had made me watchThe Thorn Birds, and I had this romantic image of myself, showing up on the beach where she was staying, dropping my suitcase on the sand, and then running to scoop her into my arms.
Without looking up, she spoke through the side of her mouth, like a ventriloquist throwing his voice. “You could swing over to Greece for a side trip and make your family so happy.”
I coughed at how she’d nearly stumbled onto my actual plans. “You know that France and Greece aren’t that close, right?”
