The Fling

83

Abigail and I had a core-power class before lunch, which was thankfully an intense enough workout that I didn't dwell on what had transpired a few hours earlier at the tattoo parlor. The entire forty-five minutes was spent doing a combination of breath-work, cardio, strength-training, and weights. I was a hardcore gym guy, but this was difficult for me. Abigail, however, crushed it. I knew she was in great shape, but seeing her kick ass gave me a newfound respect for the woman I loved.

After the class, we ate a high protein lunch in the café, during which her demeanor seemed completely normal. We'd had a tough morning, but if it was on her mind, she wasn't showing it. Her mom texted her a humorous anecdote about the kids, which she shared with me. I appreciated the lightness and laughed loudly as I imagined the scenario, which involved Hannah trying to curl her hair with Lizzie's curling iron before getting frustrated and quitting. She was planning to go to school with half her head in ringlets and the other straight, apparently giving zero fucks about how odd that was. Lizzie intervened and put her little sister's hair up in a ponytail, hiding the half-done 'do.

When we returned to the suite after our meal, we both showered, and Abigail subsequently took a nap while I read my book. The novel was coming to a close, though things didn't look great for Winston and Stella. His time in California following the death of her friend proved that the older-younger relationship was much harder to deal with in the reality of her life, whereas it had been less problematic during their affair in Jamaica.

I set the book down. Had Abigail given this to me to prove a point? Was she saying that age didn't matter for a fling, but in the long-term, it wasn't ideal? Winston was struggling with a big choice and was considering going to medical school. Was this supposed to be like my decision to have children? Or was I reading way too much into this because I was starting to have doubts about whether my girlfriend and I wanted the same thing?

She stirred next to me and sat up, yawning as she came out of her nap-induced fog. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice scratchy.

"Almost three. We've got a guided meditation at four, so I was gonna wake you in an hour."

"Did you sleep?"

"No, I read my book. I stopped because I don't like the direction it's headed," I told her truthfully.

"Hm. Yeah, I am pretty sure I know where you are. Don't give up on the story; I think it's got a great message to it."

"Is the message that Winston should pursue his own dreams and let go of Stella? Because that feels a bit pointed." I hadn't planned on telling her I thought the book was a ploy to get me to head down a certain path with our relationship, but my mouth was working faster than my brain.

Her face fell. "No...I mean...I don't want to spoil it, but if you're suggesting what I think you are, I didn't give you the book with ulterior motives."

"It feels that way."

She stared at me for several long seconds. "The last thing I'd do is try to influence your decision. That's one reason I froze up this morning when trying to pick out a tattoo. I was afraid that if I chose one that was connected to you, you'd think I was saying I thought we'd be together forever and you'd take that to heart and feel guilty if it didn't happen. If I chose something neutral, you might think I was telling you that you aren't important to me and that I didn't see us having a future. Then I started focusing on what you said about time capsules, and I wondered if maybe the best solution was to not use something related to you to cover up my tattoo tied to Bert, but instead I could get something entirely different at the end of the month. Does that make sense?"

Sighing, I replied, "Yeah. It does. I took you not getting the tattoo covered really personally, but what I'm hearing from you right now is that it wasn't so much about me or Bert as it was the timing."