Eliza

On Monday, James and I are pencilled in for an appointment with a travel agent. Every time I think about the appointment, I chuckle to myself. We had both been so stubborn at the beginning of all this, telling ourselves that we could easily plan our own honeymoon and not spend the extra money to have it planned for us. But here we are, sitting in a small office as we watch the travel agent set up our trip for next winter.

Before we hired the travel agent, we spent a few months arguing over where we wanted to go. I suggested Colombia – I've always wanted to go there – but James rejected it immediately, saying it was unsafe and not very relaxing. It saddened me that he would shut me down so bluntly, but I saw his point the more I thought about it. Am I happy with where we've decided to go? No, not exactly. But the Amalfi Coast looks beautiful and stunning, so by the time our travel agent has completed all the necessary bookings, I'm a happy camper. One day, I'll be able to convince James to go to Colombia. Until then, I'm looking forward to some authentic Italian cuisine and swimming in the Tyrrhenian Sea. I also can't wait to see the architecture of the older buildings there. Overall, it's been a long time since I went on vacation and I'm looking forward to being a tourist again.

"So," James says as we exit the building. His arm is wrapped around my waist, hand stuck in the pocket of my shorts as we head for his truck. "Are you excited?"

Enthusiastically, I nod. The enthusiasm is a little forced, though. The Amalfi Coast isn't Colombia. There's a part of me that wishes I would have pushed back harder when James said no. I can understand why he's scared of contracting a foreign virus like the Zika virus, but even without a vaccine, there are always health precautions you can take to prevent yourself from getting sick. Leon and I always used to dream about what it would be like to hike until our legs could no longer carry us; we wanted to explore the Fin del Mundo trek and see the Lost City. We wanted to taste Colombian food and get to know their different cultures. We had planned on going to Colombia after we –

No. Stop.

Why am I thinking about Leon right now? God, he needs to get out of my head. Even when he's not near me, his presence still lingers.

"I am excited," I reply. "James, this is going to be a fantastic honeymoon. I'm so glad we found a place to travel to."

"I know," he sighs, looking extraordinarily content. "I can't wait to go to Italy with you. Spending time together, after all this wedding stuff ends, is just what we need." He leans down and kisses me on the cheek, his lips lingering long enough to make my blood spark. I grip his hand tighter to let him know how good he's making me feel while he kisses me.

He grins against the corner of my mouth and softly shakes his head.  Strands of his luscious brown locks tickle the tip of my nose. "How did I ever get so lucky?" he murmurs, kissing me again.

"Please," I scoff. "We both know you'd rather have the waitress at the pub."

Although James knows I'm joking, his face sobers up and he turns to face me, tipping my chin up. The look in his eyes is serene and unfathomably passionate. There's a small crease between his eyebrows, which are pinched together in thought. "It's only you, Eliza. Forever."

My heart swells and I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. I hope James knows how much I love him and how much he means to me. Ever since he sat me on his bike and wheeled me back to the parking lot, I've known there's something special between us. We may not have started out as best friends or grown up with each other, but none of that matters. We found each other and the rest is history.

"I love you," I murmur against his chest.

He hugs me tighter. The warmth of his body, the comfort of it, is enough to nearly overwhelm me. I could stay wrapped in his arms for the rest of my life. Whenever James is around, all my problems fall to the wayside and happiness engulfs me instead. Although we have our differences, James is perfect for me. When things are looking bleak, he builds me up. Whenever we fight, he always figures out a way to make it better – even if he's the one who's making the mistake.

"We should get going," he whispers. "My parents are arriving today and I want to make sure we're there to settle them in."

"Of course," I reply. James's parents are almost identical to Tenille's parents. Not look-wise, but personality-wise; they're loving and caring and open to anything. They let their kids make their own decisions and are there to support them when they make mistakes. Getting to know them was a little awkward at first, but they like me and we get along really well. It's more than I could have ever asked for.

Threading my fingers through his, I tug him towards the vehicle. "Let's go.

James eyes the truck and then looks at me, an eyebrow slightly raise. "We do, uh, have a bit of time before they arrive," he says. His voice is timid and I have to suppress a smile. Despite the fact that we're getting married, James has always been shy when it comes to asking me out on dates. I don't know what it is, but I hope he never loses that trait – it's so damn cute.

"Of course I'll go out on a date with you," I smile. "What were you thinking about doing?"

"Lunch?" he chuckles. He sounds a little relieved that I took away the pressure of him having to ask me. "There was that really good sushi joint we went to the other day. I've been wanting some of their volcano rolls."

Internally, I cringe. I hate sushi. The only reason I agreed to go last time was because James always tries new things whenever I suggest a different restaurant to go to. I tried to enjoy the volcano rolls and whatever else he ordered, but all I wanted to do by the end was puke. I don't like sushi. I don't like seafood in general – aside from the lobster rolls that Leon's mom used to make.

Not wanting to disappoint James, though, I nod and paste a fake smile on my face. "That would be wonderful." If worse comes to worst, I can order the chicken ramen bowl and call it a day.

However, as we get into the truck and take off in the direction of the restaurant, I can't help but think about Leon. If, for some reason, things had gone our way, would Leon and I be the ones getting married? Would we be going to Colombia and hiking until our legs give out? I'm not too sure. What I do know, though, is that he would be aware that I absolutely hate sushi and take me out for greasy burgers and fries at our favourite diner.

I sigh and press my head against the window, closing my eyes.

I think that, if I'm ever going to get Leon out of my head, I'm going to need to give him a chance to talk.

*  *  *

After dinner, when James and the rest of the house has gone to bed, I set my cup of tea down on the kitchen counter and grab my rain jacket. Ever since lunch, I haven't been able to get the diner Leon and I used to go to out of my head. Jiggling the keys to my truck in my hand, I step outside into the cool night air. It's almost ten-thirty, but I'm not too worried about time at the moment. The diner is always open until midnight.

The diner is located out on the far side of the Village, sitting in amongst some tall redwood trees and right next to Fitzsimmons Creek before it crosses the highway into unknown territory. I pull into one of the parking spots, the yellow lines on the asphalt faded with age. I can't remember the last time I came here but I'm experiencing major nostalgia as I stare at the neon sign and the chequered floors through the window. And it gets even worse when I step inside. The stools are still hot pink, the walls painted a jade-green. There's neon, everywhere, too.

"Hello, miss," says an older hostess. She's wearing a light pink apron that brings out the salt and pepper highlights in her curly hair. "Take a seat anywhere you like."

"Thank you," I smile, glancing around the deserted area.

Hesitantly, I push my hood down and head over to the far left corner where Leon and I always used to sit. As I'm walking, millions of memories pop up in my mind. I can see me and Leon there, beneath the album artwork from one of Bryan Adams's older albums, popping fries into each other's mouths. I see us sharing a milkshake and laughing about all the stupid things that happened at school that day. I feel Leon's arms around me as he coaxes my drunk mind to take small bites of the burger in front of us.

By the time I make it to the booth, the hostess has already placed a menu on the table. "Is there anything I can get you to drink?" she asks.

I continue to stare at the booth. It's still jade-green and it has the same rip near the corner, showing the yellow foam stuff beneath it. "A vanilla milkshake," I reply without thinking twice. I'm still staring at the booth before me and questioning why the hell I'm here when she walks away. And several more seconds pass before I break free from my trance and sit down. I shrug my jacket off and push it to the side of the booth, along with my purse and phone.

While I'm waiting for my milkshake, I inspect the menu. Looking it over brings a smile to my face. After all these years, it still hasn't changed – and neither have the items on the menu. Their signature burger is still at the top of the list, loaded with the same old toppings and their signature sauce.

Sighing, I set the menu down and glance out the window. It's pouring now – harder than it was when I got here – and there's fog encompassing the mountains. I love rainy days in Whistler because everything looks lusher and greener. Tonight, however, with the only light coming from the neon sign and streetlamps outside, it looks depressing. Perhaps it's because the weather currently represents how I'm feeling: foggy.

Leon's return has uprooted so many inner emotions that I can hardly think straight. Whenever he's around, I see the past, present, and future. I see what we had and what we could have had if we'd kept in contact with each other. If he hadn't lied to me and ignored my calls.

"Are you okay, miss?"

I blink and glance at the hostess. She's carrying my milkshake and staring at me with a concerned look on her face. At first, I wonder why she's asking if I'm okay. I know it's weird that I'm here so close to closing time, but I couldn't sleep and I was, admittedly, a little hungry. But when I feel something warm and wet run down my cheek, I answer my own questions. I'm crying.

Embarrassed, I quickly wipe away the tears and nod. "Yeah," I reply, straightening my posture. "I'm okay. Sorry. Thanks for the milkshake. Can I also get your signature burger, please?"

She sets my milkshake down and then reaches out to squeeze my hand. Flashing me a sympathetic smile, she says, "It's okay, sweetie. Break-ups are always hard, but the heart heals. You'll be just fine." She tucks the menu under her arm and winks at me. "I'll make sure they give you extra fries. Nothing cures a broken heart like grease and fries."

I stare after her as she walks away, not sure if I should start laughing or crying. I find it ironic that she thinks I'm going through a break-up when that's not the case at all. The situation I'm in is much more complicated than she can even begin to fathom.

Sighing, I pull my milkshake close and take a long sip. More tears begin to stream down my cheeks. 

If this were a break-up, things would be a helluva lot easier for me.