In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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It's entirely possible that Blake has driven me half-way across Newfoundland in search of a dress for his sister's wedding. We left St. Anthony early this morning, and part of me wonders if we're driving around just to avoid being in his hometown. We've been dress shopping all day, and with the exception of a fun seaside lunch, we've both been somber.
Yesterday morning's visit with his family didn't go well, with Blake returning to the hotel to say his family would 'never change' and then he took me to Saint Lunaire-Griquet to stare at the ocean. I'd like to say that was an exaggeration, but he was the quietest I'd seen him in a long time, and we just sat on some rocks freezing our asses off. Also not an exaggeration. I'm still not sure I have full feeling in my butt. But the cuddling was nice, and even though he wasn't saying much, it still felt like we were a team. Like if the world came for us, we're stand back to back and fend them all off.
"I guess we should have gotten your dress before coming here," Blake says, as though I didn't ask half a dozen times whether we should buy something before Newfoundland. Normally, I'm not the advance planner, but when it comes to clothes, I like to look good. Cute. Beautiful, even, since it might be the only time Blake sees me at my best. He's already had lots of opportunities to see me at my worst with morning breath, bed head, and sketchy body odor.
This morning when we left, I was determined to find an outfit that made me feel like a billion dollars, something that would make Blake question all his life choices. Now, I might settle for feeling like a million dollars and for him to tell me I'm pretty. It's been one dead end after another. High fashion is not really a thing in this neck of the woods.
"Something will turn up," I say. But the road signs seem to be indicating that St. Anthony is getting closer again, and I'm not sure how long stores are open or even what stores we didn't go to on the way to wherever we went. It's been a blur of clothing racks and changerooms and nothing quite feeling like me. Whether that's the clothes or my growing anxiety over how much time I've got left with Blake, I don't know.
It seems inconceivable to me that he'll drive me to the airport in a day and a half and we'll never see each other again. The minute that thought enters my head, I banish it again. As soon as I dwell on that reality, my knees feel weak, and my stomach rolls. Blake doesn't need to know that pieces of me are dying at the idea of our impending separation.
We had a 'just for now' agreement, and I haven't quite figured out how to ask for more in a way that'll be met with success. Securing a job with Doctors International is my best bet, and I won't know if I've done that until after we're in separate countries.
"I know you said no bridal shops," Blake says, pulling into a parking lot just off the main road in a tiny town. "But we've landed on desperate times."
"I am not showing up the bride. Stuff in here will be too fancy."
"There might be something in one of these shops that's unexpected," Blake says, turning to look at me. "The dress was my carrot to get you to come here. I feel bad that I'm not delivering."
