Two Roads (25 page)

When he finishes, I don’t know what to say. My heart just pounds, and as I think about the poems I read on the blog, about the main character and the girl, it all makes so much sense. He was writing them to me. That’s why the poems spoke to me because they were
meant
to speak to me. There is something so wonderful about that, that he wrote all those poems to me. It’s like a breath of fresh air, and I’m about to tell him that, to hug him and hold him and never let go. Instead, though, I ask dumbly, “But how did you know I’d find them? How did you know I’d read them?”

“I didn’t.” He laughs to himself. “I so didn’t. I didn’t even plan on you to read them, so that’s why I freaked out when you showed me the blog the other night. It was such a strange coincidence, but I guess that’s just life’s funny way of making things happen.”

I nod, still not sure what to think, what to feel, but one thing I’m sure I feel is simple. Is love. Is genuine, full-on love for this boy.

I open my eyes then, see Logan’s blue eyes trained on mine, his dimples, his lashes, and he cups my face in his hands and whispers, “All along,” he says, “all along I knew I loved you. Well, I got convinced at some points and I wasn’t sure if I was making it up, but then when I was sure I couldn’t say because I didn’t know if you loved me and I was scared and I didn’t want and I’d seen this movie where--”

“Logan,” I say, steadying his hands to shut him up, a flicker of a smile crossing my lips. He blushes, his eyes darting to his feet, and I wish I could explain to him how adorable it looks. I don’t know why I never noticed it before: how sweet and heartwarming his random tangents are, how utterly gorgeous the faint trace of dimples at the corner of his mouth looks, how he cares--how he’s
always
cared.

I stare at him for a second, one painfully long second, leaning against my baking car and watching Logan Waters. And thinking. And wondering. And then, just like that, a surge of strength whips through me. “Shut up and kiss me, you asshole,” I say, and now I really smile, and he smiles back, and before I even know what I’m doing I wrap my arms around his neck and I kiss him, hard and strong. He kisses back, holding me ever so gently, his lips moving with mine, his side pressed against my stomach, and we just kiss and kiss until the rest of it melts away, until it really is just us, kissing on this car, secret-free and together and so, so happy.

~

The girl is smiling

happy

herself again.

Her life is far from perfect

but this is a start.

This flutter of the heart

this constant desire to smile

this feeling she feels for the boy

this is all a start.

She made her choice

she picked a road to take

and it was the only one

it was the right one.

It was Logan Waters.

The girl is me,

Cali Monroe.

This is my story.

~

When
everything is over, Logan gets the brilliant idea to drive me home from the conference, and he of course makes us take a totally different route than normal. Neither of us have any idea where we’re going, and that would be super terrifying if it wasn’t so freaking romantic.

Logan drives me in circles a long ways, and I just laugh because the only place we’re headed is far from our apartment complex back at Williams University and at this rate, we are probably going to die of old age out here on this road. For once, however, I am okay with that, because it would mean I live out my whole life with Logan, teasing him, kissing him, loving him. I’ve got to give it to him; for a nerd, he is seriously charming.

Before we left, I texted Ruby to tell her about everything that happened--she responded with a
OMFG GIRL TELL ME EVERYTHING WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE!!!!!!!!!!!!
, which I vow to do--and I even, finally, texted back my parents to let them know I’m okay.

And I
am
okay.

In fact, I am more okay than I’ve ever been before, and that isn’t just because of Logan. Through all of this, this going to the conference and meeting The Roadkeeper and saying goodbye to Ben and realizing how many people out there are similar to me, I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not so scared that I have to hide behind a personality that isn’t mine, and I’m most definitely not too scared to let anyone get close to me again. Because Logan, with his badass poetry writing skills, fucking obnoxiously gorgeous eyelashes, and his way too sexy glasses? Because Logan, with his laugh that can brighten up my whole day, with his personality that just molds with mine, with his insane ability to make me smile no matter what? That Logan? He has stolen my heart, and despite how terrifying that may seem, I feel insanely happy about it.

I’m in love with a boy.

I’m not afraid to be myself.

I have a best friend.

I mean, my life still sucks, but I like how it is: messy, yes, but with an odd sense of order in the mess, because the people I care most about are wedged in there, beside me, and I am not afraid to be near them. I’m not afraid of love anymore. I have this whole stretch of road ahead of me, this whole life I’m about to live, this life full of ups and downs, tears and giggles, heartbreak and hopefulness, and most importantly, this road filled with one Logan Waters.

It’s a road I want to take, a road I’m ready to take. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if all of my dreams will come true. I don’t know if I’ll ever become a famous poet, and I most certainly don’t know if the journey will be anywhere near smooth. But I think that’s the beauty of it: that I don’t know.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me in my life, and that’s okay, because I know I’m going to grow, because I know I’m not going to be afraid, because I know I’m going to be surrounded by the people I care about, doing the things I care about.

I glance over at Logan, who has his hand on the steering wheel. The window to my car is rolled down and it blows his hair in all directions, something that would look totally ridiculous if it so totally didn’t.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” I ask after a while.

“I really don’t,” Logan says, puckering those gorgeous lips of his.

I laugh. “You’re
such
an idiot.”

“And you love me for it.”

He’s right--as usual.

We drive for a while longer, letting the manure-scented air slip in through open windows. It’s late afternoon now, and the sun is starting to set. It makes the sky look so pretty, though, all red and orange and yellow, colorful in a way that makes me want to smile.

We pass road after road, go deep into farmland rich with red barns and corn fields in a state I don’t think either of us are sure is--Nevada? Arizona? Still California? We have no GPS, no cell phone service, and no idea where we are, but I could not care less. Logan is next to me right now, and for the time being, that’s all that matters: that he’s next to me. That he’s smiling. That we’re happy together.

So I just hug his arm, and he winks at me, and we drive and drive until I close my eyes and fall asleep in his lap.

After maybe half an hour, the car comes to a halt, and I jolt awake. Logan is looking down at me, smiling lightly, showing off his killer dimples once again.

“Are we there yet?” I mumble.

He runs a hand through my hair. “Not quite,” he says back.

I force myself to sit up. “Then why did you stop?”

He watches me carefully, raising his eyebrows just slightly. “We, um, kind of have a problem.”

I roll my eyes. “Let me guess: and you need someone intelligent to fix it, because what’s going on up there”--I wave my hand in the direction of his forehead--”is not made for practical use.”

“Cute,” he says.

I stick my tongue out at him. “I try.”

“Are you going to help me or what?”

I scratch my chin, pretending to think for a second, but we both know the answer is going to be yes. “I pity you,” I say after a minute. “So yes, I will help.”

He nods at the door. “Then follow me,” he says and slips out of the car. I push open the passenger door, stepping out and getting immediately blinded by the setting sun. I cover my face with my hand and look around, frowning. We’re in the middle of what looks to be a farm. The smell of manure is everywhere and hay covers the ground under my feet, and about a quarter mile to my right is some sort of brick building.

“What’s the issue?” I say to Logan, sighing. I slam the car door shut and walk right up to him, leaning against the hood of the car.

He nods ahead. I follow his gaze.

An intersection stretches in front of us, one complete with tall birch trees on every side and a golden sunset peeking in between the tangled branches. The first road is to my left, and it looks like it leads to some sort of main road, a highway perhaps that will get us out of the middle of nowhere and back on our way home. The second road, however, is not quite a road. “Dirt path” may be the more accurate description. I can’t see where it leads beyond a few yards, just that it twists off into deep woods somewhere. It looks like the perfect spot to either get lost or eaten by a pack of wolves.

I turn back to Logan, frowning. “And what is the issue?” I ask.

“It seems pretty simple,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Which way should we go?”

I glance between the two roads. The paved one is the clear choice as it leads to the highway, so I’m not sure why he’s even asking me. I’m about to tell him that, too, but then I stop. I said myself that I don’t care that we’re lost because Logan is with me, so why not get more lost? Safe is too boring. Safe is too easy. And that road on the left, the one that leads to some sort of highway, is safe.

I turn to him. “The one on the right,” I say simply. “Take the one on the right.”

Logan watches me with some sort of odd fascination. “You sure?” he says.

“Sure as ever.”

“This is a terrible plan, you know.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Like, you’re practically an idiot for choosing the dirt road. We could most likely die out there, and there is no way a car would even fit.” He looks more amused than anything else, though.

I feign a gasp. “Did you really just call me an idiot?”

“I really just did.”

And up soars my heart.

“Logan Waters,” I say, smiling. “I hate you so goddamn much.”

“And Cali Monroe,” he says back, matching my smile. “I hate you more than anything else in the world.”

Then, he takes my hand and I lean my head on his shoulder, and we take the road less traveled by, laughing all the way.

~

Free.

For once

I am free

~

On
the one year anniversary of the day my parents set me up on the blind date with Logan, I invite them to the same horrible sandwich shop for lunch. I have to admit, though, I’ve grow kind of partial to the place. Terrible sandwiches aside, it’s not such a bad restaurant after all. Plus, if it weren’t for it, none of this would have ever happened, so in the end it has served me pretty well.

“What’s going on?” Mom asks as soon as she hurries inside, wearing the same pulled-back hair and business suit I’ve grown to love. She and Dad immediately sit down at my table, watching me with the same anxious fascination they’d have if I were about to tell them I’m pregnant--I’m not, I swear.

I just smile at them.

My parents and I are a lot closer now than we were before. I mean, we don’t exactly have a perfect relationship, but it’s a start, and for now, that’s all I can ask for.

The day Logan and I returned from the convention, I got this weird bout of courage. I ran all the way to the hotel they were staying at, practically shoved my way through their door, and then, resisting the urge to yell at them, I told them everything. I told them why I’ve been miserable these last four years, why I’ve been afraid to follow in Ben’s footsteps, why still I won’t. I told them that I was sorry, that I knew they were trying and knew they cared about me and that I shouldn’t have acted like I did, but they also felt like the enemy to me, like them taking Ben away from his love of archaeology was what drove him to kill himself and when I learned it wasn’t any of our faults, I knew I was wrong all along. I told them that engineering was the farthest thing from what I wanted to do with my life and that no matter what they said, no matter how hard they pushed, there was no way I was changing my major or my life path for them. I’d rather work dead-end jobs that I got next to nothing out of on my way to fulfilling my dream like Frost did than I would being forced to work at a company I hated. I told them that I forgave them, that I was willing to work on our relationship, but they were never going to take me away from poetry. But then, after all that, I stopped. I looked my parents in the eyes and told them that I wanted to make things normal again. I told that I would make the first step if they took the second. And I don’t know what it was, maybe it was them seeing how much poetry meant to me, how much this life I am shaping for myself makes me happy, or maybe they were just tired of fighting with me. But whatever happened, it worked. They met each other’s gaze, nodded slowly, and then, without warning, they both brought me into a huge hug.

And I think Mom was crying a little and I know I was too, because through my tears, I hugged back. And then, for the first in four years, I told them I loved them.

And here we are, twelve months later, sitting across from each other. My parents and I have kept in as much contact as normal families do--not too much, not too little--and for once, I’m happy to see them. I told them to come meet me for lunch but didn’t say why. I wanted to keep it a surprise. I wanted to see their faces.

My school grades have improved too, and now that I’m a junior, I’m finally focused again. I actually study for tests, this magic trick Logan taught me, and I feel better--about everything. Ruby and I are closer than ever. We’re almost like sisters now, and even though she’s pretty much my only real friend, she’s the only friend I’ll ever need. She and Jaden are still dating, and she, like me, is happier than she ever has been before.

We’re over the horizon now, and even though I know the rest of my life will continue to be rocky, there’s finally some sunshine in it.

I turn back to Mom and Dad, who are watching me excitedly. Well, Mom is, with her eyes all lit up and her grin taking up her whole face, but Dad looks almost as emotionless as usual.

“I have news,” I finally say.

Mom squeals. “Oh my god! Oh my god! He proposed, didn’t he? Oh my god he proposed!”

At first I glare at her, and then I roll my eyes and laugh, because that is such a Mom thing to say. “No, Mom, he did not propose.”

“Oh.” She sinks back in her seat, not even bothering to hide her disappointment. “Then what is it?”

I take a sip of my water. “This actually isn’t about Logan at all,” I say.

“Okay.” Mom does not look very interested all of a sudden, which would normally bother me, but today is a good day and I’m not letting her ruin it. “So tell us what is up.”

I raise my eyebrows. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say any form of the words “what is up” before. This is one for the history books. “You really want to know?” The corners of my lips twitch, threatening to turn into a smile. My parents aren’t the type that are usually interested in things about my personal life.

“Yeah,” Mom says slowly, as if the word is foreign to her. “I do.”

My heart leaps in my chest just a little, and so I reach into my bag and pull out the stack of papers I’ve been cherishing ever since I first received them. I take a deep breath and slide them over to Mom, who looks between me and them in confusion.

“What is this?” she asks.

“A contract,” I say.

“A contract for what?” It’s my dad this time.

I roll my eyes because it seems pretty obvious, but they aren’t known for their wit when it comes to me-related things. So I glance between them, studying the piece of paper, and then I hesitate, hoping like hell this doesn’t turn into a nightmare, and I say, “For a poem. My first ever publication.”

I’m not really sure how I expect them to react. To groan and ignore me? To give me fake smiles and nod and then never congratulate me? To do nothing at all, just sit there, stone-faced, like I hadn’t just made one of the biggest accomplishments of my entire life? All of these seem totally plausible options considering these are my parents I’m talking about, but none of them are what actually happens.

I stare in disbelief as soon as a genuinely warm and proud smile spreads across my mom’s lips, and she says, “Congratulations, Cali.” Something deep inside me bubbles, something warm and missing all these years, and Dad says he’s proud of me and that he loves me and that I’d make a damn fine poem someday, and now I’m really smiling.

They said they’re proud of me.

They’ve never been proud of me before.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, in a voice that does not even begin to express how shocked and amazed I feel. My heart thrums in my chest,
beat, beat, beat
.

“So when is it going to be published?” Mom asks. “And where?”

I watch her closely, waiting for the inevitable “psych!” but it doesn’t come. She seems genuinely interested. Wow. This is almost surreal. “It’s a poem called
The Road
and it’s going to be published in six months in an issue of a small NYC magazine,” I say, and then I smile to myself because Frost’s first poem was published in
The Independent
, which was also a small NYC magazine. “I didn’t get much money from it, but a couple hundred dollars does not exactly hurt.”

“No it does not,” Dad says. Then, something insane happens. He smiles at me. Dad never smiles. “Amazing job, Cali,” he says quietly. “We can’t wait to read it. You’re--you’re off to a great start.”

I can’t believe it.

I put the contract back and thank them for being supportive, and our conversation gradually evolves into discussing Logan, how he’s doing, how my classes are, and so on. For the first time ever, my parents do not bring up their engineering company. Not once. And for that, I can’t help but feel all buoyant inside. They’re really trying, I realize. They’re really trying to make it up to me. And after so many of years of feeling totally alone, that’s an incredible thing.

~

When
my parents leave for a business meeting about an hour later, I stay at the restaurant. I can’t bring myself to go back to my apartment just yet. Instead, I reach into my bag and pull out a single piece of notebook paper, which has a poem scribbled on it in my messy handwriting. At the top of it is the title,
The Road
. I smile to myself, knowing in six months, it’s going to be published.

Logan and I are closer than ever before. He is temporarily interning with a math professor at Williams to stay near me while I finish up college, but we are still just trying to figure out this whole life thing, and we know that. We accept that. But it doesn’t matter because for now, and for as long as I can foresee, we have each other, and that’s what I truly value. Logan didn’t fix my life and I didn’t fix his, but he helped open a door in me, helped bring out the parts I’ve always loved but have lost within myself, like a favorite picture from childhood that gets swept under the carpet, and he gave me the courage to face everything that was wrong in life, starting with my parents.

I love him, and I now know I loved him from the instant our rivalry began. I wouldn’t really call it love at first because the hatred dominated the love for six long months, but it was always there. It was the driving force that made me so into our rivalry, that made me always want to be with him, to prank him, to insult him. Logan was always the one I needed, and I was always the one he needed. Now that we’re together, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my time with. Plus, I’ve discovered, hot nerd boys are complete relationship material, so I’m essentially set for life.

Just thinking about Logan makes me smile yet again as I pull the notebook paper with the poem written on it completely out of my bag and place it on the table in front of me. I look at it for a long time, there, in my hands, the real freaking deal. And then, with a deep breath, I read it for the first time since I wrote it.

The night I wrote this poem, with Logan sleeping beside me, all of my emotions just flowed into it and the words naturally fell into place, and I immediately fell in love with it.
The Road
is the poem I wrote for Logan that night at the conference but never got to read to him, the one I was supposed to recite after he recited his, the one he has never seen with his own eyes. One day, I tell myself as I begin reading it. One day, I will show it to him.

One day.

So I read it, and the words bring me right back to that night, to the conference, to everything I have ever felt about Logan.

The Road

I’ve written plenty of poems before

but I don’t know how to start this

I don’t know how to say this

I just know that I have to.

Frost once said he never began a poem

whose ending he knew

because writing a poem is worth discovering

and that’s just like you;

you are worth discovering.

I don’t really know if there are two roads in my life.

I don’t know if I get a choice

I don’t know if I make a leap of faith

but I do know it doesn’t matter.

My choice is you, Logan

and those two roads can go to hell

because the only road I want to take

the only road I need to take

is the one that ends with you:

laughing

smiling

loving me.

All along I’ve been searching

searching like everyone else

for a path to follow

for a place to start

for a way to be happy.

But all along, that was you.

You were my path

you were my happiness.

I guess sometimes in life,

the things you need most

can be right in front of you the whole goddamn time.