I’m on my way to the airport, driving mindlessly through the evening humidity and haze as it clouds my mind. Matt sent a text an hour ago letting me know he’s in Boston and has checked into the hotel. Matt bought tickets to a Red Sox game just so we’d have a solid alibi, but it’s unnecessary now. No reason to hide anything from Bridgitte, yet I still find myself wondering how much she knows about what I’m doing. Matt is the only person who really knows about Nora and by this point I’m sure he’s told Maggie. I can only hope he hasn’t, because there might be some time to salvage what I have with Bridgitte.
I have the file from the PI in my laptop bag along with the email saved on my phone, but it’s getting to a point where I’m not certain I even care. I’ve ruined my future with Bridgitte, something that was solid but is now a mess. The only thing I have left is finding Nora and what if that turns out to be a disaster.
I’m so fucking torn as to what I should do. I’ve spent the last twelve years trying to rid my life of Nora and every time I think I’m over it, something pulls me back. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about her after all this time tells me there was something between us, something stronger than anything I’ve ever felt and it needs to be pursued. I need to finally find closure.
Matt’s waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel when I arrive and I quickly dump my bag in the room, and we head out for dinner.
We choose a restaurant on the water, and taking advantage of the warm night air, we sit outside. We order a few beers, crab dip and some oysters. The water is calm, but the restaurant tells a different story with the noisy crowd and the packed tables. The two of us sit looking out at the ocean, neither of us speaking, but Matt eventually breaks the silence.
“So what’s your plan for tomorrow?” he asks, his eyebrows going up as if he knows this is so fucking idiotic. “You just gonna show up at this chick’s house and be like, ‘Hey, I think I fucked you on a beach a long time ago’ or do you have a legit plan?”
I don’t have a plan. I have nothing but the notes from the PI and a false sense of hope that keeps me going.
I wait a few seconds before answering, like I’m suddenly going to have some fucking epiphany and know exactly what to do.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m going to do,” I tell him because that’s really all I’ve got. I’m just going to drive out to the house, ring the doorbell and fucking hope like hell it’s her.
“It’s been twelve fucking years, so I guess the straightforward approach is cool,” Matt adds, but I can tell by the look on his face he thinks I’m crazy.
“I need it to be over. I know I’ve said this a million times before, but I really do. Imagine living your life wondering if the person you were meant to be with slipped through your fingers. Imagine not meeting Maggie?” I reference Maggie because maybe it will put my situation into perspective for him.
“I can’t imagine my life without Maggie, but I’m not sure I would have spent twelve years trying to find her. She hated me when we first met.” Matt shrugs his shoulders and laughs. He’s right. Maggie did hate him. He was a drunken asshole and sloppily hit on her. But in the sober light of day, she found him endearing and the rest is history.
Maybe he didn’t have that intense and immediate connection with Maggie, making it hard for him to relate. I know what I felt with Nora was different and it’s something that has been impossible to forget.
“Don’t be a dick,” I say, glaring at him. “Think about Maggie after she stopped hating you. Wouldn’t you do anything to find her, anything to keep her if something came between you two?”
Matt stops talking, contemplating what I’ve just said and then nods his head. “Yeah, I probably would. I don’t think I’d just give up. But twelve years…” Matt trails off and I know he’s once again thinking how obscene it seems, how much time has passed and that I’m seeking a girl I hardly know.
“What if her name isn’t even Nora?” Matt says out of nowhere, but the way he poses the question makes it sound like it’s been on his mind. “Your name isn’t Elliot. What if she’s looking for you too and all this time she’s been searching for Elliot.”
Like this same thought hasn’t crossed my mind a thousand times. But in that moment when I was standing there on the porch with her, the smell of her hair, the warmth of skin, the intensity of the situation, it never occurred to me to explain to her that while I go by Elliot, it isn’t actually my name.
“You should blame your great grandfather for this whole fucking mess,” Matt jokes. “Fucking family name is keeping your girl from finding you.”
“If it was only that fucking simple,” I joke back. “Too many in one family, so I get Elliot.”
That’s exactly what happened. I was named after my father, who was named after his father, who was named after his father, but in a room full of people with the same name, nicknames only last so long before you run out, so I was shackled Elliot, the middle name we all share. And if Matt’s even remotely close to being right, my name has fucked up everything.
The conversation shifts and instead of talking about Nora we fall back into our normal rhythm of pointless topics. It’s a nice break from the thoughts that have consumed me since I heard back from the PI, but that doesn’t mean it’s not always there in the back of my mind.
After a few too many beers, the two of us make our way back to the hotel where I’m hoping to crash hard, wake up tomorrow and end this endless search for Nora. Whether it’s her or not, I have to commit myself to the fact that it’s over. Once and for all, I need to move on with my life and finally figure out where I want to be. Maybe my move to Chicago was a mistake. Maybe meeting Bridgitte isn’t what was supposed to happen. And maybe this whole obsession with Nora was just a one-off thing, but I cling to it because I need something to believe in, something to remind me that I was happy once.
We’ve been walking in silence since leaving the bar and Matt is the first to speak, asking me a question I still wish I had a solid answer for, but I don’t.
“What makes her different?” he says and for a split second I wonder if he’s talking about Nora or Bridgitte.
It’s the same question I ask myself each time my thoughts are consumed with her. Why her? Why not Bridgitte or the girl I dated my freshman year or my first girlfriend from high school or anyone I’ve had more than twelve hours of contact with?
I sigh hard and run my hand through my hair. I don’t even know where to begin. The entire night was such a whirlwind of fate, at least that’s what it felt like. Meeting Nora, and knowing she wouldn’t have left that party with anyone, but she left with me. The beach and the stars, the silence and the conversation; it all meshed together in a way that was unexpected, yet somehow exactly how it should’ve been.
“She was different,” I say, but it’s a copout, a fake answer that doesn’t give any insight into why I’m still holding on to her memory, holding on to the memory of us. Because in the end, maybe that’s all it was, just a memory.
“How?” Matt asks, questioning me with more authority this time, pushing me to be honest with not only him, but with myself.