Page 50 of Love, Take Two
Paradise might be ending, but our real story is just beginning.
19
EMORY
The Paradise Cove airport is a small building with excellent air conditioning and way too many people trying to catch flights back to reality. I'm sitting next to Vada at our gate, watching other wedding guests say their goodbyes, and trying not to think about how different everything's about to become.
"Flight to Portland boarding in twenty minutes," the gate agent announces, and my stomach does this weird flip thing.
"Nervous?" Vada asks, clearly picking up on whatever expression I'm wearing.
"A little," I admit. "It's been a long time since I've moved anywhere that wasn't temporary."
That's putting it mildly. For the past three years, my entire life has fit into two suitcases and a camera bag. The longest I've stayed anywhere was six weeks in Thailand, and that was only because I got food poisoning and couldn't travel. The idea of actually setting up somewhere permanently feels both exciting and terrifying.
"We don't have to figure everything out today," Vada says, taking my hand. "You can stay with me while we look for a place together, or you can get your own apartment first, or whatever feels right."
"What feels right is being wherever you are," I say, which makes her smile. "Though I should probably warn you, I'm not great with domestic stuff. My idea of decorating is hanging up travel posters."
"Good thing I like travel posters," she says with a grin. "Besides, we can figure out the decorating together."
The flight to Portland is smooth and uneventful, which is exactly what I need right now. Vada dozes against my shoulder while I stare out the window and try to process how much my life is about to change. A week ago, I was stressed about credit card bills and wondering where my next sponsored post was coming from. Now I'm moving to a new city for a woman I'm sure I want to marry.
The thought should probably scare me more than it does.
Portland's airport is bigger and busier than Paradise Cove's, but nothing compared to LAX or JFK. We collect our luggage and head toward the exit, where Maya is waiting with a sign that reads "PARADISE SURVIVORS" in sparkly letters.
"Welcome to Portland!" Maya announces, pulling us both into hugs. "How was the flight? How are you feeling? Are you exhausted? Do you need food?"
"Maya," Vada laughs, "breathe. We're fine."
"I'm excited," Maya says with obvious glee. "I get to help plan your new life together. It's like playing house but with actual adults who have credit cards."
The drive from the airport to Vada's apartment gives me my first real look at Portland, and I have to admit, it's pretty great. Green everywhere, mountains in the distance, the kind of laid-back vibe that makes me think I could actually live here without losing my mind.
"What do you think?" Vada asks as we wind through neighborhoods with food trucks and coffee shops on every corner.
"I think I could get used to this," I say honestly. "Though I might need a local guide to show me where to get good coffee."
"I know a place or two," she says with mock seriousness.
Vada's apartment is exactly what I expected—organized but cozy, decorated in a way that's professional but warm. It's clearly the home of someone who knows what she likes and isn't afraid to invest in quality. The complete opposite of my usual hotel rooms and temporary housing.
"This is really nice," I say, looking around at the actual furniture and wall art and things that suggest permanence.
"Thanks," she says, though I can see her watching my reaction carefully. "I know it's probably different from what you're used to."
"Different in the best way," I clarify. "I've been living out of suitcases for so long, I forgot what it feels like to have actual furniture."
Maya disappears into the kitchen and returns with wine and the expression of someone who has important business to discuss.
"Okay," she says, settling onto the couch like she's chairing a board meeting. "Let's talk logistics. Emory, are you thinking temporary housing while you look for your own place, or are we jumping straight into domestic bliss?"
"Maya," Vada warns, but she's smiling.
"What? These are important questions. I need to know if I should start looking at one-bedroom apartments or if we're going straight to the 'his and hers towels' phase."
I look at Vada, trying to read her expression. We talked about this in general terms at the resort, but now that we're here, in her actual space, everything feels more real.
