Chapter 10 - The Open Road
Two weeks later, the holiday decorations had finally come down in my suburban house.
The garland was packed away. The tree was dismantled. The mantel was clean. But as I stood in my living room holding a cup of steaming black coffee, the rooms didn't feel enormous or painfully quiet anymore.
They felt full of possibility.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I walked over and picked it up.
* Arthur: Flight booked. Arriving Friday evening. Bring your passport—we're looking at spring itineraries to Italy.
I laughed out loud, the sound ringing off the hardwood floors.
I tapped out a quick reply: Passport is ready. But I'm driving us to dinner this time.
As I locked the screen and looked out the front window at the snow-covered yard sparkling under the January sun, I finally understood what Paul had meant all those years ago. “When are you going to do something simply because you want to?”
I didn't have to wait for an invitation anymore. I didn't have to wait for permission to be happy, to travel, or to love.
May you like
I walked over to the front door, grabbed my coat from the hook where Mark’s winter jacket used to hang alone, and stepped outside into the crisp winter air. For the first time in my life, the road ahead wasn't a schedule someone else had written for me.
It was entirely mine.
