Rowan wasn’t sure how to feel, knowing that the most interesting thing about him was quickly flagging. On the one hand, like he’d said, it was annoying have to repeat his backstory—equal parts truth and invention—to anyone with half a brain and a big mouth. But on the other, what would he do when he was just another resident? A Normal? He’d lived the normal life already and learned long ago that it wasn’t for him.
But hey, maybe by that time he’d be gone. This place was only ever a temporary arrangement, anyway. When the novelty faded, he’d go, simple as that.
“I mean, it’s a whole state, so obviously I can’t speak for everyone,” he said, and he took another sip of that damn amazing tea. “But no, it’s nothing like this town. Nobody knows anyone, though some try. Hell, half the time you think you know somebody and it turns out they’re someone completely different. Have that happen enough times, you stop trying.”
The irony of it was not lost on him. He shrugged, as if a flippant gesture would melt away the creeping guilt that crept up his throat and lodged itself there. True, he didn’t lie explicitly about his past or his persona, but a lie of omission had to be at least half as bad, and when he stacked them all together, his heap was at least as large as anybody else’s—probably larger. In most instances it didn’t bother him, but there was something about Elliot’s earnestness that cut him to the quick.
Instead he ate his feelings, polishing off the banana bread as he listened to Elliot’s excuses. He’d been that person, once, listing endless reasons why he couldn’t leave, why he had to stay just a little longer: it wasn’t the right time, or he didn’t have enough money yet, or he wasn’t ready to face his parents, or…
He bullshitted his way through it all, and where had that gotten him? Maybe if he’d left sooner, Milo would still be—
“Look,” he said, interrupting his own thoughts before they could go somewhere unsavory. “The window goes on forever, alright? It’s not like God comes down from Mount Olympus or whatever and draws a line in the sand like, ‘alright, here’s your chance. Don’t miss it, ya dingus.’ And you passed it and now you’re stuck here forever. It doesn’t work like that. You draw the line yourself. Nobody else gets to decide where it is—not your parents, not your friends, not your fucking customers. You do.”
Despite his best efforts to keep his tone light, his eyes were burning hot, pulsing with some private pain. “It’s never too late to make your life what you want it to be. And if what you want is to stay here, fine. But don’t let it be settling. Make it damn worth staying for.”
It sounded like some sort of dream. A place where you could live for years whilst keeping every aspect of your life private. If it was anything like Boston, which Elliot had been to visit cousins a few times, you could live an entire life without your neighbor knowing so much as your name. And while Rowan didn’t seem very thrilled on the topic, Elliot’s features had softened and his eyes gazed dreamily at the boy across the table, musing over the thought of the city of stars.
Of course, there was a part of him — the realist in him — that knew what he was doing. A part of him that was well aware of the way he’d romanticized California in his head, the way he’d idealized the city that he and Matt had never made it to.
Was it that wrong of him to daydream about it, though? Who did it hurt, besides himself, if he thought about the beaches and the bars and the music executives while he poured lattes and scrubbed countertops?
Elliot’s eyebrows raised curiously as Rowan spoke again, but his tone of voice was what threw him off guard. He adjusted himself in his seat and averted his gaze toward the table. It sounded like a lecture he’d heard before. Rowan must be, like many of the people Elliot surrounded himself with, brave. Braver than him, at least.
He was like Avery, able to make decisions for himself, to choose when and where he wanted to do things. He was like Matt, who hardly took no for an answer. He was like all the people Elliot wanted so badly to be like.
“I should — I should get back to work,” Elliot stammered, trying to avoid admitting to this stranger than he’d settled on life, that he’d taken the safe route. Of course, he didn’t know the reason Elliot had decided to stay, he didn’t know why Elliot found comfort in the small coffee shop. “It was nice meeting you, Rowan. Hope that hangover gets better.”
