Before Thirty

18. Blake

"The guy I spoke to at the Powwow is someone I used to work with. We have a long and complicated history."

"Okay. How does that become you deciding we shouldn't travel together?"

Nothing straightforward about that answer. Diana. DRC and every other country I've gone to in my career. My family. How different we are in almost every aspect of life. If I really ponder me and Gwen as travel companions or anything else, we don't make sense. For a guy who prefers logic and order, it's strange to realize I'm now okay with neither existing in this situation.

"My reasoning was... A combination of a lot of things that would take all night to get into." I swallow, and give a little shrug. "And you're right, I'm not sure I'm ready to be the open book you want. It's unnatural."

"Do you even want to tell me things? If you want to tell me, but it's hard, then I can be persistent." She squeezes my hand on the table. "But if you're just doing this to convince me to travel with you again, you don't have to."

She's giving me an out, an opportunity to maintain my walls, keep my emotional landscape perfectly preserved. Although I can't see what's on the other side of the wall, my sister might have a point about how freeing it is to be one hundred percent authentic with someone. No hiding. No shielding parts of myself. Fucking terrifying, and I'm not sure I'm ready.

If I think about it as an experiment with a finite ending, it's slightly less daunting. Two and a half months of letting Gwen read whatever page she wants, and then if the consequences of sharing myself aren't worth it, I close the book again.

These six months away from work can be an interlude. A break physically, mentally, and emotionally. The first three months have been good for me, or at least they felt like it until I ran into Herb. Gwen has been a big part of that, opening up Canada and offering experiences I wouldn't normally have sought. For the first time in a long time, I can say I'm relishing life—not surviving or getting through—reveling in it. 

The fact that I didn't acknowledge those positives a couple of days ago when I told Gwen we should go our own ways just shows how strong my blinders have been. It took not having her with me for such a short period to drive the truth home. Without her, I would have been miserable on this trip—counting days instead of living in the moment.

"My instinct, ever since I was a kid, was to protect myself. Protect others. Sometimes I've been able to..." I meet her gaze. "And sometimes I haven't." The waitress returns with our drinks and sets them in front of us. "I went to work for Doctors International as soon as I was able."

"Oh, wow," Gwen says, picking up her glass of wine and taking a sip. "Do you go dangerous places? You can go anywhere in the world with them, right?"

"I can, and I have." I touch the scar above my eye. "Sometimes danger finds me." Though I hope she doesn't ask how I got it. That's not a story I'm ready to tell.

"And the guy at the Powwow?"

"An old mentor." I pick up my sparkling water. "With opinions I don't like hearing."

"About where you should work?"

"Among other things, yeah."

"That's evasive. That's a typical Blake response."

I huff out a breath and try to think about how I can answer honestly but in a way that I'm comfortable with. "He doesn't think I should go back to the Democratic Republic of the Congo when my, somewhat forced, mental health break is over."

"Somewhat forced?"

"I was in a vehicle that was shot at. I treated two colleagues who were wounded and helped transport them to a facility that could help them more."