On the Way Down

Chapter Thirteen

I give this man credit. He spent four hours driving from Vegas last night, and then another hour driving from Laguna Beach to my place to pick me up this afternoon. Now he's willing to brave Saturday stop-and-go traffic on L.A.'s west side to get to Marina del Rey.

I would make a joke to him about how that's love, like I used to do when he would surprise me with an impromptu weekend road trip somewhere that involved a freeway traffic jam on our way out of the city, but the words become stuck in my throat. Thank God they do. As familiar as Phoenix is, and even with the moments last weekend and already today that have transported me back to old times, now is now.

There will be no uttering of the L-word during this date, not even in the lighthearted, kidding around sense. Not with him. We have a history filled with it, and I took the word and the concept it symbolizes for granted too many times. I won't sprinkle it into casual conversation with him.

"I haven't heard this song in years," I say instead, opting for a safer comment on the music. It sparks memories of a playlist he made me when we started dating, and of the shiny, dreamlike bubble my life was to me then. This was the first song on it.

Phoenix smiles and keeps his eyes on the road. Neither action tells me if he recalls the significance of the music filling our ears, so I let it go for now.

We're four songs deep into our drive when I can't ignore it anymore. The music isn't a coincidence. This is the same playlist. If he's using it to evoke warm feelings and breathless memories of the days I listened to these songs on repeat, smiling and humming along while I lost myself in the honeymoon stage of our relationship, it's working.

What are you doing to me, Nix?

I decide to call him on it. "This is our playlist."

"You recognize it." He sounds happy about this, and his eyes tell the same story when they light up. Did he think I would forget?

"Of course I do."

The sequence of these songs is ingrained in my mind for eternity. "Thinking Out Loud," the one that became our song, should be five tracks from now. We'd best be in Marina del Rey before it comes on, since I can't be sure how I'll handle hearing the melody and lyrics while I sit next to Phoenix. I've avoided listening to it since we crumbled, and there have been numerous times I've lunged to change the station or song any time I've heard a note or two on satellite radio or a streaming service. I didn't want the reminder of him when we were apart. I used to assume it would be our wedding song if we got married, and that was before I found out he'd planned to propose.

The traffic gods grant me mercy, because Phoenix signals to turn into a parking lot at Fisherman's Village before we reach that part of the playlist. Once we're parked, he exits the vehicle and is at the passenger side in a flash. He takes my hand as he helps me out, my palm easily finding its place against his as though we were still doing this every day for the last six years in another timeline somewhere.

I keep hold of his hand while he leads me from the parking lot to the boardwalk that runs along the harbor. As we stroll past the brightly colored shops and restaurants, I scan the signs for anything that could be our destination.

"Are we going to a restaurant here?" I ask. It seems like the answer to this would be yes, but it's also early to be having dinner.

"Not quite, but there will be dinner later. I think we should check out the yacht over there."

"Yacht?" I scan the harbor. My eyes land on the first yacht I see.

I'm too intrigued by the sight of the boat and that we're heading in its direction to ask more questions. Once we're closer, I notice a man with an iPad standing on the dock. He glances up at us when we approach.