Roadside Attractions

Twenty-Nine

TOFINO, BC

Roman’s eyes are wide as saucers, staring at me as though I’ve magically spawned in front of him after being resurrected from the dead. We both stand there, too frozen to move.

I’m not the only one who looks different.

His curls are more dishevelled. What was once manicured stubble is now beginning to grow into a beard. He looks, for all intents and purposes, like a portrait of white Jesus I’d find in Edith’s house. He’s wearing a wetsuit, droplets of water clinging to the surface as he clutches a large surfboard to his side, and the image of it all is so out of place. This is not the Roman I know. This Roman looks—and feels—like a total stranger.

My lips part, but I’m speechless. I should call Wyatt, should seal my mouth shut until he gets here, but my brain is currently functioning at low capacity. I can't do much more than gape at Roman.

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to spot him from afar and stay a safe distance away until Wyatt arrived. He wasn’t supposed to sneak up on me .

Roman’s face is a picture of shock. His mouth hangs open, his grip on the surfboard going slack until it slides down, nearly landing on his foot. He curses absentmindedly before his attention goes back to me, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” I say evenly, my mind returning to me.

There’s the slightest hint of remorse on his face, as if maybe some part of him—no matter how minuscule—feels at least a little guilty for the way he left. But he brushes my statement aside, floundering for something to say.

“Are you on vacation?” he asks, still incredulous. “I can’t believe I ran into you all the way out here.”

A snort of amusement escapes me, though I try to smother it, bringing a hand up to my lips to cover my smile. “What a coincidence.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot you want to say to me,” he says, smiling weakly. The sight sets me on edge, and my teeth grind together. He doesn’t even know the half of it. “I probably didn’t go about all of this in the best way. . .”

My fear is completely gone now, replaced by all the fury I’ve suppressed for the past twenty-four hours. I scoff, biting the inside of my cheek. I don’t think that statement even warrants a response.

At my silence, his confidence begins to slip. “I should’ve talked to you. Told you where I was going. Explained things clearly. I. . . I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“In what world would everything you’ve done not hurt me?” I blurt, frustrated heat rising to my cheeks. “The ‘contrite ex-boyfriend with good intentions’ act might have worked on me three weeks ago, but it sure as hell won’t work now. Hurting me was the only possible outcome.”

His brow furrows, lips pursed in a pout of dissent. “Well, it wasn’t the only outcome,” he argues, before pausing to watch me closely. “A part of me thought you might’ve been relieved. That I was gone. ”

I stare at him in disbelief, the tension leaving my body. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Roman waits as a family glides by us, heading toward the water. He shifts his weight between his feet uncomfortably, stalling for time, squinting at the horizon before bringing his gaze back to me. “Stells, you may have loved me, but by the end, it didn’t feel like you liked me,” he remarks, shrugging a shoulder. “You were barely ever home. You spent all your time at work, and then in your very little free time, I felt like it bothered you that I wanted to do things with you. And you know my love language is quality time.”

A humourless laugh escapes my lips, and I throw up my hands in defeat, sure this is all a giant prank, that someone must be filming me in secret. Of course, after everything he’s done, he’s going to blame it all on me. “You can’t be serious,” I say, feeling like I’ve fallen into a nightmare. “I busted my ass and worked overtime so I could help support you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he persists. “I wanted a girlfriend, not a caretaker. I can handle myself on my own.”

“Oh my god.” I go to drag my hands through my hair in frustration before remembering one of them is still gripping my phone tightly. I need to call Wyatt before I do something I regret. If Roman can take care of himself, why has he jumped from leeching off his parents, to Wyatt, to me, and now—presumably—to Margot? “This has to be a fucking joke.”

“I was going stir-crazy in the city,” he says earnestly, as if that absolves him of everything. “It was suffocating. I needed more. I needed to get out, for my own sake, and for the sake of my work. Stells, you wouldn’t believe how inspired I’ve felt since I left. The poems are practically flowing out of me.”

I blink at him, uncomprehending. Realistically, the way he’s speaking right now isn’t all that different from our countless conversations over the last four years, but it feels as though my head was underwater that whole time, and now I’ve been yanked to the surface. How did I not see that this man is a never-ending stream of bullshit and lies?

“I’m glad leaving me has allowed you to create your magnum opus,” I remark, giving him a sardonic smile. His shoulders droop, as if he genuinely thought I’d be excited on his behalf. “Happy to be of service.” A ball of hurt begins to roll around in my chest, and I try to swallow around it. “You could’ve asked me to come with you, you know.”

At that, his expression turns to one of pity, and I feel something inside of me snap. “Come on, Stells,” he says, lips lifting at the corners into a sad smile. “I know you. You never would’ve said yes. You love Toronto, and your job, and Noor, and that apartment.”

I notice the way it’s no longer our apartment.

“Let’s be realistic here,” he continues, the condescending tone of his voice making a pit form in my stomach. “It was a nice little chapter of our lives, but we both knew we wouldn’t last forever, right? I mean, we didn’t really make sense together.”

The blazing sun on my skin feels like the manifestation of my humiliation, like I’ve been put under a spotlight. I may have finally woken up to the truth of our relationship, but it’s really hitting me now that Roman doesn’t care about me at all.

For four years, I’ve been a fool, loving a man who didn’t deserve it, a man who never once thought of me as highly as I did of him. A man who stole people’s words and gave them to me so I’d love him more. A man who only went after me in the first place because he wanted to beat his best friend to the punch. A man who used me for years , and now has the gall to act like he didn’t need me in the first place.

My vision blurs with tears of frustration. Fuck this guy. Fuck him for ever entering my life.

My nails dig into my palms, and my phone nearly falls out of my hand. “Then why did you tell me—over and over again—that you wanted to be with me forever? Why would you do that?” I demand. He looks dumbfounded, brown eyes widening. “You’re a con artist, Roman. You’re manipulative, a coward, and a liar.”

His head rears back. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

This time, my laugh sounds more like a strangled sob. “ Harsh ? Harsh is convincing me you loved me, convincing me to find a place with you, telling me you’re in it for the long haul, then leaving me with nothing but a note. All so you could gallivant into the sunset with someone else.”

Roman’s face blanches at the end of my statement. He takes his time responding, looking out at the ocean, and I listen to the noises around us: the waves cresting on the shore, the chatter of the crowd milling about on the beach, the cry of the seagulls, the chorus of cheers from the people watching the surfboarders. It truly does feel like a nightmare where nothing makes sense, but I know it’s real. I know I’m here, on a beach in Tofino with Roman, over four thousand kilometres away from home, sand creeping into my sandals.

“Stella,” he says, all business now. “How much do you know?”

I remain silent, arms folded across my chest, watching him register the truth slowly, piece by piece. He takes a slow step backward.

“Hold on,” he says, lifting a hand as if to ward me off. “Did you. . . did you follow me here? Holy shit. That’s so fucked up.”

“So you do have a sense of what’s fucked up. Judging by the way you abandoned me as if I never meant anything to you, cheated on me, and stole from me, I didn’t think you did.”

Roman maintains his distance. “I understand that you’re upset,” he says carefully, as if I’m a wild animal—or his stalker ex-girlfriend, which, to be fair, is valid. “But this is outrageous. You need to move on.”

“Don’t worry, Roman,” I say. “After this, I have.”

Two things happen at once, bringing our heated confrontation to an abrupt halt. The first: a blonde woman with a flowy skirt approaches us, looking stricken as her footsteps falter. The second: Roman’s gaze fixates on something over my shoulder, face paling once more, and I know he must’ve just spotted his former best friend.

The woman—Margot, if I had to venture a guess—steps closer, her eyes darting between Roman and me. She’s just as beautiful and earthy as she looked in her pictures, but her eyebrows are pinched together, her hands extended toward us as if to ask us to calm down. “What is this?” she asks. “What’s happening here?”

Wyatt reaches us seconds later. I’m hit with the scent of his cologne before I see him, and I feel a sense of relief. His fingers encircle my upper arm, and he looks at me with wide eyes. “Hey,” he says, his voice quiet, only for me. This entire trip has been about finding Roman, but even with his ex-best friend standing before him, Wyatt doesn’t look away from my face. “Are you okay?”

I can only manage a jerky nod, the lump in my throat too thick to speak through.

Roman laughs shortly, holding his arms wide and looking around the crowded beach. “Great. Has anyone else followed me across the country, or is it just you two?”

“Depends,” Wyatt answers, his voice even. “Did you fuck anyone else over? The more the merrier.”

Margot looks completely flabbergasted, her head rearing back in surprise. She turns to Roman for help, but he seems to have barely registered her presence. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asks.

Roman is silent, lips pressed into a firm line, his eyes darting between Wyatt and me. I expect him to keep trying to defend himself—or at least paint himself in a better light—but it’s like Wyatt’s presence has confirmed that he’s been completely backed into a corner. Me, he could handle. His so-called best friend, not so much.

I take a deep, steadying breath. Margot being here for this wasn’t something I anticipated, but it doesn’t feel fair to leave her in the dark. She clearly has no idea who she’s dating. Swallowing, I turn to her. “Hi,” I say woodenly. “My name is Stella. This is Wyatt.”

“Okay,” she replies, drawing out the word, confused. Her eyes dart to Roman again, but he’s stone cold, anger bubbling beneath his skin.

“Until about three weeks ago, Roman was my boyfriend,” I continue. Margot recoils. “We lived together. Wyatt was his best friend. I came home one day to find a note, and all of his stuff was gone. Wyatt got a text. Before he left, he stole from both of us.”

Margot shakes her head with each statement, and Roman’s fists ball at his sides. She holds up a hand to stop me with a choke of startled laughter. “That’s impossible. You must be confused. Roman isn’t that kind of person. And we’ve been together for months .”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my entire body cringing. Months. And I’d thought a week of overlap between the two relationships was bad. Wyatt’s fingers find mine, giving them a reassuring squeeze. I have to resist the urge to lean against him and turn my face into his chest. The thought of just walking away and putting all this behind me is dangerously tempting. But I can’t leave before it’s over.

“We were together for four years,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Margot gasps, her hands flying up to her mouth in shock as she turns to Roman for confirmation. He steps toward her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Baby, listen to me,” he pleads. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Things with Stella and I have been over for ages. We were more like roommates by the time I met you.”

“ Roommates ?” I repeat, unable to stop the hysterical laugh that rises to the surface. The tears are back, pressing against my eyes, and I let go of Wyatt’s hands, turning away. Roman doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

He moved on long before I realized it.

Yet he still said all the right things, still claimed I was his muse, made sure I never stopped believing he loved me. Sickness roils around in my gut. I fell for his words so easily. But how could I not? When you have a partner, you love them, and you believe them, and you expect them to do the same.

“Fuck you, Roman,” Wyatt spits, venom in his voice.

“Don’t do this, Wy,” Roman begs. “You’ve always been like a brother to me.”

“You have a skewed sense of what family means.”

“I—I can’t do this,” Margot breathes out, and I turn back around in time to see her removing herself from Roman’s grasp, storming off into the crowd on the beach.

Roman squeezes his eyes shut in chagrin. “How’d you even find me?” he asks quietly .

“You’ve been sharing your location with me for the past year, dumbass.”

He exhales through his nose, taking another moment to process. “Well, you followed me all the way out here. What do you want from me?”

Wyatt nods in my direction, letting me have the floor. I purse my lips, squaring my shoulders. “I want you to pay me the rent money you owe me. To the end of the lease we signed.”

Roman laughs once. “Right. And you?” he asks, turning the question on his best friend.

“You told me you’d pay me back by the end of the summer,” Wyatt says. “And then you ran away.”

“Look, I don’t have that kind of money—”

“Stop.” Wyatt holds up his hand. “Just stop lying, okay? I know you. Don’t bullshit me.”

Anger flicks across Roman’s face, and he crosses his arms. “You know what? No,” he says firmly. “I don’t deserve this. The money thing is fucked up, I’ll admit that. But I’m not going to apologize for wanting something better for myself. I needed it to start a new life. Besides, I’ve known you since we were kids, Wy. My family took you in—we grew up together. You want to just throw that all away?”

My anger spills over my lips, eager to jump to Wyatt’s defence. “ You threw that all away when you left. Don’t put that on him.”

“Stella,” he says mournfully, hands twitching to reach out for me before he stops himself. “I wasn’t lying to you during our relationship. I wanted to make it work. I wanted it to be forever, but it. . . it wasn’t enough. I loved you. Truly, I did. But I’ve stopped. I’m sorry.”

I flash him another sardonic smile. “I've stopped too. And I don’t believe you. I can’t. You may think you loved me, but this isn’t how you treat the people you love. You wasted so much of my time that I’ll never get back, and you took me for granted. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he pushes, eyes serious. “You meant a lot to me. You still do. I look back on our time together fondly. ”

I roll my eyes, suppressing the stab to my chest. “Spare me.”

Wyatt notices the shift in my demeanour, the film of frustrated tears forming over my eyes. His eyebrows pull together, and he places his hand on my back, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles. Roman’s eyes track the movement, and a new realization dawns on his face.

All traces of remorse fade from his expression. “I see,” he says shortly, gaze fixated on Wyatt. “Now I get what’s happening here. You never could keep your eyes off my girlfriend.”

“Don’t,” Wyatt warns, withdrawing his hand.

“We’re laying it all out on the table, aren’t we?” Roman says. “Why not this too? You think I didn’t notice you pining for her the whole time we were together? I’m not fucking stupid. And now you’ve poisoned her against me, so congratulations.”

I exhale sharply, my fingernails digging into my palms. “Don’t talk about me like I don’t have any agency. I can think for myself. It took zero convincing for me to realize how pathetic you are.”

Roman looks at me incredulously, gesturing to Wyatt. “Can’t you see that this has been his plan the whole time? He’s been waiting for my sloppy seconds since the moment we started dating. Have fun with your rebound.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Wyatt lunges forward, his fist meeting Roman’s jaw with a sickening crack. I cringe, covering my gasp with my hands. Roman lands on his ass in the sand, bewildered.

Wyatt breathes hard, steam practically coming out of his ears as he shakes his hand out. “Don’t talk about her like that,” he spits in Roman’s direction.

I’m stunned, shocked into silence, before I take a step closer to Wyatt, reaching a tentative hand in his direction. “Are you—”

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m done here.”

We’ve attracted the attention of several people in the crowd, something Roman and I notice at the same time. He scrambles to his feet, clutching his face, then turning a wobbly smile toward the bystanders, ever the performer. “It’s fine! We’re all good here.”

My heart races as Wyatt stalks a short distance away, no doubt trying to calm himself down. I meet Roman’s eyes, and they look resigned, betrayed, and bloodshot, like he’s finally realized there’s no coming back from this—that it was all his doing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Really, I am. I never wanted things to end up like this.”

“Too late,” I say.

“Stella—” he begins, but stops himself, wincing. “I’ll. . . I’ll talk to my parents. Get you guys your money.”

We share one last lingering look, and it’s an odd thing—to know that this is it. That I’ll most likely never see him again. That our last memory of each other will be tumultuous and surreal, so far removed from the four years we spent together. I’ll always remember the exhausted surrender on his rapidly bruising face, and, God-willing, he’ll always remember how it felt to be caught in his web of lies and have his life blown up right in front of him.

I storm after Wyatt, and as I do, I glance at my phone, navigate to my email drafts, to the tangible, irrefutable evidence we’ve gathered, and press send.