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Speaker 1: Hi, Welcome to Fiction Revised, a short story podcast. For

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each episode is a short story, rewritten, reimagined, and reshaped

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into a different genre, which is chosen at random. This week,

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our story is rest Up and the genre is Romance.

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By the time they pulled off the highway, Morgan's eyes

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felt grainy and her jaw hurt from holding it in

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one position for too long. The rest area appeared like

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everything else had that afternoon, sudden, sunwashed and a little unreal.

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A blue sign and eggs ramp curling away from the

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river of cars, A low concrete building with faded restroom symbols,

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A couple of gas station pumps, A row of trucks

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lined with nose out towards the open land beyond the railing.

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The desert spread in every direction, flat and complicated. At

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the same time, Taylor eased the car into a spot

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under a metal shade structure and killed the engine. The

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air conditioned died with a soft sigh. Heat leaned in

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through the windshield. We're almost there, Taylor said, fingers resting

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on the steering wheel a second longer before letting go.

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Like forty minutes tops okay, Morgan said, Her voice sounded

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like it had been left in the trunk, slightly muffled,

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slightly not hers. They sat there a beat. The engine ticked,

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a semi rumbled past on the highway, the sound a low,

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steady shudder. Bathroom, Taylor asked. Morgan huffed, bathroom, Yeah, do

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you want water? Taylor reached towards the cup holder, already

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in motion. We still have a coup of cold ones

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from the last stop. I'm okay, Morgan said, it was automatic.

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Taylor's hand paused, then settled back on their thigh. Okay.

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The car had been their whole world for hours, music

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shared jokes, long stretches of silence where the road hummed

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under them. It had been easy, in a suspended sort

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of way, the kind of ease that came when there

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was always more highway, more time before the next thing.

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Now the next thing was forty minutes away. Morgan opened

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her door. He'd hit her like breath from a dog's mouth, warm, close, insistent.

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She stepped out, her legs stiff and closed the door carefully.

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Taylor popped the trunk and headed towards the gas pumps.

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Morgan watched them go for half a second, the familiar

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line of their shoulders, the way they walked, like they

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already knew where they were going. Then she turned towards

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the restrooms. The concrete was hot through the thin soles

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of her sneakers. A kid ran past her, flip flops slapping,

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hands flung wide. Someone laughed near the bending machine. A

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dog somewhere shook tags, jingling. The bathroom smelled like every

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restop bathroom she'd ever been in, cleaning chemicals, damp tiles,

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an undertone of old water. She slid into a stall,

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locked it, sat down, and then only then did she

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realize that her hands were shaking. It had been a

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day built of small endings, unplugging things, folding cables, carrying

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boxes down narrow staircases, the sound of tape ripping, dropping

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the keys through mister Howard's mail slot, and hearing them

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land on the metal tray inside with the definitive clink.

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She watched the door of her old building closed and

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had told herself, okay, we're doing this. We had been

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planning this, this is the part where the plan happens. Now,

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in the fluorescent hum of a restop bathroom, the plan

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felt far away and fragile. She finished, washed her hands

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stared at herself in the mirror. The lighting wasn't kind,

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but it wasn't cruel either. It just didn't care. Her

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face looked almost normal, a little drawn, a little overheated,

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not like someone whose life was currently somewhere between before

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and after. You're fine, she told her reflection under her breath,

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the way you might tell a stranger skittish dog you

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meant no harm. Her reflection didn't argue. On the walk back,

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she detoured without thinking, towards the low metal railing that

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separated the parking lot from the open land. It wasn't

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much of a barrier, just a suggestion that people and

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cars belonged on one side and everything else belonged on

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the other. The desert yawned vast out in front of her,

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dotted with shrubs and low, stubborn plants. From a distance,

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it looked empty. Up close, it looked busy, twigs and thorns,

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sage and saltbrush, each claiming its thin strip of soil.

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Mountains huddled on the horizon, blue gray and hazy. The

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wind pushed at her shirt. It smelled like dust and

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something green and bitter underneath. She wrapped her fingers around

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the railing the metal was warm, almost body temperature. If

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she turned around, she could see the car, see tailor

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probably leaning against the trunk with their phone in their hand,

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or sitting in the driver's seat with the door of open,

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one foot on the ground, waiting ready to bring her

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the rest of the way. The thought made her chest

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feel tight and bright all at once. She had said, yes,

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she had wanted this. She still did want this. She

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also wanted very badly to rewind six hours and sit

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on her old couch with her mug and pretend that

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none of this was happening. Hey, Taylor's voice came from

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behind her. You vanished, She turned her head. Taylor came

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to stand beside her, leaving a few inches between them,

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like they could feel her edges and didn't want to

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crowd them. You fill up, she asked, yep. Taylor hooked

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the thumb over their shoulder towards the car. We're rowed ready,

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Then Taylor asked, how are you holding up? Taylor's question

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was light, but the answer was not, and she didn't

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have the energy to smuggle something honest into a joke

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right now, so she did what she'd been doing all day.

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I'm fine, Morgan said, Taylor's eyes stared out at the horizon. Liar,

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I know, Morgan muttered. They stood there together, watching the

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heat dance above the sand in faint, wobbly lines. The

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truck's breaks hissed somewhere behind them. The world went on

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doing what it did. Hey, Taylor said after a minute,

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random question. Did you bring your tombs in your backpack?

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Or did we pack them in a box? If it's

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in a box, it's fine. I just rode food and all.

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For a second, the words didn't make sense. They hovered

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in the air between them, and Morgan stared at them

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like they were written in a language she used to know.

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Tom's bathroom box. Her stomach dropped the box, she said,

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her own voice sounded far away. We packed them with

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the other bathroom stuff. Okay, Taylor nodded, like they were

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checking off a mental list. Cool, just making sure the box,

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Morgan repeated. But now the words came out. Dinner. She straightened,

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fingers leaving the railing palms felt slick. Did you bring

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it down from the bathroom, the one by the sink

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with the blue tape. Morgan could see it with terrible clarity,

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the small box on the floor for old bathroom tucked

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beside the sink, cabinet, blue tape on top, her blocky handwriting,

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bathroom slash, daily toothbrush, contacts, moisturizer, the cheap dry shampoo

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she'd been weirdly loyal to, A half used bottle of

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tombs razors, a tangle of hair ties, the chipped ceramic

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dish she kept by the mirror, the mood ring she

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hadn't worn in years, nestled in that dish, permanent background objects,

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tailor's browsing it together, their gaze catching up with their panic. Yeah,

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I grabbed the one from under the mirror with the tape.

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I put it in the back seat behind you. No,

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Morgan said, the words, cutting across theirs. No, that was

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the medicine cabinet one with the extra stuff. I had

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another box on the floor, the daily stuff. Did you,

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She broke off. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

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Now the heavy, stupid drum. Morgan Taylor straightened, fully, turning

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towards her breathe. Let's just check. Maybe we moved it

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earlier and you forgot. I can pop the trunk. It's

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not in the car, Morgan said, I would have seen it.

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There's only one bathroom box, and we didn't. The picture

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of her old bathroom sharpened, the empty hooks where her

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towels had hung, the bare ring on the counter where

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the soap had been, the lone box by the sink

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of waiting. She'd meant to grab it last after she

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brushed her teeth, after one more rinse of the glass

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by the mirror, after one more look, but she didn't.

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The memory of leaving it pinched at the back of

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her eyes. I forgot it, she said. Saying it out

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loud made it feel heavier like metal. I left it there, okay,

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Taylor said, Okay, nay, that's all right. Their voice found

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the tone people you for near miss accidents and dropped plates.

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We can go back. It'll take some time, but we're

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not that far, Taylor. We're hours away. Morgan snapped. It's

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sharper than she meant to the heat, the long day,

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the sudden wave of nausea, I'll all packed into the word.

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We're not just popping back. My keys are in mister

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Howard's stupid little tray, and someone's probably already looked in

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the bathroom and thrown it away. And hey, Taylor said,

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it's okay. We can replace everything. The phrase landed round,

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like biting down on something hard and soft food. Morgan's

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voice broke. You can't replace everything, Sure we can, Taylor said,

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still in fix it mode. There's a drug store near

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the apartment. We'll get you more toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, whatever, contact, morriage, drizer,

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whatever you need. We'll go tonight. It's a big deal.

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It's not. She shook her head hard enough that a

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strand of hair stuck to her damp cheek. Her eyes burned.

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It's not about the toothpaste. Taylor opened, her mouth, closed it.

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The wind pressed against both of them. Morgan looked down

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at her hands. There were little half moon marks where

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her fingers had dug into her own skin on the railing.

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Her throat felt thick, like it might never clear again.

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It's not about the box, she said, and this time

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her voice came out small and wrecked, or even the

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stupid mood rang. Taylor blanked, mood rang. It was in

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the bathroom, Morgan said. The words started to slip faster,

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tripping over each other. This cheap thing from high school.

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I never wear it. I just it lives there, has

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lived there through every apartment, every roommate. I don't throw

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it away because it feels like it's there. It's just

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always there. I know it's dumb. Hey, Taylor said softly, Hey, Hey,

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her hands hovering near her arms, not quite touching. You're tired,

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it's been a long day. You didn't do anything wrong.

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That's not Morgan. Let out of your breath. I know

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I didn't commit a cry against boxes. I just she

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could feel it happening, the way the emotion she'd been

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managing in small, private SIPs all day suddenly sloshed over

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the rim the empty apartment, the thunk of the keys,

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mister Howard promising to keep an eye on things in

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that vague way old men do, The way the light

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had slanted across the now bare walls where her bookshelf

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used to be. Leaving had felt like stepping over a

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line painted on the floor. Now that line was miles

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behind her, and she'd just realized she'd left something small

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and irrational on the other side. The mood rang the

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everyday items. The person who had known exactly where her

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moisturizer sat in the dark was scared, she said, And

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there it was out hanging between them. I don't know

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if we're doing the right thing. Taylor's face changed, but

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she didn't look at them long enough to catalog how

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the words kept tumbling, pulled by their own gravity. I

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love you, she said, Tears blurred everything, desert trucks Taylor's shirt.

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She swiped at them uselessly. I want this, I really do,

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and I also don't at the same time, and I

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feel like that makes me an asshole. It doesn't, Taylor said.

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She barreled on what if we're making a mistake. Her

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voice cracked on the word what if moving in together

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ruins everything? What if I turn out to be too

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much like I always am and you change your mind,

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and then I'm stuck in this brand new city. But

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I actually, you know, I kind of love it. But

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you're gone and I'm alone, and you just get to

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go back, You get to take the same highway and

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reverse and slide right back into your life. And I'm

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the one who dismantled all the fine for this. The

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confession hung there, raw and breathless. A car door slammed

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somewhere behind them. A kid whined about snacks, A crow

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called from a light post, horse and insistent. Taylor's hands

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dropped to their sides for a second. Their face was

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nakedly stricken, like someone had just knocked the wind out

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of them. You think i'd just go back, Taylor said quietly.

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Morgan closed her eyes shame crawled up for a neck.

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I don't know what I think. I just she dragged

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in a breath that shuddered all the way down. I

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feel like I stepped off a ledge, and I'm not

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allowed to say wow, that's a long way down because

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I'm the one who jumped off the sledge. Taylor was

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silent long enough that Morgan risked opening her eyes again.

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They weren't angry. That almost made it worse. Their expression

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was something softer and more complicated, like they were turning

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her words over, looking at them from all sides and

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seeing things they hadn't meant to show, Morgan. Taylor said, finally,

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they sounded different. That's on top of everything. I'm so

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sorry I made you feel like you're not allowed to

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freak out. I thought I was helping. I know you did,

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she said thickly. It's not like you're doing anything wrong.

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I just every time you say, well, replace it or

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it's fine, I just feel like i'm supposed to be fine,

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and I'm not fine. I might be fine later, I

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don't know, but right now I'm unfine. Something in Taylor's

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face softened like wax narrow flame. They took a step closer,

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slow enough she could have stepped back if she wanted,

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but she didn't. I'm scared too, Taylor said, I'm so simple.

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For a second, Morgan almost didn't register it. Her brain

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had been braced for reassurance, or a counter argument, or

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a list of practical comforts, not that she blanked. What

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do you mean you're scared? I'm scared too, Taylor repeated.

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They let out a breath, shoulders falling from a fraction,

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like fully, not just a little nervous. I've been terrified

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for weeks. I've been acting like the logistics very because

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that feels easier than saying, hey, I wake up at

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three am sometimes and stare at the stealing picture you

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standing in my doorway with the suitcase, saying you made

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a huge mistake. The image Taylor described hit Morgan in

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another kind of way that made her stomach drop. Why

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why would I do that? Because you're giving so much

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more than me, Taylor said, And there was no hesitation

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in it. You're leaving your coffee shop and mister Howard

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and your trash truck schedule, and that we're staying in

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the hallway. You're leaving streets, your feet no better than

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your brain. I'm not leaving any of that. I'm just

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I'm making a hole in my life and asking for

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you to step into it. They rubbed a hand over

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the back of their neck, looking away briefly towards the mountains.

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The idea that I could be wrong, that I could

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convince you to come, and then it wouldn't be what

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you need and you'd feel trapped. Do you think that

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doesn't scare the shit out of me. We're going swallowed,

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your tears slowed, and you never said anything. Yeah. Well,

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sometimes I'm very good at packing and very bad at

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vulnerable monologues. When I said we can replace everything, I

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meant there's nothing so important in that box that it's

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worth you beating yourself up over. But I get that

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it's not just shampoo and a mood ring. It's your routine.

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It's you, and you're allowed to grieve losing the way

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things were. Even if you're walking towards something, you choose

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the wind gusted, flapping the hem of Taylor's shirt against

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their jeans. Their eyes were steady on her. If you

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ever hate it, Taylor said, cards on the table, If

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it ever feels wrong, we will not just shrug and

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keep going. We will talk about it, will adjust, We'll

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figure it out. I'm not dragging you into a life

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and then leaving you if it gets hard. That's not

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the kind of person I am, and that's not the

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kind of us that I want. Morgan thought of the

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empty half of Taylor's wardrobe she'd seen on their last

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video call, the extra toothbrush in the cup by their sank,

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still in it's plastic, the way they'd sent her photos

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of the cabinet they'd cleared out in the kitchen. You

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could go back, though, Morgan said, If I left, you

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could just stay. I could. Taylor agreed, geographically, logistically I could. Emotionally,

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I don't think there's a version of where I go

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back to my old life like nothing happened. You're not

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a couch I'm swapping out. You're the part where my

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life started making sense. That sentence hung between them. It

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could have sounded like a line. It didn't sounded almost embarrassed,

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which made it land harder. Morgan shifted her nose was

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running in a very unromantic way. It was very earnest,

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she said. Taylor huffed yeah. Morgan watched Taylor's face, searching

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for the thing she'd been quietly bracing for a flicker

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of impatience, an eye roll, a tight around the mouth

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that meant that this was too much. She didn't find it,

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But she found was someone who looked as scared as

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she felt, and who was still standing there anyway, close

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enough that she could see the pulse flickering at the

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base of her throat. I don't want to disappear into

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your life, Morgan said. I don't want to be this

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add on that has to fit into all your existing slots,

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like who I am, who I've worked hard to be.

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I like her. I don't want to lose her just

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because I love you good. Taylor said, I don't want

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to lose her either. I like her too. I'm kind

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of counting on her existing Morgan let out of breath.

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She hadn't realized that she'd been holding onto. The air

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tasted like the sun and dust and something green. You're

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allowed to be sad that you left, Taylor added, even

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if you don't regret leaving, those are not usually exclusive settings.

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Morgan stared out at the desert again, the shrubs, the

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low plants, the way everything out there was still alive,

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without any of the things she thought she needed. I

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feel like I left a version of me standing in

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that bathroom, the one who knows where the good tortillas

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are and which cashier will ask about my day, and

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just walked away from her. I left her with a

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dumb mood ring. Maybe she's not stuck there, Taylor said.

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Maybe she just came with you and the mood ring

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is the only thing that stayed. I mean, I guess

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that is kind of how objects work, and it's not

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really how people work. He keeps showing up in new places.

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It's gross, actually, Morgan laughed, a small startled sound that

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unpunched something in her shoulder. You're an idiot, okay. Taylor's

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hand brushed the back of hers. I'm come and sit

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on the curb with me. Okay, Morgan nodded. They moved

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close to each other, with their back toward the car,

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the heat pressing around them but less oppressive now that

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she'd stopped fighting her own reaction, like they were weather

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she could change. They sat on the curb, facing the

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open stretch of land. The sun was angling lower shadows,

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stretching a little longer under the parked trucks. For a moment,

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neither of them spoke. The quiet wasn't empty the way

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it had felt in the car. It was full of

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things that had just been said and things that didn't

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need to be said. Then Taylor turned their hand, palm

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up on the curb between them. There wasn't a grab

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or a plea or a demand, just an open, offered space.

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Moran looked at Taylor's hand, and she let her own

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hands slip into theirs. Their fingers folded around hers carefully,

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like they were closing a book they wanted to keep

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reading later. The contact was small, warm, no lightning bolts,

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no swelling music, just skin and skin and the steady

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anchoring weight of being held. I'm still scared, she said.

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It felt important to say it explicitly, to not pretend

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this gesture had magically reset her brain. Me too, said Taylor.

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I don't think that that's going to vanish the second

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we cross city limits. Great, Morgan said, we can be

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cowards together. Perfect Taylor said, we'll start a club, two members,

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super exclusive. They leaned into each other and watched the desert.

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Morgan pictured the bathroom box again, sitting on the floor,

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blue tape, her handwriting the mood rang catching a slipper

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of light through the window. It hurt thinking of it there,

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It didn't hurt as much as the idea of never

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having gotten in the car. Maybe I'll buy a new

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mood ring, she said, slowly, from like the mall kiosk

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in your stupid city, Our stupid city. Taylor corrected. She

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rolled her eyes, but didn't argue, fine, our stupid city.

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Maybe I'll even wear it unless it turns my finger green.

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You know it's going to, Taylor said. Morgan smiled. The

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00:22:01,440 --> 00:22:04,559
wind gusted and then settled around them like an exhale.

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For the first time all day, the space inside her

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00:22:07,160 --> 00:22:10,000
didn't feel like a cliff edge. It felt more like

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a room with the door she could walk through and

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back out of as needed. Okay, Morgan said, quietly, okay,

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Taylor said. They sat there until the concrete started to

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feel too hard under them, and the sun slid a

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little lower, painting the distant mountains in a softer color.

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At the car. Taylor opened the driver's door, paused, looking

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over the top of it at Morgan. If you want

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to sit in the back and stare moodily out the window,

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I'll respect your process. Morgan shook her head. No, the

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front's perfect. Taylor started the engine before they pulled out.

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Taylor glanced over Morgan met their eyes. They were still scared.

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She could see it now, but they were scared, and

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staying scared, and breaching for her hand. Anyway, Let's go home,

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Morgan said. Taylor's mouth curved. Yeah, let's They pulled out

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of the parking lot and back onto the on ramp,

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the car gathering speed. As they merged onto the highway,

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the rest stop shrank in the side mirror, bathrooms, trucks railing,

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all folding back into the landscape ahead of them. The

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road stretched towards the city, where nothing of hers existed

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00:23:25,640 --> 00:23:29,400
yet except a clear shellf awaiting toothbrush, and a life

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00:23:29,400 --> 00:23:32,799
she hadn't lived. Beside her, a hand was within reach.

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Behind her, a cheap mood ring sat in an empty bathroom.

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Catching the last of the light. She turned forward. She

385
00:23:42,119 --> 00:23:46,519
was still scared. She was not alone. The car moved on,

386
00:23:48,079 --> 00:23:51,400
thank you for listening. Let's see what I'm writing next.

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00:23:53,319 --> 00:23:57,480
Looks like I'll be rewriting the story coming back. I

388
00:23:57,599 --> 00:24:01,400
was previously done as a horror story, and this time

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I will be turning into a fairy tale. Next week,

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00:24:07,200 --> 00:24:09,359
story changes. See then,