NINETEEN
A few days later, I sat on my front step waiting for them to pick me up, scrolling through social media. I had six missed calls from my mother already that morning, and a bunch of messages I hadn’t opened. It was too raw and, quite frankly, I wanted to stay angry. I wanted to punish her a little longer.
I kept returning to that photo of Nicki and Dylan in bed, their perfect breakfast tray, the adoring smiles on their faces. I couldn’t figure out what about it was disturbing me. Was it a weird filter, had they photoshopped it?
It took me a minute to realize—there was no St. Christopher around his neck. Since his mum died, I’d never seen him without it. And Nicki had told him she didn’t like it, that it didn’t fit her brand. Maybe this was real for him, then, he’d completely thrown himself in headfirst, no doubts. No excuses. Just like I’d told him to. It should have been a win.
He wanted us to be like we were when we were kids, but I couldn’t do that. I needed distance, space. Some time to figure out how to be this version of myself with him. Not to give everything away and let him . . . be Dylan. He couldn’t be the most important person in my life this time round.
Best to take a step back, be professional, not let him get too close.
Which wasn’t likely to be easy in a tent . . .
I heard a car honking loudly and looked up in shock. It was a goddamn limousine. I had severely underestimated this lifestyle, clearly. But, hey, I’d wanted a good story to tell. I painted on a smile and hiked my bag over my shoulder as I stood.
“Hi, guys!”
They waved, all of them inside, already drinking bubbly and playing music entirely too loudly.
The driver took my backpack and put it in the boot, and I immediately regretted my practical clothes, just like I’d known I would.
I slid into the car, the disco lights blinding me slightly, and laughed at them, dazed.
“Are we going glamping or are we American teenagers going to the prom?” I said, and Tola snorted. Ben winked as he handed me a glass of prosecco.
“This is just for effect,” Nicki said, smiling too widely at me, that mermaid-to-piranha vibe emanating from her. She draped herself around Dylan. “I just want you guys to feel special. To know how much I truly appreciate you, and everything you’ve done for Dylan and Ben.”
I looked around. “No Priya?”
Nicki pouted a little, but covered it with a smile. “Childcare issues.”
“And she’d rather eat glass than go camping,” Ben supplied.
“I told you, it’s glamping,” Nicki started, and Dylan put an arm around her.
“And she’s going to be very jealous when we’re all having a lovely time and she’s missing out,” he said, placating her, and she looked at him with such gratitude and relief that I was a little stunned. Who was the real Fixer Upper here?
“Besides, I just thought it would be so nice for us all to hang out together, before the big presentation and it all comes to an end!” Nicki said innocently, and I looked at her, trying to figure out what was happening.
“Before the most stressful meeting of our life is over?” Dylan laughed, pulling Nicki in for a hug. “I don’t think we’re going to be upset at that being done, babe. In fact, if I never have to wear a suit and do a presentation again, it’ll be too soon.”
Nicki frowned, quizzical. “But you look great in a suit.”
“He also looks great in jeans, it’s really unfair,” Ben said, and everyone laughed. “But at least that way I don’t feel like I’m about to be told off by the big boss.”
“But . . . he is the big boss.” Nicki frowned again, before smoothing out her forehead.
“I think Ben just means once we’ve hopefully got this funding, we don’t have to worry too much about the look of things anymore. We’ll have the backing to do what we want, to build stuff that matters. And we can do that looking mighty fine in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“And in a less expensive office.” Ben smiled pointedly, and I wondered why he thought now was the right time to push this issue. Nicki looked aghast.
“Well”—I smiled—“definitely something to chat about when the time comes, but you never know how life can change when these deals come in! So here’s to success!” I held up my glass, and everyone joined in.
Dylan sent me a grateful look, and Nicki looked between us, suddenly suspicious.
“It’s such a shame we won’t all be hanging out like this after the presentation,” she said again, and I suddenly realized what she meant. She wanted me out of the picture. She didn’t want the proof of her subterfuge sitting around with a loaded gun after she got what she wanted. At any time, I could turn on her, tell Dylan the truth, destroy her relationship. Of course she wanted me far, far away.
I clearly wasn’t the only person scheming on this trip.
Nicki was looking at Dylan like he was everything she wanted, and when she looked at me, it was like I wasn’t the person onside anymore . . . I was the one standing in the way of it all. She knew. She knew I wanted to call the whole thing off.
There wasn’t enough air in the limousine, and I could feel every bump in the road as we sped along. Surely we couldn’t get on the motorway in this thing? I needed fresh air and a place to hide.
I felt Tola’s eyes on me, and I smiled, trying to let her know everything was fine, even as the nausea made me shake.
“Here.” Dylan passed back a bottle of lemonade, trying to catch my eye. “Should help with the car sickness.”
I nodded, sipping gratefully.
“You get carsick, Aly?” Eric frowned, and suddenly I felt their eyes on me. “You’ve never been ill in my car.”
“Only on the motorway,” Dylan said, and the car was silent for a moment.
I rallied and looked over at Eric. “Besides, I just puke in the glove box of your car when you’re not looking. You know, just to be polite.”
That smoothed it over, but still, Nicki was watching me like she didn’t like what she saw.
I looked at Dylan, and I knew he was thinking the same thing—he hadn’t told Nicki about our friendship when we first met, how could he tell her now? What a mess. I glared at Eric, because obviously this was all his fault.
“What?” he hissed at me, and I pointed at my phone as I texted him.
If I’m not maid of honor at your wedding after this, I’m never speaking to you again.
Of course, the glamping site was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was Instagrammable, an influencer’s dream, and obviously they were prepared for Nicki’s arrival. It was all porters and luxury cabins, little pastel bicycles parked at different stops. We were driven in golf carts around the grounds, shown the different events available, and the woodland spa, until we were finally deposited outside our yurts.
I’d been camping before, on school trips, and with my family abroad. At festivals with Dylan. This was a world away from all that.
Our names were on the tents, and I noted with interest that Ben and Eric were sharing. Tola and I shared a look with Nicki, who wiggled her eyebrows and smiled, and for a moment, it felt like everything would be all right.
And then Dylan looked at their names on the plank of wood outside the biggest bell tent. “Wow, the honeymoon suite!”
“Maybe it’s good inspiration!” Nicki said coyly, fluttering her lashes at him. I held my breath, wondering how he’d react. That pressure, so casually mentioned. He’d been a world away from that when we talked. And yet, something must have changed, because Dylan just laughed, threw her over his shoulder, slapped her on the behind, and disappeared into the tent.
I wanted to throw up, not from motion sickness this time.
“You did it! Somehow you did it!” Tola grabbed my hand and pulled me inside the yurt. “What did you do, what changed?”
I shrugged. “They just needed a little room to understand each other, I think.”
“The Fixer Upper strikes again!” Tola tipped an imaginary hat, but I shook my head sadly.
“I don’t think it was me.”
“I bet it was.”
I didn’t want to take credit. Dylan was happy, Nicki was happy, the presentation would go well, and then I would fade out to stage left. I couldn’t stay his friend; Nicki wouldn’t allow it. It compromised her. And Dylan would make the choice that made her happy. He’d survived all this time without me, he didn’t need me. We’d be those people who occasionally liked each other’s social posts. That would be fine.
Tola and I looked around the room for a moment, taking it all in. Two beautiful four-poster beds dominated the room, covered in knitted throws, each with a little treat basket ready with our names and a card welcoming us. There were hammocks and chairs and a little changing area behind a painted room divider. In the center of the yurt hung a huge chandelier. It was beautiful.
And then I heard Nicki giggle.
“Let’s jump in the hot tub and order fancy cocktails from cute barmen?” Tola offered, patting my hand in sympathy.
“I think I’m gonna go for a run first,” I said. Whilst I was changing, my phone rang.
“It’s your mum,” Tola yelled. “Shall I answer it?”
“No.”
“Come on, eventually you’re gonna . . .”
“Eventually, T. On my terms, okay? I’m not ready yet.”
She held her hands up as I emerged in my running gear. “Fair enough. So you’re just going to leave me here like the limp lettuce, sandwiched between two shagging couples?”
I laughed. “You’re very good at making your own fun. By the time I’ve come back, you’ll have charmed all the staff and made a group of lifelong friends at the bar.”
“True.” She nodded, surveying her fingernails. “Fine, go if you must, but no calling work.”
I held up my hands. “That’s the old me. New me is not that person.”
“Good to hear it, babe, though for the record, I liked old you, too.”
“You’re the only one.” I shook my head, disappearing from the tent.
I’d never really liked running. It was something I did because it was good for me, because it felt like being a grown-up. Because it was important to do things you didn’t like and just get the hell on with it. But being away from Nicki and Dylan, unhooking that clasped feeling in my chest, that guilt in my stomach . . . running was the best thing I could have done. The grounds were beautiful and with each inhale I felt a little more in control, a little more like myself. I nodded and smiled as I passed a few others running together in the other direction.
Maybe I should join a running club? Maybe that was where I’d been going wrong, with the solo dining and the insistence I could do everything on my own? Maybe actually what I needed was other people. Friendly faces and mindless conversation as we all moved in the same direction. Separate but united. Feeling like a part of something, but still feeling like myself.
When I arrived back and had my shower, I felt calmer, like I wasn’t about to shake apart at the seams. But Tola wasn’t in the tent, and when I ventured outside and round the back, I found her setting up the hot tub.
There was champagne chilling in a bucket on the side, an array of snacks on a little table, and two fluffy robes. I looked at her. “You got a hot date I don’t know about?”
She pointed at me. “I told you one day I was gonna crack that head open and see what was inside.” She gestured to the hot tub. “That time is now.”
I considered fighting, but at this point, I was too tired. I changed into my bikini and came back out, slipping into the warm water with a sigh. She topped up my glass and got in, too, clinking our glasses.
“It’s not too shabby, this rich-girl lifestyle,” she said. “I think I could manage it.”
“I think you’d do fabulously.” I smiled at her, but caught that glint in her eye. “Uh-oh.”
“Yup,” she agreed, “enough avoidance. What the hell is going on with you?”
“I told you the stuff with my mum . . .”
Tola nodded. “And I’m super honored that you trusted us with that. But that’s not what I’m talking about. And it’s not work or the promotion. I don’t even think it’s the Fixer Upper.”
Quite the number of messes to choose from. I sank down until the water was up to my chin. “Okay then, smarty-pants, what’s it all about?”
“Dylan James.”
I looked around in panic, as if she’d conjured him, but she waved her hand. “They’re all in the forest bar getting cocktails. That’s why I wanted us to have a chance to talk alone. Because you aren’t great at . . . feelings.”
I frowned. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re excellent at other people’s, knowing what makes them tick, how they think, why they’re hurting. But I think you’re not being honest with yourself or with us. Why’s it different with this project, Aly? Why is this the one that’s breaking you?”
I pressed my lips together, sighed deeply.
“Because it’s him.”
Tola nodded.
“He loved me, back then. I loved him, and he loved me, and I fucked it up because I was afraid.” I rubbed my forehead. “And I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened, and if we’d still be together now, and if . . . if we would have been happy.”
“Happier than he is with her?”
I winced, thrashing in the water. “I made this happen. I told him what he needed to hear, what he needed to do, and now look at them, they’re perfect! I did exactly what I was meant to do, and it kills me.” Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. “Because I don’t get to keep him. You know what this trip is from Nicki? A last hurrah so she can get rid of the evidence. You don’t keep around the person who cleans up the dead body.”
Tola quirked a smile. “Melodramatic. So you’re gonna tell Nicki it’s all off?”
I nodded, gulping down my champagne and waiting as Tola refilled it. “Yes, I’m gonna call it off. I’ll help Dylan with his presentation because he’s my friend, and then I will fade into the background. Maybe I can prove to her I’m not a threat, in time. She can’t out me without outing herself, after all.”
“And we’re back into the plotting and scheming and controlling!” Tola yelped, frustrated. “Aly, you’re honestly telling me you’re not going to fight for your man?”
“He’s not mine. And he’s happy!”
“Because you made him that way!” Tola said. “He knew you got carsick on the motorway. He knows when you need to be taken away for the day, he knows what to ask you to make you feel better. When have you ever had that from one of those projects you dated? When have you ever let one of them know you enough to look after you?”
I looked at her, frozen in horror. How didn’t I see it all along? I took a deep breath and laughed.
“Damn, Tola. Two shots straight to the chest. Savage.”
She snorted at that, holding up her glass in recognition of her triumph.
“Tough love is a good kinda love, and I don’t think you have anyone else in your life to offer it. Because they’re all too scared of you.” She grinned. “But I see you. Also, you are very pretty and nice and deserve good things. So there. It’s a love sandwich.”
“But do you think I’m doing the right thing, with Dylan?”
“Oh, absolutely not. I’ve never really gone in for the ‘self-sacrifice for the greater good’ thing. Being miserable for the sake of it isn’t really my brand, you know? And it’s arrogant to think you know how he feels about you.”
“I know how he feels about Nicki.”
Tola rolled her eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t have approved anyway. Loving someone you kissed once when you were eighteen. You don’t even know if the sex would be good. What a waste.”
I splashed her, laughing as I closed my eyes. If nothing else, I had good friends. Excellent, ridiculous, real friends.
“So can I bring up something whilst you’re in this super-chilled state of being, with me as your spiritual guide?” Tola assumed a saintly expression.
“I’m not gonna like this, am I?”
“Well, that positive attitude lasted about thirty seconds!” she huffed. “We’ve gotta talk about what we’re doing with the FU, babe. I don’t think we should be fixing men for women.”
“You think we should be teaching them how to do it directly, efficiently? Like a ‘teach a man to fish’ approach?” I asked.
“No, I think we should be teaching them they deserve better.”
Just like Amy and her writer boy. Of course.
Tola was so striking most of the time, but I’d never seen her like this: almost barefaced, glowing with booze and the light of the water, smiling at me with determination. None of her style to distract from the glorious substance. It might have been my stupid skill that launched the idea, but it was Tola, her vision, her drive, that had brought us here. And it could be her who took us in a new direction.
“You know I’ve got four sisters, right?” Tola said, and I nodded.
“One of them married a nice guy, just one of them. And even he’s pretty useless.” She laughed, shaking her head. “But it’s like they put up with it, for love. For someone to look at them and own them and demand things from them, for the rest of their lives. But they just wanted so badly to be chosen . . . and now it’s like it’s normal. It’s normal to be belittled by the person you marry, and expect them to be a crap dad and a lazy partner and just not expect more of them or more for you? I don’t wanna be like that, babe. And I don’t want any other women to be like that, either.”
I nodded.
“Well . . . I did like telling that girl her stupid boyfriend wanted her to be eaten by sharks . . .” I said, “but I don’t wanna be a PI, dealing with cheating and stuff. What are you suggesting? We become relationship counselors?”
“I’m suggesting we do something that writes women as the main characters in their own stories.” She nodded at me, wiggling her eyebrows, like she was trying to sell me something. “Sounds good, right?”
I took a moment to think about it, considering all those projects I’d dated, and what I would have done differently. What life would look like if I wasn’t pretending to be a different main character, that New York woman eating alone. What would it look like if I was just me, if they were just them?
“Saying no,” I said suddenly, thinking of Mama. “Building self-esteem, rebuilding after damaging relationships. Equipping them with the language to ask for pay raises and promotions.”
Tola bit her lip and nodded. “Now we’re talking.”
“But that’s so many things! There’s so many things we could do . . . what is it actually going to look like, this vision of yours?”
She grinned and shrugged. “I don’t know yet, stay tuned for more news as it arrives. But when it does, I want you with me.”
When it got too hot, we pulled ourselves out and sat on the edge, looking at the darkening sky.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can try.” She smiled.
“Has it always been this easy for you? The way you are . . . how good you are with yourself? The confidence, the drinks from strangers, the people fawning all over you?”
She thought about it. “I have my moments, my wobbles. But I feel best when I’m being true to myself. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel vulnerable sometimes, doesn’t mean I don’t worry that my friends will get tired of me—I know I’m a lot for some people. I can be painfully honest at the wrong time, I can hurt people. I don’t always get it right. But, no, I don’t have shame or regret in my choices.”
She faltered, and I had to know what that exception was. “What?”
“I mean . . . there are a few regrets, I guess. I have this mate, and we like each other. We’ve liked each other for a long time, messed each other about a bit in the process. But the idea of fucking it up, of losing her in my life, it doesn’t seem worth the risk. So we mess around, and then I go off and screw some guy because it’s easier, and she pretends she’s not hurt and I pretend I’m not annoyed, and we start it all again.”
“Whoa,” I said. “That sounds . . . complicated.”
“Yeah, I’m not a fan of complicated. Not for me, anyway. For rampant overthinkers and overfeelers, like you and Eric, sure. But I like things simple. Primary colors, you know?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to avoid it until it’s unavoidable. And, I’m going to go dancing. You wanna come?”
I looked up at the stars as she swung her legs out of the hot tub and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. “There’ll be dancing and drinks and probably semifamous people. You in?”
I shook my head. “You go and have fun. I’m enjoying this quiet time.”
I resisted dunking myself back under the water until after Tola had left, waving good-bye as she ambled up the path. And then I fully submerged my shoulders, reveling in the warmth after the crispness of the evening air against my skin. I wondered if Tola would come back to the yurt that night or if she’d be swept up in some love affair. An emotional palate-cleanser.
I reached across the tub to top up my glass and sighed in satisfaction, eyes closed. Perfect silence, the dark sky, and no worries. No needing to pretend to be someone else, no hiding, no secrets.
“Hey, there you are!” I heard a voice, and when I blinked my eyes open, Dylan was pulling his T-shirt over his head. “The others are dancing at the forest bar, but I wondered where you were. Pour me one of those, would ya?”
I busied myself reaching for a new glass and filling it, so I didn’t have to look at him as he pulled his jeans off. I waited until I heard the splashes before I turned back, smile on my face.
“Why, thank you.” He clinked his glass against mine and sipped, looking around us. “Well, this is the life.”
“It’s certainly very fancy,” I admitted, resting my head on the edge and looking up at the sky again. “I like feeling small and insignificant. A whole world starting anew every minute. Inconsequential problems.”
“Aly, come on. You could never be insignificant.” Dylan frowned at me like I’d said something wrong.
“I didn’t mean it negatively.” I shrugged, my eyes drawn to the lines of his arms as he stretched out.
And then I saw that silver St. Christopher around his neck and smiled, relieved.
“What’s the smile for?”
I shook my head. “The fact that some things stay the same. It’s comforting.”
He gave me a searching look, bright blue eyes on mine. “Some things do stay the same, you have no idea.”
I felt my breathing speed up and struggled to look away.
“Five things,” I blurted, like a safe word. Anything to stop him looking at me like that.
Dylan nodded, thinking about it, tapping his fingers on one edge of the hot tub. I put my drink down and pulled my legs up under me, cuddling my knees.
“The view from the skywalk,” he said slowly, like he was carefully curating his list. “The little caramel wafers in the gift basket. Seeing Ben finally falling for someone . . .” He raised an eyebrow at me, a look of mischief crossing his features before bringing his finger to his lips. “Shh, it’s a secret.”
My grin was impossible to stop. I nodded.
“That’s three,” I prompted, waiting for him to mention Nicki, throwing her over his shoulder, spending the day with her. The person who made all this possible. Falling more in love with her by the day.
“The bartender who made me an incredibly strong cocktail with a twenty-year-old rum,” Dylan whispered loudly, and laughed at himself. “Shh, it’s another secret.”
I giggled, shaking my head and watching as he shifted closer, until his arm reached along behind me, until I almost slotted into his side and he was near enough that I was breathing his air. Those eyes still killed me.
“And number one, with a bullet,” he said softly, raising a hand to trace a piece of hair near my temple, “is how this one piece of your hair still manages to curl like that, a corkscrew that can’t be controlled, even after fifteen years.” His lips quirked, eyes focused on that strand of hair. “It’s a tiny, beautiful miracle.”
My breathing became shallow again, my heart raced, and I closed my eyes. What the hell are you doing?
“You’re drunk?” I shouldn’t have made it a question.
Dylan smiled at me, shrugging one shoulder. “Doesn’t matter, we don’t lie about five things,” he said, and then slid back away a little, reaching for his glass. “We lie about everything else, but not that.”
“And that’s my fault?” I asked, clasping my hands into fists under the water to stop them from shaking. “You’re the one who pretended you didn’t know me. You started all this.”
“Oh, I know,” he laughed, shaking his head at himself. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction, and now I can’t say to my girlfriend, ‘Oh, by the way, darling, this person you introduced me to is actually my best friend.’ ”
“And she’s not intending for us to stay friends when this is all over,” I said thoughtlessly, and Dylan frowned.
“What does that mean?”
I gestured between us. “She doesn’t like this thing. And I don’t blame her, because how would you explain two people who hated each other for weeks suddenly knowing intimate details about each other’s lives?”
“She thinks we slept together?” Dylan blinked, like the idea had never even occurred to him.
“Or that we want to, which is potentially worse.”
He did a double take and frowned at me. “How is that worse, Aly? Thinking about something is worse than doing something?”
I breathed slowly. “Potential is always worse.”
He shook his head again, as if it was the maddest thing he could imagine.
“That’s nuts. Besides, you may as well tell me to stop breathing,” he laughed, tipping the last of his champagne down his throat.
“What?”
“Wanting to be with you, it’s always there. Like tinnitus or the way my wrists click when I stretch. It’s just part of me. Some days it’s louder and some days it’s a whisper, but it’s always there. That’s what happens when you love someone for over a decade, it lives in your bones, like an echo.”
I closed my eyes, and my chest contracted.
“I should have asked you exactly how drunk you were, shouldn’t I?” I stood up to get out, reaching for the robe on the side, and he just stared at me.
“What? What did I do?”
“You’re being inappropriate,” I whispered, unsure whether I was making a scene.
“Because I fancy you?” He laughed. “News flash, Aly: fancied you for most of our friendship. Didn’t stop us being friends. Didn’t stop us dating other people.”
“You,” I said, “you dated other people. And now you’re swanning around flirting with me and saying things when you’re clearly on your way to making a real commitment to Nicki. That’s not good guy behavior.”
I saw him take a breath, nod as if getting himself back into character. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I thought we could get to that flirty friendship straightaway, and I was wrong. Sit down. I promise to sober up.”
I lowered myself down carefully, eyeing him.
“So is there someone special in your life? We haven’t discussed your love life at all, and you know all about mine,” he said pointedly.
“Dylan.”
“What, I’m being friendly. I’m asking about your relationship, that’s what friends do.” He held his hands up.
“I’m not seeing anyone, no.”
Dylan tilted his head. “Why not?”
“Because it feels like a waste of time right now. Every man I’ve dated has benefited from being with me, has grown and changed. And I haven’t changed at all.”
I’m still here, fifteen years later, looking at you like you’re the answer to my problems. Still too scared to tell you the truth. Because I’m in love with you still, and it’s fucking killing me, you arsehole.
“You’ve changed,” he said, considering his words carefully. “You’re someone who never found what they were looking for and is patchworking it together instead.”
I didn’t want to ask what that meant, whether it was a compliment, why it made me feel as if I wanted to cry. I just shook my head, and we sat in silence for a moment. Sometimes it was easier to go backward than to go forward. That was safest for us, living in nostalgia and not thinking about our future. We didn’t have a future.
“Tell me something true, Dyl.”
He made a face, pointing to his pile of clothes. “Damn. I had a really good one about flamingos, but it’s in my jeans back pocket.”
He’s got another Aly list? My stomach clenched.
“Okay, then tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I’m—” he went to deny, and I shook my head, holding a finger up.
“Something true.”
“I lied to Nicki about my dad. She wanted to meet him and was so excited about it. I couldn’t tell her we don’t talk anymore.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to disappoint her. Things have been so good these last couple of weeks. I’ve been following my Aly advice, just like I always did.” He threw me a grateful smile. “I’ll arrange something and have him mysteriously call to cancel at the last minute.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and felt his hand reach for mine, squeezing my fingers under the water.
“My fault. Been playing the happy-go-lucky fella for so long, can’t expect people to take me seriously straightaway.”
He smiled softly, shaking his head at me, and I laughed, letting go of his hand, but he reached for mine again.
I let him, but watched, desperately alert.
“You know I had a really clear plan for what I wanted with my life?” Dylan said suddenly, and I looked at him in surprise. He laughed. “I know, right? Not like me at all. But these last few years, I had this vision of what my perfect life would look like. Of me running my team and making things that mattered, stuff that made people’s lives better. And I’d have, like, a basic office, nothing fancy but near a good coffee place and every day I’d have a nice chat with the barista and tip really well and find out what was happening in the area, be part of the community, you know?”
I nodded, closing my eyes as I listened, still holding his hand.
“And I’d have this little house near a park and go running on Sunday mornings. Maybe my dad would come and meet me, and we’d run together like when I was younger, but we wouldn’t fight after. And I’d make a huge Sunday roast, have all these friends around me. I’d get a dog, I’d drink sangria in the garden. Paint my living room walls bright orange. List more than five things every day.”
I was getting dizzy.
“Sounds perfect,” I said faintly, feeling his thumb trace my palm, my breathing becoming more shallow. I opened my eyes. “You’re right on track.”
He looked at me. “Am I?”
“What are you doing here, Dyl?”
His thumb stroked my knuckle, and I looked at him, pleading. But I didn’t let go, and I didn’t move away.
“I feel like every decision I’m making right now is taking me further away from that life. Sponsored posts and photo shoots and fancy office buildings. Credit cards for holidays and huge bunches of flowers and always, always apologizing. I’m exhausted, Aly. I’m so tired of pretending.”
The slow strokes up my wrist were killing me. It was too warm, and I was too drunk.
“You said you were happy,” I breathed, and he tilted his head at me.
“I’d forgotten what it was like, how addictive it is,” he said quietly, eyes averted.
“What is?”
“You and me. Having history. Having everything make sense.”
I shook my head, pulled my hand away, and stepped out of the hot tub, wrapping the robe around me.
“Fair enough,” Dylan said, holding his hands up again. “I broke the rules.”
I crossed my arms, shaking my head at him.
“I know you’re just doing the same dance you always did, so I can’t really blame you for that, but you can’t curl up around her, and make her feel special and make love to her, and then come to me for advice. You can’t give her the public boyfriend part of yourself and then save the broken bits for me. I know that was how we always worked, I know. And I’m sorry. But it killed me then, and I won’t let it happen again.”
He stood up. “Aly, I—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad we’re friends again. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”
At that moment, the others stumbled back, giggling together. They stopped when they saw us.
“Ah, Aly and Dylan arguing again. Good, the world has turned back to making sense!” Ben laughed. “Are we getting in?”
I smiled at him. “You guys go for it, I’m a shriveled prune!”
Dylan wore a matching smile, nodding as Nicki asked him if he was okay.
I walked away and didn’t look back. The way I should have done right from the beginning.