TWENTY-FOUR
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” I said, sliding into a chair in the EasterEgg office the next day. Ben sat across from me, stern and unyielding. “I have a lot of explaining and apologizing to do.”
He nodded. “Well, yeah. I’m mad at you.”
“And you’re right to be. But please don’t take it out on Eric. He’s so crazy about you and this whole mess was not his fault.”
Ben’s facade cracked just a little. “Oh, I know, the man is a terrible liar. Which is odd considering he’s such a good actor.”
I looked at him, suddenly hopeful.
“Okay, so . . . you guys are good?”
Ben narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not sure if we’re there yet, Aly.”
My heart sank a little. “Right, of course. Of course.” I looked at the table, trying to figure out my next move.
“We’ll get there, though,” he said gently, and when I looked up, he gave me a little smile. “Eric told me what you said, about my rules. About how unfair I was being to him. You were right. I was scared to take a chance on someone who might hurt me. Who might not be ready for me. I was scared to give up good enough for something better.”
I nodded, not wanting to jinx this.
“You’re actually pretty astute when you’re not scheming and manipulating,” he snorted, and I smiled, relief flooding my chest. “When you’re honest with people, you talk sense.”
“Well, that’s what I’m doing here, as well as apologizing. I really am sorry,” I said, looking at the office, half packed up.
“I know.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath.
“When are you moving out?”
“Tomorrow. Down to something a little more low-key. Don’t have to impress anyone anymore; we can be ourselves.”
I looked out of the window at the perfect skyline. “But without Dylan.”
Ben considered me, a slow smile building across his face. “Alyssa, are you scheming again?”
“If he really wants to go, if he’s excited to start over in a new place, a new life, I will leave right now, and we never had this conversation . . .” I watched him carefully, as he took his glasses off and wiped them on the corner of his shirt.
“And if he’s miserable and heartbroken, and running away to save face?”
“Then I’ve got one tiny little scheme left.” I shrugged mischievously, holding up a thumb and forefinger. “Barely a scheme, a . . . petit subterfuge followed immediately by honesty and absolute embarrassment on my part.”
Ben nodded for a moment, thinking it through.
“You love him, as he is?”
“I love him, as he is.”
He exhaled, relieved. “Thankfully that’s been the only fucking obvious thing since this entire charade started. I’m just glad you’re finally brave enough to admit it to yourself.”
“To you, to him, to anyone who will listen. He asked me to give him a reason to stay.” I put my palms together and smiled angelically. “And I’m hoping you can help me with that.”
“Planning big romantic gestures and potential public humiliation? My absolute favorite way to spend a day,” Ben said.
—
It wasn’t just about showing Dylan that he was perfect as he was. It was about showing him that I would fight for him. That I trusted him. That I wouldn’t run again. So it was kind of poetic that we were staking out his running route.
We were in the park where Dylan ran on Sunday mornings, near his flat. Ben had arranged to run with him; he knew the route and had agreed to be a diversion. Along the path, there would be five boards, painted with my words. My five things for Dylan. Five chances to get him to stay. I just had to hope five would be enough.
I looked over to Eric, who was standing at the edge of the park with Helena the beagle. Ben stood next to me, smiling at them both.
“You ready for this?” he asked, and I felt my stomach clench in anticipation. I was about to make a fool of myself for this man. And he might turn away, tell me it was too late. But I had to take a chance. It’s only scary whilst you’re falling.
Tola jogged back over to me, saluting. “Okay, all the boards are in place. We’re good to go.”
I was going to be sick.
“Okay, I better go meet him at the other entrance,” Ben said, watching me get more and more nervous. I twisted my fingers. What if he walked right by me? What if he saw me, pounding heart open, and just ignored it all? What if I never recovered?
“Your face, oh, darling.” Ben gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t want to give you too much confidence in your schemes anymore, but you’re being vulnerable and I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I said in a small voice, suddenly terrified. “Put in a good word for me, please?”
“You got it.”
He jogged over to collect Helena Bonham Barker from Eric, and I saw him head over to the entrance.
“Hey, he’s here!” Tola whooped, pointing.
“Shh!” I pushed her gently, trying to stop her from snagging his attention. Which was pretty difficult considering her vibrant gold T-shirt and bright green three-quarter-length trousers. Tola clutched my hand, and I felt Eric arrive and take my other one.
I watched as Ben and Dylan started to jog, and as he approached the first wooden sign, the words painted in orange:
You’ve always been my best friend.
He was too far away for me to see his expression, though I saw him look around, confused.
He slowed down, his whole body tensing when he saw the second one:
The way you still listen to the stupid music we loved when we were teenagers.
By the third, I saw him speed up, eager to find it, and the look on his face, the laughter that exploded when he read it. The way he lit up.
You make me want to run toward things instead of away from them.
At the fourth sign I had a clear sight of him, running toward me, looking for those words, my truths, my five things.
You still have the best laugh I’ve ever heard.
And there he was, standing straight in front of me, face flushed, those impossibly blue eyes daring me to be brave, just as they always had.
I let go of Tola’s and Eric’s hands and walked over to the last sign, the tin of paint and the paintbrush at my feet.
I want to paint that orange room with you.
He walked over and I held my breath, waiting for him to say something.
He paused in front of the sign, hands in pockets, head tilted to the side like he was assessing an art project.
“Kind of a cryptic one to end on, Aresti.”
“Five wasn’t enough,” I said, trying to hold back tears, taking a breath. “I can give you ten. I can give you a hundred. But I want that life with you. I want your house by the park and your Sunday runs. I want a dog with a name to rival Helena’s and I want to make an absolute mess painting our walls orange. I want to invite your dad for a Sunday roast even if it’s quiet and awkward and you don’t know what to say, and I want to make my mum’s watermelon margaritas and sit in the garden with you reminiscing about all the stupid stuff we did when we were kids.”
“Aly—”
“And I want you to run this business that you’ve worked so hard for, and I want to be the person you talk to about it, not to fix anything, but just to remind you that you’re good enough.”
I took a shaky breath, meeting his eyes, so desperate for him to know I was being honest.
“You’re it for me. No matter what happens, no matter how much I mess up and try to fix it or however you try to be perfect. I see and love all of you. That’s my true thing, my something real. Always has been.”
He blinked. He just stood there and stared at me, this half smile on his face like he wasn’t sure what was happening.
“Say something, Dylan,” I begged. “Words, please.”
“Don’t think I’ve ever had a big romantic gesture before.” He smiled at me, rubbing his hand across his eyes. But when he looked up his eyes were shining. “A guy could get used to this treatment.”
I took a hopeful step forward. “He could?”
He shook his head and raised his eyes to the sky, as if he still couldn’t believe me sometimes, before putting an arm around my waist and pulling me in close.
“Ask me,” Dylan said, those blue eyes bright, our noses almost touching.
I smiled and took a breath, whispering the words. “Tell me something real, Dylan.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I really wish I had something more clever to say. All I’ve got is I love you. I’ve loved you forever.”
I laughed. “Clever enough for me. Would you kiss me already, please?”
The first time Dylan kissed me, I was eighteen. It had been chaste and sweet and friendly. He had stroked his thumb across my cheek, and all around us his friends jeered and whispered.
The second time Dylan kissed me, I was thirty-three. Our friends whooped, strangers clapped, and it was not friendly at all. I ran my fingers through his hair, tasted his smile, and sighed against his lips. He held me close and kissed me like he was making a promise.
There would be problems, of course. Arguments about whose turn it was to deal with the puppy’s vomit or who forgot to book the fancy restaurant of the month, and maybe even one day who had to get up at six a.m. on a Saturday to take the kids to whatever awful sport they ended up enjoying. There’d be missed flights to decidedly budget destinations, and start-up struggles and stupidity from both of us as we learned how to live. But it wouldn’t need fixing. Because we’d have each other. And we’d have our friends there to celebrate and commiserate and laugh with us through it all. Seeing the reality, no filter. It was allowed to be hard sometimes. There’s beauty in that, too.
Because it’s only scary when you’re falling.
And then it feels like home.