- 26 -
June 2045
Dean
Wine-drunk and swaying in the kitchen, arms hooked around Hallee is exactly where I belong.
It’s group dinner night. Combine the friend group dinner night, and we’ve been a shaken bottle of soda waiting for it. Hallee’s being a little rule breaker, drinking on an empty stomach because her appetite is finicky when she’s nervous. The intention of tonight wouldn’t be a secret if it had the world’s best security, and the pressure couldn’t be hidden by the world’s best disguise, but the nerves are good. They mean we care. After all, our roommates are the only “family” we have.
Three of us and three of them.
This could be really, really fun.
Hallee proposed dinner at their place, casually and seamlessly mentioning that I should invite the guys. Hudson and Matt were shockingly excited when I pitched the idea. Didn’t even take a PowerPoint to convince them.
Based on our first impression of the girls’ cooking skills, we did flip a coin to decide if we’d invite them here instead, but tails told us to just accept the invitation. We’re putting a lot of trust in tails.
The three of them welcomed us at the door, passing glances and silently engaging in conversation the way only women can. After a mysteriously confusing few seconds, Marlowe hugged Matt. Avery didn’t look too happy about joining in, but I watched her notice how happy it made Hallee. Feels special to see someone love your person well, and these girls do that. I’d give my life for them because of it.
As we made ourselves at home, Hudson popped open the white wine. Marlowe, the spitfire she is, ran up to Hallee, startled her as usual, and mouthed, Oh my hot. Caught me by surprise, her eyes falling on Matt.
It took us less than thirty minutes to drain three bottles of wine. Everyone finished their first glass in under five minutes. Normally, I’d brush it off. Tonight, I’m in my head about it. They feel the pressure too.
There’s lots to lose.
There’s lots we will.
I try not to think about it, but it’s getting harder and harder not to.
A loud smack across the kitchen makes my shoulders tense.
“Ow, Matt!” Marlowe squeals, laughing as she grabs the back of her leg.
The dumbass snapped her with the kitchen towel. Weird way to flirt, but . . . works, I guess? She seems to be intrigued, and he’s looking at her like she’s the only one in the room. Feels like an out-of-body experience, watching your friend catch the love bug. That must be how I look when I’m looking at Hallee.
Hudson’s barely left Avery’s side by the stove. He’s playing dumb, asking her how to stir pasta sauce, and she’s laughing like she never wants it to end. Ten out of ten technique—way better than snapping her with a towel—but the way he glances at her as her hand falls over his drops my stomach. Curiosity mixed with desire, the perfect cocktail for the start of something new. Although there’s an added shot of something I can’t quite decipher. He’s not usually timid, could be voted life of the party, actually, and it’s not quite gentleness. Maybe caution? Like he’d be careful with her. I never thought he’d settle down, but his focus is locked in. Her touch has tamed the stallion.
“Hudson!” she shouts, giggling as he fishes out two noodles.
“Throw them with me,” he insists, handing one over to her.
“What?”
“You can tell they’re done if they stick to the wall!”
With that, he got the girl.
There’s no hiding the intrigued blush on her cheeks as they toss the noodles. She laughs so hard she snorts, and uses it as an excuse to grip his arms. I’ll be damned—she’ll be careful with him, too.
“We’re pretty good matchmakers,” Hallee whispers, raising on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
“Wouldn’t that get messy?”
“Hope, Dean. You never know what could happen.”
Exactly. You never know what could happen, and she would never forgive herself if someone got hurt.
Right now, it’s like watching a comfort show before the plot gets too messy, but it always does. That’s why we watch. It makes us feel better for being messy too.
Spinning out of my embrace, she snaps a Polaroid and turns up the music. Skips to join Marlowe, dancing like there’s no one else in the room.
Hal seems lighter these days, like whatever storm clouds rolled in in the spring were blown away by the warm summer wind. She’s living fearlessly, wild and untamed. She’s kinder to herself, too. Must’ve finally realized taking risks is fun when there are no lasting consequences. So far none of her risks have ended poorly, but to be fair, they never will. Wearing pink instead of gray or kissing me in front of people won’t make life fall apart. Her innocence is cute, though, and it gives me a purpose—I want to protect it for her.
I love her.
Still haven’t told her, at least not while she would remember, even though I say it in my mind all the time. It’s slipped out a few times holding her while she’s asleep, but watching her now, I can’t believe I’ve waited.
This time is precious.
This time is little.
Matt steals Marlowe away, pulling her into a spin, and Hallee whips her head to me. Time stalls as she reaches out her hand.
Wait, have I been here before?
The question rolls off of me the second I grab her hand.
“You okay?” she asks.
A gift and a curse, her ability to pick up on silent social cues. Sometimes I swear she knows me better than I know myself.
“Yeah, I—”
What do I even call it?
“You what?” she asks, all doe-eyed and expectant.
“I’m better than okay,” I answer, pulling her into a soft kiss.
Loud cheers fill the room and Hallee pulls away, burying her blushing face into my chest.
“They’re happy for us, Hal. This is exactly what we wanted,” I mutter, kissing the top of her head as it tilts up.
Those wide eyes turn glassy as she says, “This, right here, is exactly what I want forever.”
Forever— what a heartbreaking impossibility.
“Who wants more wine?” I instigate to ease the sting.
Looking around the room, I etch the evening into my memory. If only this would become the future too. This life is a pretty good one.
Hallee
I love him more than the end we will get. I love them all more than the end we will get.
We didn’t miss a beat when they arrived, easily skipping over small talk and introductions. No one else seems to be questioning why, as if there’s this innate understanding that we already care for one another. Seeing us together is like watching an old home video. The trigger guard on my mind has been flipped, releasing years of memories from captivity.
Hudson walked in, holding a bottle of white wine. Last year, it was red. He started raving about romantic comedies, and I time traveled back to my first memory of us together.
Three first-friend dinners have played in the theater of my mind as events from previous years repeat. Matt and Marlowe dance together, looking scared enough to want to dash and involved enough to want to smash. They looked like that last year too, except Matt was in black instead of gray. Funny, Marlowe was in the same thing as today.
Avery wasn’t as shy as I thought she’d be. Settled into cooking with Hudson, and within seconds they were looking at each other like they’d never look away again. He wanted to scoop her up and take her to the couch to cuddle. I know, because last year he did.
Dean was surprised by the pairings, and it’s taking everything in me to pretend I am too. It’s some kind of cruel dream come true, reliving years of history in real time. The worst of it is that I still can’t remember how this ends. There’s no way to prevent the bad from repeating if it all went up in flames.
The guys looked at us funny when we gathered around the coffee table rather than the kitchen table to eat dinner, but it’d feel wrong not to be ourselves. We’ve finally found an ourselves to be. Avery keeps slowly and ever so slightly scooting closer to Hudson. Matt has cast a spell on Marlowe, and Dean? I’m enthralled by him. Really, I can’t stop looking.
There was a moment earlier when his vibe shifted from relaxed to riddled with anxiety. There was no explanation for the abnormal change, but I can’t help but wonder if there was.
Did he have a memory?
If he did, would he be bold enough to recognize it, or would it flutter away faster than a paper airplane in the wind?
Knowing I’m lost in thought, he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. He seems to know everything about me these days, except the biggest things. There’d be more glass to shatter if he were to drop those. More of me to break.
Forever.
I told him that this is what I want, forever.
It’s the first arrow shot at the system, planting the idea that permanence could be an option for us. We will burn brightly, and nothing will dim our light. End of discussion. The balloon of hope has convinced me—I have the power to choose, and maybe it’s irrational, but having something to strive for has given me a purpose that’s lightened my soul.
Even if it can’t be undone, there has to be a way to prevent the continuous cycle of being forced to forget. Small acts of defiance—speaking in terms of forever, asking indirect questions, choosing my words carefully. Things so subtle they won’t even realize it’s become the steady drip eroding the strength of The Gift.
I’ll continue what the old woman started, spreading hope across the city, and I’ll begin in the quiet places—at the table with my found family. Even standing alone, I’ll fight, because we are worth far more than letting go. We’ve been ripped apart for years, but not anymore. Never again.
“Gentlemen, you’ve come into our home, so you are subject to our traditions.” Avery’s voice comes out bold rather than bashful. Hudson’s effect on her is already resurfacing. Her eyes flick from Marlowe to me, leading us in silent conversation.
Nearly pushing Matt over with a teasing glare, Marlowe jumps in. “Since it’s your first time, you can observe. Next time, you’ll be expected to give it your heart and soul.”
First time. This isn’t their first time.
Next time. There will be a next time.
“A toast!” I cheer.
Avery raises her glass to start us off. “To great food, great company, and whatever is to come.”
My eyebrows lift at her absence of the word friends. Maybe I’m not the only one playing mastermind.
“Cheers!” the men yell out, and we erupt with laughter.
“To more nights like these, and the couple of the evening that brought us all together!” Marlowe raises her glass.
Raising mine, I declare proudly, “To forever.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence, the first one of the evening, and Dean’s stare shifts from love to pain.
“To forever,” he echoes timidly, and our glasses clink together as his words close the toast.
His first punch in the fight for us, thrown without even knowing it.