Mistakes We Never Made

14 Mistake Three The Rooftop

(Five years before the wedding)

IN THE YEAR ANDthree months I’d been living in New York City, I had become an expert predictor of its rhythms, its complex choreographies. When to leap down a set of stairs to make it onto the L train before the doors sealed shut, how to tiptoe across a metal grating in stilettos so as not to get a heel stuck on the way to work, which corner of the street was best to hail a cab without having to get charged extra for looping around the block, whether sneaking up to our building’s rooftop was worth the trouble from the landlord (always). But somehow, in the same exact amount of time, Sybil had remained inexplicably oblivious: always spending too much on fancy cocktails and then running out of money for rent; always falling for the guy who had the whitest teeth at the bar, even though he was guaranteed to be a player; always forgetting which of the burners on our junky little stove leaked gas, and then having to fling open all the windows of our shared apartment in a panic.

But even this—the clueless way Sybil conducted herself in this big, busy, cutthroat city—had become a pattern I could predict. And I loved it.

Usually.

It was a hot, sticky September, the beginning of our second autumn in New York, the kind of weather where all your cute fall sweaters end up flung to the floor, and the front door to our fourth-floor walk-up, swollen from heat, squeaked loudly every time we came and went.

Which was why I knew Sybil was home before I could see her. I had been sitting on the couch ever since I’d gotten home from the office, picking at my chipped nail polish while scrolling design blogs on my phone when, beneath the dying-cat yowl of the door, I heard Sybil call from the entryway, “Hey, babes! Can Finn stay with us while he’s in town? I told him our couch isn’t bad if he hangs his feet off the end.”

I dropped my phone into said couch cushions as a bolt of adrenaline shot through me at the thought of Finn Hughes in our cramped apartment. Finn lying on this very spot, a mere three steps from the door to my bedroom. Sitting on one of our mismatched kitchen stools drinking coffee out of my Loch Ness monster mug. Finn in our shower, using my eucalyptus bodywash. I blinked away the thought of a naked, wet Finn just as Sybil appeared. A six-pack of Trader Joe’s wine and three tote bags’ worth of groceries hit the floor with a worrisome thump, and she looked down at me expectantly. That was another thing she still hadn’t bothered to learn—how many heavy items you can feasibly carry up all four flights without inducing a heart attack.

“Doesn’t he have his own friends to stay with?” I automatically moved off the couch and toward the grocery bags.

Sybil rolled her eyes and exhaled so hard her blond bangs fluttered off her forehead. “I’m his friend, Emma. So are you.” Leaving the rest of the bottles on the ground, she grabbed a red and headed to the line of cabinets against a single wall that we referred to as “the kitchen,” and began fishing around for a bottle opener. As the newest design associate for Maywell Interiors, I found it painful to coexist with the cheap yellowish oak and the peeling laminate counters, but it was worth it for the location—right in the heart of the East Village. We were two blocks from Tompkins Square Park, and there were fun bars and a diverse offering of cheap eats on every corner. It was the perfect place to ease into adulthood. And apparently, adulthood meant hosting your ex-friend/ex-maybe-something-more in your tiny New York City apartment. My stomach clenched at the thought, but I was determined to handle this unexpected reunion with grace and maturity.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” I started wedging celery and hummus into any open space in the fridge. “Finn can stay here. I’ll just crash with Preston.”

“Oh, perfect. He can stay in your room, then.” My skin tightened at the thought of Finn Hughes in my bed, between my sheets.

I distracted myself by pulling out two containers of week-old Indian food, dropping them in the trash to make room for Sybil’s soy milk. “When is he in town?”

The cork popped free of the bottle, and Sybil grabbed two wineglasses from the drying rack beside the sink. She started pouring, and as always, the wine came nearly to the rim of the glass—what she called a “country club pour.”

Sybil handed me a glass, and I took it carefully so as not to spill. She turned and walked over to the spot I’d just vacated on the couch. Easing onto the cushion, she took a long slurp from the top of her glass. Then, as if just remembering the question I had left lingering, she tossed casually over her shoulder, “This Friday.”

“Sybil! This Friday as in tomorrow? Isn’t this kind of late notice?”

“Well… he may have told me about it a few weeks ago, but I must’ve forgotten to say something.” There was another slurp, then silence.

I closed the fridge and narrowed my eyes at the back of Sybil’s head. “You forgot?”

“Okay, fine, I did not forget.” She twisted around on the sofa to look at me. “But in my defense, it was for your own good. I didn’t want to stress you out about it. You had that big interview, and I didn’t want you to go bananas and, like, try to reupholster the couch, or something.” I looked down at the worn plaid of the couch, a Facebook Marketplace find. I would have liked to at least get a slipcover made for it—something a little punchier. There was a claret and eggplant stripe I’d been eyeing… but that was beside the point. The point was, Sybil was treating me like a child, withholding information in some misguided attempt to shield my once-bruised heart or something. Which was completely ridiculous. I was totally over Finn Hughes. Besides, I had a boyfriend. A real one, with a real job and tastefully sculpted biceps, and he paid for our meals.

Sybil gave me a look like she could tell exactly what I was thinking.

“I can take care of myself, Sybil,” I said, slurping my own wine with as much dignity as I could muster.

“By the way, have you seen my new sweater?” she asked, clearly trying to change the subject. “I think I lost it.”

“I returned it for you already.” The sweater in question had been an impulse buy for Sybs, and while she could pull off just about anything, the rust-orange and neon-yellow combination on that cardigan was truly unholy. “It was on my way to work anyway.”

“Emmm… Now I don’t have an excuse to go to Midtown and casually run into Sebastian outside of his office!”

Ah.

So it wasn’t so much a sweater as a ruse.

“Well, you could still pretend to do that.”

“I could, but it’s much more convincing with a prop. Having it helps me get into the role of Hot Twentysomething Who Doesn’t Need a Man But Could Be Convinced If It Was Someone Very Special, Casually Returning Wool Sweater.”

“That’s a very specific role.”

Sybil’s current obsession was Sebastian Wallace-Conway, a photojournalist for the Times who always seemed to have just enough time in the city for Sybil to come to his place late at night, but never enough time to take her on a date. It was no secret that I wasn’t his biggest fan. Mostly because he just drifted in and out of Sybil’s life, always leaving a trail of running mascara and empty sauv blanc bottles in his wake. But on the rare occasions when he did stick around long enough for us all to hang out, I actually found his company enjoyable. He was a lot like Sybil—larger than life, emitting an energy that you just wanted to be a part of. And, of course, he was predictably gorgeous, in a rugged, artsy kind of way.

“Okay, well, I’m sorry I ruined Operation Return Heinous Sweater.” I rolled my eyes into my wineglass. “But can we get back to the fact that you’ve been hiding critical information from me?”

“You mean about Finn coming? Sorry. I just assumed things might be weird with you two.”

A jolt of worry ran through me that maybe Finn told Sybil about what happened, or rather, what nearly happened, in the pool four years ago. “Wh-why would you think that?”

“Oh, you know.” Sybil waved her hand. “The prom of it all.” I breathed an internal sigh of relief. The prom of it all had fallen to my second-most-emotionally-fraught interaction with Finn Hughes. Now, it was the thought of his hands tangled in my wet hair and his lips on my throat that left me taking another long pull from my glass. But that was four years ago—ancient history. Huge mistake. I was a totally different person now. I was finally with someone who checked off every box I could think of. Preston was smart, gorgeous, and ambitious. Honestly, I felt like he was out of my league. And sometimes, it felt like he knew it too. He had the same razor-sharp wit that Finn did, but it wasn’t always tempered by the same sweetness. Preston could be quick with a zinger, but his sarcastic comments often had an edge to them that made me wonder if he was using humor to reveal his true feelings about me. Babe, come on, you’ve never read Pynchon? Didn’t they have an English department at that little state school? Preston had gone to Cornell.

And then I remembered. “Ugh, Preston is going to a bachelor party in Montana this weekend.” There was no way I was going to Preston’s apartment if he wasn’t there. He lived with four other former members of the Cornell crew team, and the floor only got cleaned if someone knocked over a beer can—sometimes not even then.

“Okay.” Sybil shrugged. “Finn can just have the couch, then.”

“So long as he doesn’t bring a girl back. I don’t need to stumble upon one of his Hinge hookups in the middle of the night.” I clicked my teeth shut at the look on Sybil’s face. “Don’t tell him I said that,” I muttered into my wineglass.

Sybil cocked an eyebrow at me. “That shouldn’t be an issue. He’s gotten serious with some girl out in SF.”

“Oh.” I ignored the wave of something—surprise, disappointment, indigestion?—that rippled through me. “That’s great.”

“Is it?” Sybil asked.

“Absolutely.” I downed the rest of my country club pour in one go.

FINN HADN’T MADE ITto our apartment before I headed out for work the next day, but I knew he was there when I got home, thanks to the sad country boy music spilling into the hallway. The twang of Tyler Childers’s voice rose another decibel as I opened the door to our apartment.

“Hi.” Finn leaned against the back of the couch, a Brooklyn Lager dangling from his fingers.

I cleared my throat and spoke over the music. “Hi.”

The moment hung between us. He didn’t make a move to get up, and I took the time to look at him. He seemed older. Which, of course he was. But all the lankiness of his teenage years had been filled in by muscle. He looked like a man. An incredibly attractive man. Sharp dark brown eyes against his brown skin, close-cut hair, and cheekbones that could slice through glass. Not that it mattered to me.

“I’m just going to…” I motioned toward the bags slung around my shoulder and tried to squeeze past him on the way to my room.

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” He tried to give me more space, but we ended up blocking each other’s path, like some strange partner dance. I went left, he went left. I went right, he went right. Once. Then twice. The third time, his hands came to my shoulders, and my neck craned up to look at him, and he smiled. “You stay, I’ll move.”

I stood completely still as he released his hands and slid around me. His body didn’t touch mine, but my every hair follicle followed his path. I had to stop myself from turning toward him.

“Emma! You’re here! Let’s go get drinks!” Sybil’s voice cut through the music, and the moment snuffed out as she appeared in the doorway of her room.

“One sec.” I hurried into my own room, taking a quick look into the mirror above my desk. It could definitely have been worse. I swiped a tissue beneath my lash line and brushed on another layer of mascara.

“I’m starving. Can we do dinner first?” I called, dragging off the navy blouse I wore to work. The temperature had dropped several degrees today—apparently real autumn was finally ready to make an appearance—so I pulled on a pair of sheer tights beneath my short black skirt. On top I went for a filmy black sleeveless shirt with a beaded detail around the collar that I had found at a thrift store in Austin two years ago. I finished it off with a pair of slouchy black boots.

“I’ll eat anything,” I heard Finn say from the other room. It was a perfectly reasonable response, but for some reason my brain heard it as something filthy. Get your act together, Emma, I berated myself. You have a boyfriend; you shouldn’t be lusting over some guy from high school. But of course, Finn could never be just “some guy.”

I shrugged into my black leather jacket as I walked back into the main living area. Finn gave me an appraising look that made me shiver.

“You look so New York.” He quirked a smile at me.

“I think that’s a compliment?” I said, smiling back. Sybil looked back and forth between the two of us. “You look so SF.…” I motioned toward his standard-issue tech-bro fleece vest, then raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe not the hat.” Finn had on a familiar worn baseball cap with the Dallas Cowboys logo.

Outside, Sybil hailed us a cab to NoLita. She piled into the car first, which left me in the middle seat. For the entirety of the short ride, I tried to ignore Finn’s thigh pressed against mine. With each stop and start of the taxi, the cotton of his pant leg slid against the whisper-thin nylon of my tights. I darted a quick look over at him, but he seemed totally unfazed, his eyes out the window. I decided that if Finn was going to be unaffected, then I would be too.

Now someone just had to tell my central nervous system.

We went to dinner at a Cuban-Mexican restaurant that Sybil loved, and between sips of frozen mojitos and bites of roasted corn slathered in mayonnaise and cotija cheese, everything started to feel a little more normal. Finn and I hadn’t really been in touch throughout college, save for occasional run-ins back home in Dallas, so there was plenty to catch up on. And like Sybil had said, Finn was our friend. When the bill came and Finn’s arm reached around me to grab it, it was a friendly warmth that suffused my entire body—nothing more.

After dinner, we headed a few blocks east to another bar, one that Sybil swore had the best music. Finn went to go grab us seats, while I leaned against the honey-brown wood of the bar and waited to catch the bartender’s attention. After I placed our order, I looked over at Sybil, who had both hands, and her full attention, on her phone.

“Is there another puppy emergency at the Floyd household?” I asked. Sybil had been working as an assistant for B-list celebrity Amity Floyd for the last six months. Her previous gig, an internship at the clothing brand Zimmerman, had failed to turn into a full-time—and, more importantly, paid—position. So, when she had a chance meeting with Amity while waiting in line for Cronuts in Williamsburg, Sybil jumped at the opportunity to become her new PA. Amity sounded nice enough, but she seemed dogged (literally) by minor catastrophe after minor catastrophe. She never hesitated to send Sybil multiple texts in a row outside of work hours. She also had, in my opinion, a truly heinous habit where if Sybil didn’t respond quickly enough, she’d tap back each text with a question mark.

Sybil smiled as she finished typing out her text. “No, Fitzwilliam has been sent to doggy Harvard for four months of obedience training.” She looked at me, looked at her phone, looked back at me, and seemed to come to some decision. Tucking her phone back into her purse, she said, “Sebastian’s back in town for the night. Then he’s going to central Asia for who knows how long.”

I didn’t know if it was the mojito buzzing through my veins or the fact that things seemed to be going well with Finn, but I said, “You should go see him.”

“No, I’m not going to abandon you to Finn,” Sybil said firmly, but her hand drifted back to the clasp on her purse like she was itching to pull her phone out again.

“I can handle Finn, Sybs. You only get to see Sebastian like once a quarter.” The bartender placed our drinks in front of me.

“Are you sure?” Sybil asked, but she was already pulling on her coat.

“I’m totally sure.”

“Well, y’all do seem to be hitting it off,” she said, looping her purse across her body. “Say goodbye to Finn for me. Just tell him he can crash in my bed. Or don’t.” Before I could argue, she pulled me into a bear hug, squeezing out a laugh from me. “You know, if you just talk to him about something boring like the mating habits of Australian marsupials, he’ll be all over you.”

“I don’t want him to be all over me!” I said, wriggling out of her hug. “I’m with Preston.”

“Preston is so bleh, and you are so… so.” She didn’t seem to be able to find the words, so she wiggled her fingers in front of my face like she was casting a spell.

“I’m so-so?” I asked.

She huffed out a laugh and dropped her hands. “No, you little weirdo. You’re so special.” Sybil’s phone lit up again, and she glanced at it. “Okay, I’m going to go. Thanks, Em. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t leave much,” I called after her.

Sybil winked at me, then headed for the door.

I made my way to the high-top in the back where Finn was waiting, and slid all three drinks onto the table. “Sybil’s gone.”

“Where’d she go?” He didn’t sound particularly concerned—or surprised. Which was fair; he knew Sybil almost as well as I did. It wasn’t unlike her to bolt.

“Sebastian.”

“Ah, the man, the myth, the legend,” Finn said, and I got the distinct impression that he’d also been on the receiving end of endless texts about Sebastian all through summer and now into fall.

“He’s not that impressive.” I pulled the two tequila sodas toward me and pushed Finn’s beer toward him. “She’s been running after him for months. It’s not like her. Usually her attention fades. But she really likes him, so I told her to go.”

Finn raised his eyebrows and took a swig of his beer. “You told her to go?”

“I just want her to be happy, and right now Sebastian makes her over-the-moon happy.” I didn’t mention that the week after he leaves town we were usually knee-deep in Ben and Jerry’s and nineties rom-coms. “Though I’m not totally sure why.”

“Maybe she likes the thrill of the chase.”

“Maybe.” I squeezed the wedge of lime into my drink. Neither of us realized then that Sebastian would become one of the most important—and most turbulent—relationships in Sybil’s life. But then again, there’s a lot we hadn’t yet realized.

There was a beat of silence, and I was aware that Finn and I were alone together for the first time since the Pool Incident. The memory of my lips on Finn’s neck was the only thing I could think of. My glass paused halfway to my mouth, and I wondered what his skin tasted like without the hint of chlorine. My lips parted involuntarily. Finn’s eyes darted to my mouth, but he took a drink of his beer and cleared his throat. “You should come out to SF sometime.”

The offer took me by surprise enough that I was jolted out of the memory. I put my drink back down without taking a sip. “That would be fun.”

Without Sybil, the easy flow we’d had at dinner dried up. Now there was a crackle in the air between us. Finn had rolled up the sleeves of his light blue button-up and begun peeling the label off his beer bottle. There was a slightly nervous energy to his movements. I watched the small muscles shift along the back of his hand as he ripped the green-and-black label into smaller and smaller pieces. It was indecent that men were allowed to walk around with their forearms just out in the open. I forced myself to think of Preston, who also had beautiful wrists and hands and arms.

“What’s Pneuma?” I asked, motioning to the logo embroidered on his vest.

“It’s my start-up. It means ‘breath’ in Greek. I’m actually out here taking some investor meetings.” He looked slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, cool.” I winced inwardly that I couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say. Finn had his own company, and I was still assisting on projects. I felt that old surge of competitiveness I used to get around Finn during debate prep. The urge to prove myself his equal. But now, with the gimlet eyes of hindsight, I could admit that Finn had never actually made me feel like I was less than. In high school he was suitably intimidated by my arguing skills, and I knew if I told him about my new job now, he’d be excited for me. That he’d have nothing but respect for where I was in my career.

“Sybil said y’all have a rooftop.”

Finn’s voice startled me out of my thoughts.

“We do. Technically.” As in, it was a roof. Not a roof deck. Not a roof lounge. Not a roof anything, just a tar-covered, puddle-filled, dangerously low-walled roof covered in pigeon poop… and perfect for parties. Our lease specifically forbade us from using it, but that had not stopped us in the past. Finn looked at me expectantly. “Do you want to see it?”

His eyes didn’t leave my face. “I do.”

“Let’s walk,” I said. I didn’t think I could handle another cab ride.

“DON’T LET THAT GETknocked loose,” I told Finn, motioning toward the old wooden cheese board I’d wedged into the doorjamb to keep it open, “or we’ll have to spend the night up here. There’s no way I could get Sybil to leave Sebastian now that she’s with him.”

Finn headed straight to the waist-high wall at the edge of the roof, leaning against it and looking north at the rest of Manhattan. You could see both the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building from our rooftop. Even after having lived in the city for a year, moments like this made me feel like I was inside someone else’s life.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Finn asked.

“I mean, you probably know as much as I do. He’s a photojournalist who—”

“Not Sybil’s,” Finn interrupted. “Yours.”

He angled his body toward me, one elbow propped up against the ledge of the rooftop. I hadn’t spoken about Preston at all during dinner. Finn must have learned of his existence from Sybil.

“Preston’s a, you know, crew guy,” I said with a shrug, frustrated at myself that I couldn’t come up with a more specific description.

“Ah, I know the type. They wake up at five a.m. to row,” he said with a smirk.

“Exactly.” Then, since Finn and I were just friends and this was the kind of thing you could say to a friend, I added, “And, you know, he’s superhot, supersmart. All around… super.”

“Oh, I bet.” Finn smiled.

“So tell me about the girlfriend,” I asked.

He squinted his eyes at me as if he was debating telling me something. Whatever he read on my face must have been enough encouragement, because he said, “Pilar asked me about an open relationship a few days ago.”

I blinked twice, unsure how to respond. “Is that what you want?”

Finn’s mouth was a grim line, communicating his unspoken no. “The deal with relationships,” he said after a beat, folding his arms across his chest, “is that the person who wants the most freedom gets to set the terms.”

“You could set the terms by no longer being in the relationship though,” I offered. He shrugged and turned back to looking at the skyline. “What’s she like?” I asked, mirroring his position and looking out at the sea of lights in front of us. I wondered what kind of woman could catch Finn’s attention so thoroughly that he’d be willing to consider sharing her.

“Smart, ambitious.” He turned to look at me. “Total smoke show. You know, my usual type.”

“Of course.” I nodded. Then, because I couldn’t help picking at it, I asked, “Why even have a relationship if you want to have it open?”

“I think they work for some people. I’m not sure I’m one of them though.”

“It’d be hard for me too.”

“I bet. You’re very territorial.”

I reared back but was still smiling. “You make me sound like a she-wolf or something.”

He flashed me a smile. “Just that you seem to go all in or all out on people.”

My cheeks grew warm in spite of the cool evening air. I turned away from the skyline, away from Finn’s gaze. As I rested my lower back against the ledge, I considered just how accurately Finn had described me—and tried not to analyze too hard what it meant that he was always able to see right to the core of me.

“So you think Sybil’s got it that bad?” Finn asked.

We were close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I smelled woodsmoke and lavender, and I felt my own body leaning toward his. I tried to remember what Finn had just asked me. “I think it’s that Sebastian’s life is an adventure. He’s always going to these far-off places, war zones, catastrophes, and Sybil’s always looking for a new adventure.”

“You have to admit that his job sounds pretty cool.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I waved away Finn’s comment. “He’d be a lot cooler if he didn’t string her along. He’s always telling her he’s going to meet up with her, then jumps on a flight to Venezuela. You have to be able to depend on people. You have to know that they’ll be there for you. Anyone who stands you up is undeserving of your time.”

I hadn’t meant to imply anything about Finn, but the air around us thickened with a different kind of tension, and it was like the stupid night of prom had materialized before us both. Oops.

Finn was the one to break it. “So, I was at the hospital that night.”

“What?” I looked over at him, but his gaze was trained north toward the Empire State Building lit up in blue and orange, probably for some sports team. I stared at Finn, waiting for him to continue, to clarify. What the hell did he mean he was at the hospital?

“The night of prom,” he continued. “The night I stood you up.”

“Oh, Finn, I wasn’t even trying to bring that up.”

But whether he believed me or not, he kept looking out at the skyline. “That was the day my dad got the news that his cancer was terminal.” My heart sank as I watched his face in profile. “I had gone to meet my parents at the hospital. It wasn’t until I got back home and saw my tux hanging on the closet door that I remembered it was prom.” Finn tucked his hands into his pants pockets, his eyes darting down to his shoes. “I called you as soon as I realized.”

I remembered my phone had been lit up with texts and missed calls that night, and how righteously hurt I’d felt at the time. A wave of regret crashed through me now.

“I’m so sorry, Finn. If I had known…” If I had known, I wouldn’t have unloaded on him, but looking back, I realized I never even gave him the chance to explain. I was so confident I knew what had happened that I had just steamrolled over him. I could have just stayed with Finn—been there for him. Instead, I’d made an awful day for him into an even worse one. Now, I didn’t know what else to say. Finn had pulled his hands out of his pockets, resting them on the ledge just inches from mine, so I reached over to give his right hand a squeeze. “God, I’m so sorry, Finn.”

He nodded, then stroked his thumb along the outside of mine. “There’s no way you could have known.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Finn gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I almost did tell you. But then things fell apart between us anyway, and… Dad didn’t want people to know about his diagnosis. And, honestly, I was in a lot of denial. It felt like my life was falling apart.” Finn took a deep breath; he kept his eyes on the skyline, but his hand remained in mine. “I think maybe I hoped you knew me well enough to trust me—to trust that I would never hurt you without a good reason.”

Regret sliced through me. Finn had stood me up, but I’d let him down too. He’d been nothing but a good friend to me for years, but at the first sign of trouble, I’d cut him out of my life. I’d been too dialed in on my own pain to see his.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I should have been honest with you instead of playing games.”

I turned my hand upward, and he continued along the lines of my palm and down my wrist. I couldn’t believe it. I had gone years thinking that Finn was just a flake who stood me up, when in reality, he had a completely valid reason for missing a stupid school dance. If only my pride hadn’t been so bruised, sending me storming off his front porch that night, maybe I could have known the truth. Maybe we would have dated senior year. Maybe we—but wait. Through the haze of realization and regret, something occurred to me.

“But when did you see Sybil at the mall? You gave her your car to drive to prom, right?”

“There was no mall, Emma. Sybil was at the hospital too.”

“She what?”

“You’re going to have to talk to Sybil about that.” I started to press further, but the look in Finn’s eyes stopped me.

I suddenly had the feeling that I knew absolutely nothing—nothing about the world, about what had happened years ago, nothing about Finn, or myself, or this night, or what was possible. What had come before this moment was inexplicable; what would come after, wild and uncertain. So I just stood there, every part of me focused only on the small circles Finn made on the inside of my wrist.

My heartbeat grew faster and faster as his fingers moved softly against my skin, the blood in my veins growing fizzier and fizzier, and I knew the only thing that could bring me back to earth was Finn. I looked up at him. His eyes were on me, watching me watch him. His hand was now wrapped around my wrist. I drifted toward him, and he leaned into me, his mouth just a finger’s width from mine, and I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips.

“Emma?”

“Yes?”

And then, just like he had in the pool that night, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

It was as if the word drifted up from the noise and laughter in the streets below, and somehow ended up on my tongue. Yes.

As he closed the distance and our lips touched, I felt myself melt into his body, his hands drifting to my hips and pulling me against him. I’d convinced myself that I’d built up our last kiss in my head—but if anything, this was better than I’d remembered. It was natural. We fit together seamlessly. I could tell by the way his breath hitched, a slight moan escaping from somewhere deep within him, that he could feel it too. Finn kissed me again and again and again. Each kiss grew more and more desperate until he pulled me off the ground and carried me over to one of the two foldout lounge chairs that Sybil had found on the street weeks ago and dragged up there. He laid me down on the chair, then braced himself on his elbows above me, and kissed me again. This time, it was slow and deliberate. His knee pressed into the space between my legs. I heard a sharp inhale, and realized it was me.

He pulled away, and his hand ran up my thigh, skimming along my tights. “Can I take these off?”

I nodded mutely, too dazed by the thought of what was coming next to use words. Something fluttered in my chest at the thought that anyone in the surrounding buildings could look down from their window to see us, but despite all the city lights around us, the roof itself was a pool of darkness; we were exposed and alone at the same time.

Finn smiled and kissed me again. He pulled off both of my boots and let them fall on the rooftop beside us. Then, reaching beneath my skirt, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my tights and used both hands to roll the thin material over my hips and down my legs. Every inch made me gasp with anticipation. My shirt was still on, but somehow most of its buttons had come undone, and the look in Finn’s eyes intensified, his knuckles grazing the edge of my bra as he leaned over me again, his chest warm and solid above mine. One hand cupped the back of my neck and pulled me toward him for a deeper kiss. The other dragged along the inside of my thigh. I gasped against Finn’s mouth, breaking the kiss as his fingers, cool from the night air, slipped beneath the soft cotton of my panties.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay.” It was more than okay. Finn’s fingers worked slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world. With each movement, he watched my reaction, moving slowly and then more quickly bringing me to the edge, but not letting me go over.

He slipped a second finger inside of me, and I lifted my hips so his fingers reached even deeper. It was nothing like sex with Preston, which was nice enough, but felt like paint by numbers. Simple strokes of soft pastels in pleasing shapes. With Finn it felt like I’d dipped the canvas in turpentine and lit it on fire. It was like oxygen, like water. Through the lace of my bra, Finn’s mouth closed around my nipple, and I bucked against his hand as I came apart in a thousand pieces. Falling limply against the back of the lawn chair, I reached for the zipper on Finn’s pants, but his hands stopped me.

His breathing was ragged. “Fuck.”

“What?” I whispered. “What is it?”

“We shouldn’t,” he said, his words grazing my skin. He kissed me again.

“What do you mean?” I was in agony; stopping was the last thing I wanted.

“I mean Preston,” he whispered. “Crew captain extraordinaire.”

“I never said he was captain.”

Finn laughed quietly, and so did I, reaching up to touch his jaw. But even as I did, reality was starting to come back to me in waves.

“You never said you were in an open relationship,” he pointed out.

It took me a second to think through the lust fogging my brain, but of course, Finn was right.

“No. We aren’t.” Guilt sliced through me.

Shit.

I had cheated. Had I cheated? Of course I had. What the hell else could you call this? Hooking up with an ex, or an ex-whatever-we-were, wasn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card. In fact, it was worse. Because I knew this was not just a hookup. I couldn’t lie to myself and say it wasn’t more than that. The want that was coursing through my body was not just because of the way Finn made me feel when he touched me, when he looked at me. It was all of that and something else too. I didn’t want a hookup; I wanted him.

But he was already sitting up, straightening his shirt with shaking hands, and as I started to sit up and shift my skirt back down, I couldn’t believe myself. This was a completely un-Emma thing to do. Preston might have been a self-important snob from time to time, but he didn’t deserve to be cheated on. What kind of person does that? An image of my father popped into my mind unbidden, fully ruining the mood like a cold bucket of water. I began rebuttoning my shirt, feeling vaguely frantic. Was one of the buttons missing? Why couldn’t I find my tights? How had it gotten so dark?

As if he could see me about to spiral, Finn whispered, “We’ll figure it out.” His lips brushed against my forehead. “Right?”

I found myself saying it for the second time that night: “Yes.”

And despite the guilt, the self-recrimination, and the anxiety coursing through me, I believed him, believed myself. We would figure this out. Whatever this was. We would make it work, make it okay. We folded up the lawn chair, pulled the cheese board from the doorjamb, and took the steps back down to my apartment. Finn walked me to my bedroom door, pressing a featherlight kiss to my lips before saying good night.

Lying in bed, I replayed what happened on the roof in my head, my body coursing with tingly heat all over again. The knowledge that Finn was just a few feet away in Sybil’s room, and I was right on the other side of a thin door, in only a soft T-shirt and underwear, made it impossible to fall asleep. Then, my phone lit up the dark with an incoming text from Finn.

I’ve been thinking about what you said about “setting the terms.” Maybe you’re right. Maybe the best move is to just not be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t want to be in one with me.

I took a deep breath, my fingers flying across my phone keyboard before I could second-guess myself.

Especially when there’s someone else who does.

Finn hearted my response, and I rolled over, a giddy smile overtaking my face.

In that moment, it felt like we would figure it out. Like maybe now, with the air cleared, and all our miscommunications resolved, the time was finally right for Finn and me. He was clearly planning to break up with his girlfriend. And Preston? I knew in my heart that it was over. It should have been over sooner. I’d been playing along, playing a role, playing the girlfriend while some deeper yearning in me lay dormant.

Until now.

Of course, what I didn’t know then, that night on the rooftop, was that trusting Finn would become just another horrible mistake.