Mistakes We Never Made

25 Saturday Morning

(Wedding day)

“SYBIL! ARE YOU OKAY?”

“Ma’am?” A man’s voice comes through the speaker.

“Who is this? Where’s Sybil?” I can’t keep the panic out of my voice. Finn’s arm is around me in an instant, and I put the call on speaker so he can hear.

“Ma’am. Calm down. I’m Rick. I’m just a Lyft driver. This number was the emergency contact.” I’d forced Sybil to add me to her phone’s emergency settings when we’d moved to New York in case something happened to her, and it seems like she never changed it.

“Is she okay? Please, let me talk to her.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. I just found this phone in my back seat. She must have left it charging back there. I recognize the photo on her home screen. I picked her up from the airport Thursday afternoon.”

“The airport? What airport?”

“Harry Reid,” he says. “Las Vegas. I dropped her off at Caesars Palace around, oh, I don’t know, three p.m.?”

I think of us tracking Sybil’s phone, it pinging back and forth all down the Strip. It wasn’t Sybil herself, it was just her phone in the back of the car. But wait—how did her tracker start traveling toward Albuquerque? Rick the Lyft driver has an answer for that too.

“I did a bunch of Vegas rides on Thursday night, and then I had to go check on my mom’s cats while she’s traveling. She lives out in Santa Fe. I’m actually headed back to Vegas now to do some more runs. If you want your friend’s phone back, maybe we could meet up.”

My heart is pounding. The prospect of Sybil going out to Albuquerque to meet up with her problem ex-boyfriend Liam was worrisome enough, but now I realize we have no idea where she is. She could be hurt or in danger. Finn senses that I’m starting to spiral and places a calming hand over mine. “If we get her phone, we can see if there’s any clues on there. Maybe we can find out why she was going to Vegas, or who she might have been meeting up with.”

I nod. “Are you anywhere near Flagstaff?” I ask Rick. “Can you meet us? I’ll text you an address.”

“Sure, give me an hour or so.”

There’s a Toyota Corolla idling in front of my dad’s house when we get there. A Latino man in his fifties in a red Diamondbacks hat steps out of the car.

“Hey, you’re on the home screen too!” He hands me the phone without hesitation.

I look down at the phone in my hands, and the four of us stare up at me: Willow, Nikki, Sybil, and me at golden hour with the Pacific Ocean in the background from three days ago in Malibu. It’s a photo we took moments before I went on my tequila shot crusade, and I realize that she must have set it as her phone background that night.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” I say as Finn comes up beside me.

“No problem. I know my daughter would lose her mind if she lost her phone. You girls are about her age.”

I’m about to pump the Lyft driver for more information, anything he can remember about his brief interaction with Sybil, when I get a text from Nikki:

Sybil is on her way here.

I immediately call Nikki, but it goes straight to voicemail. So, I resort to what I do best: hammer until I strike a nail.

Nik

Nik

Nikki

NICOLE MARIE

Finally, a response comes through.

I can’t talk right now. Shit is going down. But Sybil is safe. Just get back to Malibu ASAP!!!

I turn to Finn. “Nikki says Sybil’s back. We need to get to LA right now. Rick, can you take us to the airport?” I’m already pulling the back door of his Corolla open.

“Sure thing. Hop in.” Finn throws our bags in the back of the car, and Rick floors it to the Flagstaff airport.

Finn books our flights on his phone, and I don’t even let myself think what the last-minute fares must be costing him, while I keep calling Nikki until she picks up. “Sweet Jesus, Emma, I was going to call you as soon as I was free!”

“What is going on? Tell me everything. Is the wedding still happening?”

“There’s nothing to tell right now. I don’t know if the wedding is going to happen. All I know is Sybil called and told her parents that she was on her way back. Mrs. Rain just came by to tell us. Do you think you’ll make it back in time?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. Given all the travel snafus I’ve experienced over the past two days, I shouldn’t be so confident, but there’s no way I’d miss Sybil walking down the aisle. “I’ll be there.”

The flight back to LA is a whirlwind—but I’m amazed that there is not even a flutter of anxiety in my chest. No need for the 3-3-3 technique. I guess the chaos and catharsis of the past few days have been enough to drain my body of nervous energy for the time being. And having Finn sitting beside me, holding my hand during takeoff, doesn’t hurt either. Before the plane begins its final descent, I spend several minutes in the tiny lavatory, putting my Vegas makeup to use and trying to get all my hair to go in mostly the same direction. After we land, we spend another hour in traffic to get to Malibu. That’s when the nerves set in. What will I be walking into? Is Sybil really okay? Where has she been the last two days? I’m practically vibrating as we pull up to the resort. Finn grabs my hand and pulls me to him, dropping a soft kiss on my cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. I let out a deep breath, and I believe him.

“You’re right.” We head to our separate rooms.

Willow waves me down as I’m scanning my key card in front of my door. She’s already wearing her champagne silk bridesmaid’s dress. “How’s Sybil?” I ask.

She ignores my question. “Did Finn Hughes just kiss you?”

“Maybe.”

She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to elaborate, one hand on her hip, the other on her pregnant belly, her lips a perfect French red. She really is stunning. “Listen, Wills, I’m sorry I always nag you about the cigarette thing. I know you’re an adult, and you can make your own decisions about your body.”

Narrowing her eyes at me, she asks, “What the hell happened on that road trip, Em?”

I don’t know how to sum up everything that’s happened in the last few days with my dad, with Finn, with me, so I just throw my hands up and offer her a watery smile.

“Oh, sweetie.” She tries to pull me into a hug, but mostly I end up bent over her stomach with my face resting in her cleavage while she rubs small circles on my back.

“Willow.” My voice is muffled. “I can’t breathe through your boobs.”

She releases me with a laugh. “Another benefit of pregnancy: giant boobs. Put that in the pro column. Though, the fact that they’re always sore is definitely one for the con column.” A sharp movement ripples the satin of Willow’s gown, and she cradles her belly.

“Did the baby—”

“Just kick?” Willow’s smile widens. “They must want to say hi to their aunt Emma.” I loop my arm through Willow’s, and the DO NOT DISTURB sign swings as I open the door to a room that is exactly as I left it. “You can nag me about cigarettes as much as you want,” Willow adds, settling onto the little couch in the cottage’s living room as I race to my suitcase to slip out of my shorts, tank, and sports bra, shimmying into a strapless bra instead. “I know you only harp on it because you’re worried about me. Besides, I’ve been reading a lot about it, and I think I might be more of a psilocybin woman these days.”

Reaching for my shoes, I try to make sense of Willow’s words. “Psilocybin… like… shrooms?” I pause, one high heel shoe dangling from my fingers. It takes everything in me, but I force the words out. “If… that’s what… makes you happy.”

“I’m just messing with you, Em.” Willow cackles from the couch. “The hardest thing I’ll be on for the foreseeable future is acetaminophen.” I giggle as I throw on my own champagne bridesmaid’s dress and rejoin Willow in the living room. She studies my face and gently smooths down a bit of haltered neckline. “Wow. Finn Hughes really did a number on you. I like it.”

A soft smile comes to my lips. “I like it too.” More than that. I love it. My breath hitches, and I realize I have to talk to Finn. But first, I need to see Sybil. On impulse, I pull open the closet, and Sybil’s wedding gown is gone. Sighing in relief, I throw my heels on, and Willow and I book it out of the cottage.

It’s a perfect Southern California afternoon. The sun is shining golden, and a breeze is blowing sea air up into the mountains. It’s only been a few moments that I’ve been away from Finn, but I already miss him so much I imagine the faint scent of woodsmoke and lavender. Except, I’m not actually imagining it. Because as I turn down the path toward Nikki’s cabin, I spot Finn just a few yards ahead of me. He’s managed to put on his tux, and I’m struck all over again by how handsome he is. “Stop, Emma. I just need one minute.”

“Oh no. Is Sybil gone again?”

“No, this isn’t about Sybil. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Willow gives me a wink and keeps waddling toward Nikki’s room.

Finn takes my hand and pulls me closer to him. “I wanted to talk to you. I know you might have a few regrets about how—”

Before he can continue, I put my fingers to his lips. Because the truth is, I don’t regret what happened with Finn two nights ago in the hammock (and on the hood of his car the next morning). I don’t regret what happened on my rooftop years back. Or really, any single moment between us—I’ve only ever wanted more of them. My only regrets are the things I didn’t say, mistakes I didn’t let myself make. I know now that all my bitterness and frustration with Finn over the years was compounded by other wounds—ones I’m only now realizing need healing. It wasn’t about prom, or a kiss in the pool, or a rooftop hookup, or an ex-girlfriend rearing her gorgeous head. It was about Finn and me—wanting to trust each other, but not fully trusting ourselves enough to go there.

I can finally admit to myself that I love him. I’ve loved him for a long time, and even if he doesn’t love me back, I owe it to Finn to give him all the facts so he can make his own decision. I take a deep breath and look up at him, feeling the old nervous energy overtake me. I look up into Finn’s whiskey-brown eyes and pull my fingers from his lips, slipping my hands into his. “So, there’s something I need to tell you too.”

Finn smiles back at me. “Okay, shoot.”

Where to start?Maybe if I think of it in debate terms… “I know you’ve been up-front about not wanting to be in a relationship,” I say tentatively, like an opening statement, “but I would put forth the argument that maybe you should reconsider. Being in a relationship, that is. And furthermore, I think it should be with me.”

Finn’s smile grows. But my heart is suspended in the air, and I don’t know if it’s going to take flight or smash to the ground.

“Hmm,” he says, “do you have any evidentiary support for this argument?”

“We get along, mostly. You can keep up with my quips—not an easy feat, by the way. You’re not horribly unattractive, and I, of course, am gorgeous,” I rattle off, ignoring Finn’s eye roll. “Plus, we have pretty amazing sex. I wasn’t lying about your prowess,” I add, and Finn barks out a laugh that can only be described as giddy. “And there’s the fact that I haven’t been able to shake you for the better part of a decade, so I might as well accept that you’re going to be a permanent fixture in my life, Finn Hughes.”

“So you’re resigning yourself to me, after all this time?” Finn says. I can’t tell if the joke is another way of just playing along with me, or if there’s hurt there, or something more.

“Well, yeah, but there’s one last point I need to make,” I say, putting on my serious, about-to-crush-a-debate face.

“I’m ready for it.”

“Are you?” I tease.

He looks at me. “I’m ready,” he says. And in that moment, I hear my cue. He’s ready. He’s ready for whatever is next. And so am I.

“My closing argument is that, when all is said and done…” The sun shines over the sea, ringing Finn’s head in light, and I have to squint as I say it, my eyes tearing from the brightness. “I love you.”

For a second, I feel as if I’ve stepped backward off the Santa Monica Mountains, that I’m free-falling into the Pacific. And then Finn’s voice brings me back to the present with a soft laugh. “Damn” is all he says.

“‘Damn’? I say I love you and you say ‘damn’?!” I smack him on the chest, and he laughs.

“I’m just… processing,” he says.

“Processing? What do you need to process?”

“Well…” He looks down. “It’s been a helluva long weekend, and we’re both tired and—”

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

He looks back up, straight into my eyes. “I want to believe you, Emma. More than anything. I’m just… scared.”

At this, I burst into laughter. “Well, Finn, that makes two of us.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” he whispers. His half grin sends sparks through me, and then he’s leaning down toward me, and his lips open against mine, and I’m flying.

After a few minutes, Finn pulls back slightly, but I keep my hand on his cheek. “Are you sure? Because I…” Ask him, Emma. Just ask him. “I need to know how you feel. I need to know what you really want.” I need more, deserve more, than a simple I guess.

“Emma, you have to know that I’ve wanted to be with you since I was sixteen.”

“What?” I say dumbly.

He blushes and turns to kiss the palm of my hand. I can’t help smiling when he says, “I’d get drunk with Sybil and tell her how you were out of my league.”

“Sybil knew? Wait, what would she say? I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.” My hand moves from Finn’s cheek to his neck. I can’t stop touching him.

“She mostly agreed that as long as I didn’t have the balls to tell you how I felt, then you were out of my league. She did yell at me about showing up to Vail with Pilar.”

“Good.” I laugh and run a hand under both of my eyes again.

He smiles at me. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. I couldn’t believe you’d broken up with that guy for me. Or that you would care enough to make it work long distance. And I panicked and got back with Pilar because that felt safe. There was always going to be an escape route with her. I knew it wasn’t going to be anything permanent, so it lessened the pressure.”

Keeping everything close to the vest hasn’t worked so far, so I take the last step. Looking up into Finn’s warm brown eyes, I say, “Look, if you’re not in a relationship place right now, I respect that. I’d rather just know the truth up-front. I don’t want us to keep hurting each other with misunderstandings.”

“Emma,” Finn says, tucking hair behind my ear, “when I said the other day that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I did mean it—or I thought I did. It just seemed easier, you know? If you have no commitments, you have no one to disappoint.” There’s uncertainty written all over his face, so I reach out and squeeze his hand. “But for the past three days, I’ve been trying to make sense of this. Seeing you again. All the old feelings that came right back up, as if they’d never gone anywhere.” I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “I knew I screwed things up between us last time,” Finn continues. “That I’d be crazy to think I deserved another chance with you, no matter how much I might want one…” Then, after a pause, Finn looks back at me, the slightest hint of a smirk forming on his lips. “You made that pretty clear the first night. What was it you said? ‘Absolutely not my type. Never has been, never will be’?”

“That may have been slightly hyperbolic,” I admit with a cringe.

Finn gives me a soft smile. “Well, it sounded pretty fair to me, considering.”

My heart clenches. Finn did hurt me with the way he handled the Pilar situation, but I know now it was just a mistake, born out of the same insecurities that had me keeping Finn at arm’s length. I hate that he’s spent years thinking I was some unattainable figure on a pedestal that he wasn’t worthy of pursuing. Because the truth is, Finn is more than deserving of being with whoever he wants. And not just because he’s successful, smart, and frickin’ gorgeous, but because he has one of the strongest moral codes of anyone I know—he always has; I just couldn’t see it at the time. Looking back now, it’s so obvious. He’s kept Sybil’s secrets for nearly a decade. He stopped us from going too far the night on the rooftop when I was still with Preston. And he’s never promised me more than he knew he could deliver. I want to tell him all this, to make sure he knows he’s a good man, to—

“But the thing is”—Finn interrupts my racing thoughts, his mouth curling into grin again—“I always did like a challenge.” I pull my hand from his to give him a playful smack on the arm, but then he recaptures my hand and presses it to his heart. “And proving myself worthy of your love sounds like the best challenge yet.” My heart swells at that; I can practically feel it threatening to burst through my rib cage.

“You don’t have to prove a damn thing.” I barely get the words out before his lips crash to mine. They stay there for several moments until I pull back for air. “But seriously,” I say as the ocean breeze ruffles the skirt of my bridesmaid’s dress, “I know it will be hard, but I care enough to try to make this work.”

“I do too.”

Now I’m the one who’s giddy. “Wait, really? Really, really?”

Finn laughs. “Yeah, really, Emma. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I love you too.”

And those words take my breath away.

But only for a minute. “Took you long enough,” I say, smiling so hard it hurts my face.

“Only eleven and a half years,” he says. And then we’re kissing again, and I let myself finally melt into the moment, into him, into the inevitability of it all. The inevitability of us.

“What are we going to do about the continent in between us?” I ask.

“I’ll move to New York. Or you’ll move to California. Or we’ll both move back to Texas or Paris or Morocco. Whatever you want to do. I’m a free agent these days. But if you’re going to design that house for me, I’ll need you to be nearby. In case I have an emergency question about drapes or tiles.”

“We certainly can’t allow for any tile emergencies. I think I can manage to make myself available to you.”

He presses his lips to mine. It’s a kiss that feels like a beginning.