Mistakes We Never Made

8 Thursday Afternoon

(Two days before the wedding)

WE ROW A FEWstrokes away from shore, quickly getting into a rhythm so our oars are moving in sync. The sun glistening off the water looks so inviting, I want to dive in, but I settle for dipping my hand into the waves and pouring some water on the back of my neck. I didn’t realize how hot it was.

“That can’t be her,” Finn says to himself, but keeps rowing.

“Oh, sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…” I twist around to see his reaction to my off-key Gilligan’s Island theme song, and he shoots me an annoyed look. “So I’m guessing one of the two badges you missed was the water-sports badge?” I try again to lighten the mood, but Finn just continues his withering stare. “Come on, she’s just around that bend up where that kayak is going.” I point with my oar to a neon-orange kayak a hundred yards ahead of us.

Finn has a point though; something doesn’t feel right. Sybil has always loved being out on the water, but she’s never been much for manual labor. Waterskiing across Lake Athens? Sure. Sunset cruise off Marina del Rey? Definitely. Riding in a little boat in Central Park taking selfies while her companion rows her around? Yes, and I have the blisters to prove it. But kayaking by herself through somewhat choppy waves? It doesn’t really add up.

The kayak ahead of us disappears behind a rocky outcrop.

“Let’s just catch up with that kayak up there and ask if they’ve seen her. If not, we can go back and keep looking around the hotel.” At this point my empty stomach is churning and I am really regretting not ordering anything off that pool bar menu.

We lapse into silence, focusing our attention on paddling.

It’s nearing one o’clock, and the sun is really beating down now. I feel a tightness settle in my chest. I pull at the neck of my life jacket to try to get some relief, but it doesn’t help. Sweat trickles down my temples, leaving an itchy path in its wake. Shit—did I reapply my sunblock after my shower this morning? My nose tingles. It’s probably already flaking.

We round the rocky outcrop, finally catching up to the blond girl in the blue-and-white sun shirt. I increase my paddling efforts, nearly capsizing us in my efforts to pull up alongside her.

“Emma!” Finn yelps, but we manage to right our boat before any damage is done.

I tap my oar onto the back of her bright green kayak. “Sybs, it’s us.” But the girl who turns around to face me is definitely not Sybil. My stomach drops as the stranger gives us a confused stare before paddling off.

Oops. I guess Sybil really did see that swim shirt all over Instagram.

Finn calls out an apology to the woman and begins to turn us back to shore. I can feel his unspoken told you so radiating off his body in judgmental waves. I don’t know what it is about Finn that brings out this need in me to be right all the time. I have to consciously unclench my jaw and take in a deep breath. Except I can only seem to get air into the top half of my lungs. Between the mountain run this morning and the exertion of paddling this kayak under the baking sun, my body is spent.

“So I’m thinking the Del Double Cheeseburger with the works and one of those rumrunner drinks they were advertising by the pool before we get back on the road,” Finn says.

Like a Pavlovian dog, I start salivating at the mere mention of a burger. But at the same time, the thought of it makes me nauseated—the heat and the motion of the kayak making my stomach churn harder now. I can’t believe I’m out here, probably contracting melanoma, and definitely sweating off my mascara, when I could have been in a dark, soothing room with cool cucumbers over my eyes and the strong hands of some guy with a name like Jan gently easing twenty-eight years of tension from my trap muscles. The minute, and I mean, the minute, I locate Sybil, she starts paying for this. But wait…

“Get back on the road to where?” I ask Finn, turning around to make eye contact.

“Back to Malibu. Sybil’s clearly not up for the welcome party. We should just go back and explain everything to Jamie. Sybil will come back when she’s ready.”

“Clearly you don’t know her as well as I do. She needs help. I promised to keep her grounded this weekend—to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“It’s just a cocktail party, Emma.” Finn rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’ll all survive. Don’t worry, you’ll still have two days’ worth of wedding-related events to micromanage.”

I huff a sigh and turn back around to face front. Typical Finn. “Well it may be ‘just a cocktail party,’” I say, mimicking his condescending tone, “but Sybil’s the freaking host. She made a commitment. People are counting on her to be there. Not showing up would just be selfish and rude.” I lean hard on those last two words.

I hear Finn’s knuckles crack as they tighten on the oar, and he paddles us forward with more force than necessary.

“What are you saying?” he asks, clearly gleaning my double meaning.

But I’m not about to rehash old drama with Finn while we’re trapped on a kayak together.

“Nothing. Forget it. I just think Sybil should be there. We don’t need to make a thing of it.”

Something in my words seems to trigger Finn, who slams down his oar to rest on the kayak between our bodies. “No, you know what? We need to actually talk about this.”

“You shouldn’t put down your paddle like that. It could slip into the water.”

“Emma, you’ve been carrying this grudge against me for years. I know things between us have been”—A nightmare? Infuriating? Soul-crushing?—“complicated. But I don’t think I deserve this passive-aggressive anger you’ve been throwing my way.”

Of course he doesn’t. They never do.

I start to turn around to explain to Finn in detail—with rebuttals, counterarguments, cited sources—why he does, in fact, deserve every second of the grudge I’m definitely not even holding. But as I do, I see what appears to be a jellyfish inching dangerously close to our boat.

I scream and poke my paddle at it, but it’s just a grimy plastic bag. I sigh in relief, grabbing the sides of the kayak to steady myself, only to realize that my paddle is floating twenty feet away.

I watch it drift further and further, feeling like an idiot.

“You know,” Finn says from behind me, leaning close so I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. “You really shouldn’t put your paddle down like that—”

“Just give me your paddle.” I yank it from Finn’s hand before he can argue with me, and put all my energy into paddling us toward my runaway oar, but it keeps getting pulled further and further out to sea, and the kayak is getting pulled closer and closer to the rocks.

I should turn back. I should just let Finn row us back to shore. But it’s like I’m possessed. The tunnel vision. The racing heart. The feeling like if you don’t just do this one thing, then something terrible is going to happen. I had my first anxiety attack in the second grade, not long after Dad left. Not that I knew that’s what it was at the time—we weren’t really a therapy-going type of family. I had this favorite yellow cup that I always drank my water from at bedtime. But one night, Mom handed the nightly ritual to me in a new pink cup. Apparently the yellow one had a crack in the plastic, and she threw it out. I was devastated. Something inside me was unleashed. I ran to our garbage barrel, already out front ready for the next day’s pickup, and started rifling through it like a madwoman, trash flying all over our lawn, tears streaming down my face. It was a complete overreaction to the situation, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d been holding my emotions together ever since Dad left, and it was like the dam finally burst. It felt like everything was changing, life as I knew it slipping through my fingers. If my favorite cup could disappear without warning, then so could Mom or Liz. I needed to get it back.

“The paddle’s gone, Emma,” Finn says—his voice now sounding much further away than it should. “You need to give up. Please give me my paddle so I can get us back.” Through my own panic, I can hear the anxiety in Finn’s voice, but my mind latches on to his words: You need to give up.

“I won’t.” I won’t give up. I need to get us back to shore, and then I can ride out the rest of this anxiety attack and come up with a new plan.

“Emma, you don’t need to prove anything,” Finn yells over the waves. But I do. I need to prove that I can do one thing right even if that one thing is getting this kayak to shore.

“I’ll get us to land,” I say.

“You’re being ridiculous right now.”

“I’m following through, Finn. Something you don’t know anything about.”

“You’re the one who has no idea what you’re talking about, Emma.” I’ve never heard Finn this angry before.

When we’re almost back to shore, my panic has peaked and my mind is a dull throb of anxiety. My fingers are tingling and starting to go numb. As soon as the bottom of the kayak scrapes against sand, it’s like my body gives itself permission to shut down. I wobble as I start to stand up out of the boat, and Finn’s arm shoots out to steady me. “Do you need some help?” he asks, though there’s definitely still an edge to his voice, or at least I think there is, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate because my ears are starting to ring.

“I’m fine,” I snap. But I’m not. Blood rushes to my face, and my field of vision shrinks.

I can hear the waves slamming against the side of the kayak, and I vaguely register Finn’s voice and a splash. The last thing I remember is my body sliding sideways off the kayak and being grateful that Finn made me put on that stupid life jacket.

“MA’AM, ARE YOU OKAY?”A suntanned man with blond curls and a perfect body hovers above me. Is this heaven? The possible angel hands me a water bottle with HOTEL DEL CORONADO emblazoned on the side. Right. Not heaven. San Diego. I’m lying on a lounge chair up on the Sun Deck poolside bar.

“Thanks,” I breathe, taking a sip from the water bottle. I hear a huff from my left and look over to see Finn scowling.

The blond man smiles at me, and I can’t help blushing when he winks. Finn makes a noise low in his throat, which from any other person I would call a growl. “I’m just glad to know you’re okay. It looks like your boyfriend can take it from here.”

I watch the Greek god—who I now realize was probably the resort’s on-site doctor—head back toward the hotel’s main building.

“I think you must’ve gotten sunstroke,” Finn says. “I had your head on a towel and your legs elevated”— My blush deepens. I know it’s the appropriate treatment for a fainting victim, but my mind immediately goes to an inappropriate place. Finn laying me back, an urgency in his breathing, his hands pulling my legs up, up, and…— “and then I ordered you some fruit juice, for when you woke up,” Finn continues, oblivious to my mind’s dirty wandering, “but I thought I should probably get the doctor, just in case.” Though he’s looking like he’s maybe regretting that decision, still staring daggers at the handsome doctor’s retreating form.

“Sunstroke, yeah.” It’s true. I was overheated and underhydrated, and have barely eaten all day. But the anxiety attack I had out on the water definitely played a role too. It’s been over a year since I’ve had one, but I guess I should have been expecting it. Between the stress at work, the stress of trying to find Sybil, and the stress of being thrown back together with Finn Hughes—it’s probably been percolating for days. But there’s no reason Finn needs to know that.

It’s only now that I realize that I’m mostly dry, while Finn’s clothes are soaked—his T-shirt clinging to his chest in a way that some people might find attractive.

Oh hell, I can admit it. I’m “some people.” Finn’s eyes are glued to my mouth, and I realize I’m biting my bottom lip.

I try to gain some self-control and clear my throat. “Did we fall off the kayak?”

There’s a pause, and Finn pulls his gaze back to my eyes. “Sort of. We were basically back to shore, but you got woozy trying to step off the kayak. You kinda took me down as you slid off.”

Oh right. It’s coming back to me. Our fruitless search for Sybil. Losing the oar. The fight.

“But wait, how did we get all the way up here?” The Sun Deck is a long way from the shoreline.

“I, um, carried you,” Finn says, like he’s embarrassed.

Is he embarrassed? Should I be? Mostly I’m just pissed that I was unconscious for the whole thing.

“Oh, thank you,” I say dumbly.

“It’s no problem,” he says. I think he’s going to leave it at that, but he goes on. “You know being stubborn to the point of endangering yourself won’t help you find Sybil, and… and I’d be very upset if something happened to you.”

“You hate me.” I take another swig of my water.

“I could never hate you, Emma.”

“You just think I’m overly stubborn.”

“I never said overly stubborn. But…” His eyes are twinkling like he’s about to laugh.

“But what?”

“Well, I’ll never forget the debate where you were so offended by the opposing team’s tactics that you physically moved the podium so you wouldn’t have to look them in the face.”

I laugh, the memory coming back to me. “Are you making fun of me?”

He’s laughing too, but he stops now, and the seriousness that suddenly fills his expression almost takes my breath away. “Never,” he says. And I believe him. The way he looks at me, there’s a new flutter in my stomach separate from the nausea. It doesn’t feel entirely bad, but it’s even scarier. And for the first time in several years, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be with Finn. Like maybe our love story was supposed to start a decade ago. Like maybe I should have told Finn how much his actions over the years had wounded me. But instead, every time, I ran away before he could hurt me even more. He brushes away a lock of hair from my cheek, and he’s looking at me right now like I’m something precious. He’s leaning closer, and my chin tilts up. Somewhere from the dark recesses of my id, a phrase blazes across my mind: Kiss me.

Then my phone buzzes, and the moment collapses around us. There’s a blush flaming across my cheeks, and my heart is slamming against my rib cage. Turning away to give myself a moment, I pull my phone out from the waterproof pouch the kayak rental had given us. It’s Nikki. I answer ready to tell her we haven’t seen any sign of Sybil, but before I can say hello, she says, “Open Find My Friends.” I put Nikki on speaker and navigate to the app. It looks like Liz is still safely on the East Coast, my mom is in Dallas, Willow and Nikki are overlapping dots just north of my blue dot, and there’s Sybil’s photo floating up and to the right. It takes a second for it to hit me.

“She’s in Vegas?” I can’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. Finn comes to sit beside me on the edge of the lounge chair. His damp T-shirt presses against my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. A memory flashes across my mind. Me and Finn, water all around us, our mouths sliding against one another’s. The very first time I kissed Finn Hughes… My eyes snap to his. Could Finn tell how much I wanted him to kiss me a moment ago? God, I hope not. I scooch over, putting an inch of separation between our two bodies, and turn my focus back to Nikki. It doesn’t help. I can still feel the heat of his body radiating against my back. “S-so has Sybil been in Vegas this whole time?” I stutter out.

“I don’t know,” Nikki says. “It just occurred to me to look at the app a few minutes ago.”

“Is Jamie meeting her there? Maybe they’re eloping?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Nikki’s voice is reaching a slightly hysterical pitch.

“Shh, it’s okay.” A soft voice comes through over the background. Willow. “Jamie’s still here in Malibu. But I think he’s starting to suspect something’s up.”

“Guys—” Finn speaks into my phone, leaning even closer to me in the process. “Hey, it’s Finn. I think we all need to calm down. Sybil will be fine. It’s normal to want to blow off some steam before a big life event.”

“First flaw there is assuming that Sybil is at all normal,” I say. Sybil is so beautiful that most people can’t see what an absolute weirdo she is. She snacks on raw pasta and is obsessed with romance novels and outer space. “Remember when she wore that ‘Pluto Is a Planet’ shirt for a solid month in eighth grade?”

“Good point,” Finn concedes. “She was pissed about that Pluto thing for a long time. She wrote her senior thesis on it.”

I guess Finn is one of those people who see the weirdness in Sybil and still love her. For once, the thought doesn’t make me burn with competitiveness.

“Focus, people, please!” Nikki’s shrill tone once again brings me back to the matter at hand.

And in that moment, I make a decision. “Finn and I are going to go to Vegas to get her.”

“Are you sure?” Nikki asks. “Maybe we need to tag in Jamie, or her parents.”

“Not yet. Finn and I should be the ones to track her down.” I feel this deep in my bones. “Seeing Jamie or her parents might send Sybil spiraling even further, and Lord only knows where she’d flee to next.”

“Okay, we’ll try to hold down the fort here,” Willow says, and we hang up.

Finn helps me up from the lounge chair. He forces a to-go turkey sandwich on me, and we head back to the valet. He hands them a ticket, and years of muscle memory has me reaching into my own pocket. I find my license, credit card, a few folded bills, and an old movie ticket all intact.

“Ooh, old license photo of Emma,” Finn says with a devilish grin, reaching for the pile of cards.

“No!” I say a little too quickly, gathering all my items back up and slipping them carefully back into my wallet. “There’s some important stuff in here.”

“Oh, come on, like an old movie stub?”

“None of your business.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, hands up in surrender. As the valet brings the car around in front of us, Finn’s tone changes.

“You know, it really seems like Sybil doesn’t want to be found,” he says softly.

“There are a lot of instances where what Sybil wants is not what Sybil really needs,” I say, finishing up the sandwich and reaching into the to-go bag to pull out a piece of fruit. I’m already starting to feel more like myself.

“Emma, I think we should go back to Malibu. This is Sybil’s life. She has to make the call about whether or not she wants to marry Jamie.”

“We can be in Las Vegas by dinnertime, grab Sybil, and then be back at the hotel by midnight.” The valet pulls the Singer up right beside us.

“Doesn’t that mean we miss the welcome party?” Finn says as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Who cares about the welcome party if there isn’t a bride?” I ask.

“Answering a question with a question. A pretty weak rhetorical move there, Ms. Townsend.” Finn rummages around in the back and comes up with a couple of towels that he spreads across our seats before I climb in.

“To be, or not to be…” I hold my uneaten orange in my outstretched palm like a Shakespearean skull. Finn lets out a laugh. It sends a jolt right to my heart, and suddenly it’s like the past eleven years haven’t happened. We’re just Finn and Emma, playing truth or dare in the back of the bus on our way home from state, right on the edge of everything that we could be.

Finn goes around to the driver’s seat and hesitates as he puts the key into the ignition. I can tell he’s waffling. If I can just get him on my side, he’ll see that we’re the ones who have to bring Sybil home. We know Sybil better than anyone. The two of us. I’m grudgingly coming around to accepting the fact that Finn knows sides to Sybil that I don’t. I need him with me on this mission. “What if I made a bet with you?”

“What kind of bet?” He looks over at me warily as he buckles his seat belt.

“We go to Vegas. You and me. If Sybil doesn’t agree to come back with us—you win. But if she does, then I win.”

“And?” Finn asks. “What are the terms of this bet? What do you get from me if you win?”

I hesitate. What do I want from Finn?

I want him to be someone he isn’t, to be the guy I thought he was at seventeen. I want prom to have been memorable not because of the heartbreak I experienced, but because it was wonderful—even if we hadn’t worked out and we’d gone our separate ways after graduation. I want Katie Dalton’s wedding to have been the start of a new phase in our relationship, and not the last time I saw Finn in person until this weekend. I know it’s irrational to hold these things against him. We can’t go back and change the past. But my series of “almosts” with Finn Hughes still nags at my consciousness like a hangnail—it’s not going to kill me, but I can’t quite forget about it either. Maybe what I want from Finn is closure—to understand why things never worked out between us, even when there were times when it seemed like we were on the same page. When the spark between us was undeniable. But do I really want to know? No matter the missing details, it ultimately comes down to this: he just didn’t care about me the same way I cared about him. And part of me still wants him to care about me that way, even now.

But those are wants. What I need is a ride to Las Vegas and to put any feelings I may have about Finn—good or bad—behind me.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I say eventually.

Finn takes a moment to respond, and I can see him calculating the risk of the unknown.

“How about this,” Finn says. “You win, you get to drive the Singer.” My eyes spark at that. “And if I win, you have to say one nice thing about me.” I roll my eyes. “Do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand, and I grasp it.

“Deal.” Our shake is a beat longer than it should be, neither one of us pulling away, the warmth of Finn’s hand lingering on my palm.

“But if you start singing ‘Viva Las Vegas’ at any point, all bets are off.” He squeezes my hand tighter, his dark brown eyes sparkling.

And in that moment, it’s all I can do to keep those past “almosts” from flooding my mind all over again. It’s going to be a long drive.