40 seasons change
40
seasons change
Ava
I immediately regret not wearing a jacket when I step outside in nothing but a decidedly thin strapless red dress that Josie forced me to buy for the opening. Luckily, my Uber drops me right outside the building, and I make it inside without doing any permanent damage to my extremities.
When I duck into the foyer, there’s a massive poster saying Access to Art: As It Lives please grab a glass, and have a wonderful evening.’
The whole place is a sensory masterpiece. I wander towards a piece called Tangible Sound, which looks unremarkable at first – a square marked on the floor with what looks like a tall speaker at each corner. Each pillar is lined with different coloured lights, casting overlapping technicolour shadows on to the floor, but when I step into the square, that’s when the magic happens. I realise my body’s interrupting sound waves, and when I move, the pillars generate this dreamy, otherworldly sound, like I’m under the sea.
Another piece is a sculpture that’s partly solid, while other parts move and shift under your touch, and something about it is familiar. When I press the button on the plaque to listen to the explanation, I learn Alina’s one of the collaborators.
I catch Josie just as she finishes a particularly effusive conversation with a few peers, waving her giant fluted sleeves around so aggressively I’m willing to bet she’ll whack herself in the face with them at some point tonight.
‘This is amazing,’ I say, as I approach, and when she turns to me, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more alive – cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
‘Have you looked around it all yet? What’s the verdict? Tell me all your thoughts. Unless they’re bad thoughts, in which case, please lie like you’ve never lied before.’
‘I don’t need to lie,’ I say. ‘The sound square is my favourite so far. I felt like a mer—’
‘Mermaid, right? I’ve been saying that this whole time but everyone else says it has space vibes instead. But have you checked out Seasons Change ?’ She gestures towards the back of the room, where a line of people snakes around a huge circular structure, a timer flashing outside the door.
‘No, wait, is that the one you had the idea for?’
‘You have to go in. Although,’ she drops her voice, ‘wait for the queue to go down. I personally think it’s better when there are only a few people in there. It feels more immersive.’
‘Got it.’ I make a note to keep an eye on the line. ‘Josie, you’re a force, you know that?’
‘I know,’ she says in a hum. ‘But thank you for reminding me.’
It takes a while for the queue to go down outside the circular room. The door opens and a few stragglers spill out, eyes wide, raving to each other about how cool it was. When the five-minute timer above the door starts counting back down to zero again, I head towards it.
I don’t know what to expect. The plaque outside the door simply says:
Time passes, life goes on, seasons change. Take a moment to breathe.
The room is dark when I step in, but I use those raised lines on the floor to help find my way. There’s some seating around the edges, but I choose the backless bench in the centre of the room. I sit facing away from the door, ready to take a moment to breathe, as instructed. The walls curve around me in a circle and when I notice the faint hum buzzing at the far end of my range of hearing and a hazy light emanating all around me, I realise the entire wall is a screen, as if I’m enclosed within a TV.
By chance, I’m the only one in here, and I can’t work out if it’s eerie or soothing to be surrounded by nothing more than my thoughts and the dark. So when someone comes into the room and sits behind me on the bench just before the countdown hits zero, I’m the tiniest bit relieved.
Suddenly the room lights up and we’re surrounded by images of spring: unfurling buds, tiny farm animals, dewdrops gliding down blades of grass. Then come the sounds of wind chimes, chicks cracking out of their eggs, the low bleating of sheep. Even the tone of the light seems to match the kind of sunshine you get on spring mornings – hesitant but hopeful. There’s a gentle breeze, and is that the smell of rain? The person behind inhales too, shifting on the bench as they do.
I breathe in deeper, relishing that earthy richness, until I smell flowers, and then my brain takes half a second to register scents that seem out of place.
A musky cologne. Swimming pools.
Oh.
‘Would you say we met in spring or summer?’ The voice comes from behind me. It’s quiet enough that I could almost convince myself it’s not him, if not for the fact that no one else’s voice makes me feel like a flower blossoming under the sun.
I stay focused on the wall and let my heart skip a few more beats before I reply. ‘Late spring.’ An exhale rattles through me as that petrichor breeze drifts between us. ‘The season for new beginnings.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Finn says quietly. It takes everything in me not to turn around. The chirping of birds fills the silence before he asks, ‘Are you doing okay?’
‘I’m good.’ It feels too small a word to encapsulate how much I feel I’ve changed over the past few months. ‘Are you?’
‘I am.’
There’s a cacophony in my head just having him near me again, drowning out the sounds from the speakers. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Ava.’ Just hearing my name from his mouth sends adrenaline crashing through my bloodstream, and I spin around, heart somehow breaking and expanding and jumping off a cliff all at once when I see him, careful eyes fixed on me as he says, ‘I told you I’d come back.’
We’re both analysing each other, dissecting the changes we’ve missed. He’s wearing a suit for the occasion, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my breath hitch. His glasses are the same, but his new haircut has tightened his curls. I wonder if he notices I’ve had my hair cut too, that my fringe is shorter than it used to be. His eyes flit to my forehead. Of course he notices.
Gradually, the season changes around us, and now we’re in summer, seagulls cawing, the scent of freshly cut grass permeating the air, golden-hour sun illuminating the room just like on the night we walked to the boat bar, and I’m melted ice cream under Finn’s gaze.
‘I didn’t believe you,’ I say. What I mean is I didn’t want to hope .
‘I know,’ he murmurs, a crease deepening between his eyebrows. ‘And I didn’t help things with how bad I’ve been at staying in contact. I just . . .’
‘Finn, it’s fine. I get it. It was my fault too.’ I offer him a small smile. ‘We were living. You were busy.’
‘No, I wasn’t.’ He tears his eyes from my face and looks at my hand on the bench. ‘I’ve spent years staying in contact with my family through texts and FaceTime. It’s normal to me. But fuck, I’ve never found it so difficult to accept before, that the only way to see you would be on a screen. I’d see things I wanted to tell you about, stuff I thought you’d like, and it got to the point where I’d type out a text, but I’d overthink and never send it. I think part of me thought that maybe if I stopped trying so hard, then I could get you out of my head. But it didn’t work. You were always in my head.’
His expression twists with guilt. ‘And I keep thinking I should’ve stayed and been here for you while Max was sick. That was the one thing I could’ve done, as your friend.’
‘You were on the other side of the world, and you still checked in when you could. That was enough. I didn’t expect you to upend your whole life for me.’ I know better than anyone what happens when guilt festers for too long, the way it blisters your insides and causes more damage than the thing you initially felt guilty about. ‘I told you to go. You needed to go. I needed it too, I think.’
‘Are you doing okay, really? Is Max?’
‘Yes. To all of it.’ There’s a smile on his face at my confirmation, but his eyes are still guarded. ‘I promise, Finn. I’m in a good place.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’ He goes to push his sleeves up out of habit but remembers he’s wearing a jacket and tugs at the cuffs instead. ‘Jesus, I really fucked it. I took that job for all the wrong reasons. I think you realised well before I did.’
‘You wanted to prove yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that.’
His curls bounce with a shake of his head. ‘But it wasn’t about me. Not really. Can I tell you what I’ve learnt?’ I nod and he swallows before starting to explain, ‘As a kid, I knew my mum loved me, and I knew my stepdad did too, but when they got their perfect new family, I felt like the odd one out. It felt like the twins were more important to my mum, and that’s why she only stopped moving us around so much when they came along. That’s always been in the back of my mind. Even in therapy over the years, I avoided talking about it. I never let myself say these thoughts aloud because I didn’t want my mum to feel bad; because I knew how much she’d sacrificed to give me all the opportunities I had.’ He sighs and says quietly, ‘She hasn’t been perfect, but she tried. And keeps trying. We had a long discussion recently, and since then we’ve been really trying to stick to our weekly calls. Turns out I need attention. Who knew?’ His weak chuckle makes me want to pull him to me and never let go.
‘Has it helped?’
‘I think so.’ Another deep breath, and I can tell it takes a lot for him to say what’s coming next. ‘All I’ve ever remembered is the rose-tinted version of my childhood with my dad. I always felt like he was the odd one out of the family too, like me. It didn’t register that he did that to himself. He was the one who left. But I thought if I could prove myself to him, become more like him, have an impressive career like him, he’d realise we were the same, and I wouldn’t be so lonely.’
His voice is level when he continues, ‘You said once that my dad didn’t deserve me, and I hated hearing it. I hated it because I’ve spent years trying to earn crumbs of his attention. But you planted this seed in my mind that he should be better. That I deserve better from him. These past few months, every time he rescheduled a meet-up or dismissed some achievement I told him about, that seed grew and I realised he’s not worth it. And that I can’t control the way he is.’
‘Him being a bad dad to you isn’t your fault.’
‘I know that now. But I projected it on to you. On to everyone. I’d got into the habit of feeling like I needed to try to earn people’s affection. But you’re not the dad I was seeking approval from, you’re not the mum who I thought didn’t care, and you’re not the ex who made me feel unwanted.’ I see him – eager, earnest Finn, and I see the shadows of all the people who’ve taken advantage of his openness, of the people who’ve tried to extinguish his light. ‘You’ve always made me a better version of myself without even trying. Any time you laughed, or opened up to me, it felt like you were telling me I was worthy. Like I was enough.’
‘You are enough,’ I say. ‘And everyone sees it. Your dad should be begging at the door for you to be in his life, and it’s his loss that he’s not. You’re incredible, Finn. If I need to tell you every day until you believe it, I will.’
I’m dimly aware of autumn arriving around us: images of fireworks and pumpkins, the sound of leaves crunching, the smell of bonfire in the air.
I keep going. ‘Just existing near you made me remember how to be happy. I feel like I’m finally giving myself a chance, and it started with you.’
‘You did that yourself.’
‘But I couldn’t have done it without you. One of the new things I’ve been working on is being more honest about my feelings. Making sure I communicate them. I just . . .’ I shake my head as I try to collect my thoughts, and Finn looks down at my fidgeting hands on the bench, sliding his own over them and squeezing. ‘It was like I was living on autopilot for so long. And then you arrived and you coaxed me out and I started to turn into someone I liked. Someone who participates in their life. You set that in motion, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you all this earlier. How important you are to me. Do you know how special it is, that you help people bloom?’
Maybe now I can take steps forward on my own, but I needed the initial nudge. I won’t deny how much Finn contributed to getting me out of the dark. If he’s the sun, I must be the moon. Sometimes you need a little help to glow.
His warm eyes settle on mine, and I feel my throat tightening when I speak again. ‘Sometimes, you meet someone and they change everything. That was you, for me. You changed everything.’
He lets out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh and I pull him into a hug, his chin settling in the crook of my neck like we’re two clichéd puzzle pieces that fit together in a way they never could with other people. Because I might not speak four languages, but I understand Finn O’Callaghan. This man is not unlovable. He’s not someone to ignore, to replace, to abandon. He’s a fireplace burning in a cabin, warmth amidst the barren cold. He is, without a doubt, someone to come back to.
I lean back just enough to see the firelight flicker across his face, casting shadows over his cheekbones. His smile spreads like the low, sultry light of sunset, and the only way I can think to appease the swell of emotion threatening to surge out of me is to squeeze him harder. I settle into the familiarity of his shape, feeling the heat of his hands at my back, breathing him in and relishing the fact he’s here, exactly where he should be.
Fireworks burst across the screen and colour dances between us, over us, around us. Then the light fades and all I know is the feel of his hands sliding up to cup my face. I hold his wrists to keep them there as we look at each other, my chest somehow filled with rocks and air, weighing me down and lifting me up at the same time.
His thumbs brush across my cheekbones when he speaks again, our chests rising and falling in sync. ‘All those years I spent looking for reasons to run away, I didn’t realise I was being pulled towards something. The place I belonged. Somewhere that felt like home. Then I came here, and suddenly it all made sense. It’s you, Ava.’ His voice is perfectly clear, like he’s sat with this thought for a while and knows exactly how to say it. ‘Before you, I didn’t know home could be a person.’
We’re still just as opposite as we were on the first day we met, but when his lips find mine in the dark, I’m certain no one has ever belonged with anyone more than he belongs with me.
My hands drag through his hair, graze his jaw, run along his shoulders, and his do the same to me, and I know we’re trying to ground ourselves here in this place, in this moment, on this planet, because everything about us feels otherworldly. Maybe it always has. It hits me that we never were those lonely satellites spinning out of control in the cosmos. We’ve always been two stars, bound for monumental collision.
We stay like that for so long that the season shifts to winter around us. Christmas lights, snowflakes, gingerbread. When we eventually pull apart, he’s still rubbing slow circles on my back and peppering my face with kisses like he’s trying to make up for lost time.
‘You got a new shirt,’ I whisper, arms looped around his neck, inhaling everything I’ve missed over the past few months.
His mouth curls up when he says, ‘You got a new dress.’
He runs a hand down my hip and I’m about to close the distance between us again when the door opens and light from the gallery spills in. We both squint against the onslaught, then Finn plants one last kiss on my temple and stands, reaching out a hand to pull me up.
I keep hold of his hand once I’m upright, testing out the feeling of it in mine as we walk towards the door, and his smile is barely contained when he realises I’m not letting go.
We step out into the gallery and are almost bowled over by a tiny redhead and her dog.
‘I was so close to locking you in there,’ Josie says, slurring slightly but clearly delighted. ‘But I thought that might’ve been a bit much.’
‘Also against health and safety regulations,’ Alina adds helpfully.
‘Did you two know about this?’ I ask, catching the suspicious glances dancing between everyone.
‘Josie invited me months ago when I was still here, but I never RSVP’d,’ Finn explains. ‘As soon as I knew I’d be in London today, I asked if she could put me on the guest list last minute.’
‘He’s actually my plus-one,’ Josie offers smugly, tucking her hair behind her ears before losing her balance and bumping into Alina, who surreptitiously curves an arm around her waist to help out.
‘Thank you both so much for coming.’ Alina’s eyebrows pull together in earnest. ‘I think we’re gonna head back to mine. As soon as we find some water for this one.’
‘I’m just resting my eyes,’ Josie says.
Finn and I head to the exit after we’ve all said our goodbyes, and that’s when it occurs to me that we haven’t really addressed what’s going to happen next.
‘You didn’t technically answer my question,’ I say. We still have far too much ground to cover, and I don’t even know how long he’s here in London. I need to cram in as much time as possible. ‘What exactly are you doing here, right now?’
‘Shit, I didn’t even get around to that.’ He pushes his hair back and his eyes pass over me, sending heat smoking across my skin. ‘I was busy.’
‘We should talk about it.’ He catches the way I’ve stolen his line and smiles. For a second I falter, but then out spills the easiest question in the world. ‘Will you go out with me?’
‘Like, on a date?’ He pauses just before the doorway, stepping aside to let me go through first.
I take his shoulders and gently push him through, following behind into the winter air, where our breath comes out in wispy puffs. ‘Yeah. Tonight.’
I don’t often feel small, but there’s something to be said about being wrapped in Finn’s jacket, its weight trapping the warmth he left behind. Unfortunately, his chivalry has left him freezing in the December night, so we end up in a kebab shop only a few doors down from the gallery to avoid imminent hypothermia. I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.
So, under the ugly fluorescent lighting of Dave’s Kebabs Dulwich, Finn and I share a massive portion of chips, and we talk.
‘I connected with Sage on LinkedIn a couple of months ago, and they messaged me recently to let me know there was a marketing manager role going at the Natural History Museum.’ He dips a chip in the ketchup at the edge of the carton. ‘I applied and got an interview. They said I could do it virtually, but I wanted an excuse to come back here.’
My own chip freezes midway to my mouth. ‘And? Did you get it?’
‘I don’t know yet. It was this afternoon. That’s technically why I’m in London. But I’ve already made my mind up.’ He cleans the salt from his hands on his trousers. ‘I handed in my notice before I left. I told my manager I’d stay and work until they find a replacement, but whether I get the museum job or not, I’m coming back. Permanently.’
I let the hope in, and it comes out as a breathy, ‘Really?’
‘Really. This city just works for me. All of it.’ He studies me. ‘Some parts more than others.’
It’s unfair someone can look this good under the lights of a kebab shop, but here sits Finn O’Callaghan – sleeves rolled up, tie discarded on the table, and a teasing grin that creases the corners of his eyes.
I drop my gaze, feeling my own smile threaten to do some serious damage to my cheek muscles. ‘I have news too,’ I say at last, giving him my hands to look at. His eyebrows draw together in confusion, but he tilts my hands this way and that, clearly unsure what he’s supposed to be looking at. ‘Look. No coffee grounds under my nails. I’m working as an assistant to one of the executives at City Roast’s head office. I don’t have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn, and I don’t have to make much small talk. The bar was low, but at least I’m finally over it.’
‘Ava, that’s amazing.’ He places my hands on the table but keeps holding them, trailing delicate swirls over my skin. But after a few moments, guilt leaches into his expression. ‘Sorry, I have a confession. I already knew you had a new job because I stalked you on LinkedIn the other day.’
‘I really didn’t know you were such a LinkedIn fiend. This is your second mention of it in two minutes. Is this your new thing?’ A grin pulls up one side of his mouth, and god, I’ve missed this back-and-forth, the way nothing I say ever gets under his skin. ‘Are you one of those people who posts really dramatic status updates about how powerful it is to wake up at five thirty and hustle for fifteen hours a day until you die?’
I lift one of my hands from under his to grab a chip, making sure the other one stays interlocked with his.
‘Absolutely not. I post those on Facebook.’ He squeezes my legs between his under the table. ‘But in all seriousness, I didn’t want to congratulate you on fucking LinkedIn , of all places. And more importantly, it would’ve shown I’d been stalking you, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to know that yet. So this is me saying I’m really happy for you, and I hope this is the start of you finding something you love.’ He rests his chin on his fist, eyeing me across the table. ‘Although, I was kind of banking on you providing me with regular free coffee again, so if that’s not on the cards anymore then maybe I just won’t move back.’
I pull the carton away from him as he reaches for another chip. ‘Even I don’t get endless free coffee anymore, so frankly, you’re even further down the priority list.’
‘Fuck,’ he groans. ‘The coffee in America is shit, you know.’
‘Are you sure you just haven’t found a good place yet?’
He purses his lips and nods. ‘Highly likely, but I’m sticking with this opinion until proven otherwise. Some people use cream instead of milk, Ava. Not to be dramatic, but that makes me want to die.’
‘Not to be dramatic,’ I repeat, sliding the tray back in his direction.
When he looks up at me, he cocks his head. ‘We don’t have to decide yet what we’re going to be – if it’s anything at all, no pressure, I’m not expecting anything, I know this is a lot all at once – and whatever happens, I know we should take it slow, but I just—’
My eyebrows move higher and higher up my forehead with every second of his spiel. ‘So many words to be saying so little.’
‘If you’d let me finish , you infuriating woman. You’re making me nervous. I want to tell you that, as much as I have, in the past, enjoyed, you know,’ he waves a hand ambiguously, ‘the other parts of our relationship—’
I snort. ‘The other parts?’
‘Ava Monroe, you know what parts I mean.’ He knocks my knee with his in some sort of reproach, but there’s a glint in his eye. ‘I really enjoyed them. Couldn’t rate them more highly, actually. Fuck, now I sound gross. Don’t look at me like that.’ A laugh ripples out of me as he unravels before my eyes. ‘More than all that, I do just really enjoy being your friend. So if that’s how we end up, that’s perfect.’
‘I like being your friend too.’ I don’t know what the future holds for us, but this time, I want to let myself hope. I lean across the table and wait for him to do the same. ‘But if you’ve come all this way to friendzone me, I’m sending you back to California.’
He lets out a soft laugh, and the sound of it warms me the way it always has. His hand moves to cradle my jaw just as I weave my fingers into his hair, and I know it’s not just Finn who’s back where he should be. When our lips meet, it feels like coming home and coming undone all at once.
The part of my brain responsible for feeling shame registers that it’s probably a good thing there’s a whole table between us, because apparently I’m someone who does public displays of affection now. But then, Finn’s changed me in lots of ways, bigger and smaller than this.
He smiles into the kiss before pulling back to look at me, eyes crinkled at the sides. His thumb swipes along my cheekbone and then he dips back in, murmuring against my mouth, ‘I told you you’d like me.’