65. Adrian
SIXTY-FIVE
ADRIAN
I never dream about the island anymore. In my sleep, I’m at home.
I can feel the soft sheets against my bare skin and see the curtains moving softly in the summer breeze.
I open my eyes and find Freya smiling at me, her head on my chest, looking up at me through her lashes.
She lifts her head and kisses me.
It feels right.
It feels like it used to.
Then suddenly we’re standing in front of people. A lot of people. Freya is wearing a long, white dress. I’m in a suit.
I look around because something about this feels… wrong. Suddenly, I’m restless.
There’s Freya and her bridesmaids.
And there’s me.
Alone.
My heart starts beating too loudly.
Why am I here?
How did I get here?
This is wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Where’s Dylan?” I ask.
Nobody seems to hear me.
“Where’s Dylan?” I ask louder.
I turn away from the altar and start pushing through the people.
“Dylan? Dylan!”
Freya’s in front of me, then.
“Where’s Dylan?” I ask, out of breath, shouting to hear my own voice over the sound of my frantic heartbeat.
She sends me a confused smile.
“Who’s Dylan?” she asks.
I turn around and find my mother.
“Where’s Dylan?”
She sends me the same confused look.
“I don’t know a Dylan, darling.”
Over and over again, I ask the question.
The answer stays the same.
There is no Dylan.
He doesn’t exist.
I have to figure this out.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Give it a fair shot.
Keep away from Dylan.
He doesn’t need me there to mess him up even more.
I always fail.
I take Freya to dinner to the restaurant where we had our first date. We’ve been here a lot over the years.
Freya is dressed in a sparkly, blue dress and high heels. Her hair falling down her back.
She’s beautiful. Radiant. Perfect.
We order chicken piccata, just like that first time. We drink too much wine.
The candlelight makes her smile look radiant.
She tells me about her job.
Her friends.
Her life.
We laugh a lot.
I’ve missed her. Everything about her.
I drop her off at her apartment.
At the front door, she takes a step closer. Another one.
She presses her lips down on mine.
Wraps her arms around my neck.
We kiss, and I remember her.
She pulls away.
Smiles.
She throws a look over her shoulder before she goes inside the building.
I go back to my car.
Drive back home.
Sit in the driveway.
I can’t seem to make myself get out the door and into the house.
A few more seconds with my fingers clutching the steering wheel, and then I’m reversing out of the driveway.
Dylan opens the door without saying a word. He stands there, illuminated by the low light of the hallway, dressed in a pair of shorts and nothing else.
I give a helpless shrug.
He steps aside and lets me in.
I know I shouldn’t do this. I know I shouldn’t be here.
I can’t help myself.
I’m Freya’s date at her work party.
She introduces me as her boyfriend.
I don’t argue.
I wouldn’t know how.
I guess she’s right.
There’s a lot of new faces to remember.
People seem to know me.
They approach me. They ask questions.
About the island.
I joke a lot.
Make light of everything.
Just like with my family.
A smile is always, always on my face.
The only time I can give my mouth a rest is with Dylan.
There are new faces in the friend group.
Freya introduces me to Rowan.
He takes an immediate dislike the moment he lays his eyes on me.
He tries not to show it. It doesn’t work.
The guy’s a shitty actor.
I’m more amused than I’ve been in a while.
I imagine laughing about it with Dylan later. About this guy and his obvious dislike.
“I’m sorry about Rowan,” Freya says later when we’re driving home.
I glance toward her and shake my head with a grin. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care.”
She looks away. Out the window. When she looks back, she’s frowning.
“He asked me out.”
I don’t know what to say. It almost feels like I’m being assessed about my reaction. Am I going to be an ass and be jealous about the fact she was thinking about moving on while I was gone?
“More than once,” she says.
Pointedly.
“Oh,” I say to buy myself some time to find the right words to say. What are the right words? I’m starting to get the feeling she wants me to be jealous. Should I be jealous? Because… I’m not.
“He kissed me,” she says. Her eyes drill into me. “There was this Christmas party.”
“I never expected you to mourn me forever,” I say. I’m treading a treacherous ground.
It feels like the right thing to say.
It turns out it isn’t because Freya doesn’t look like this was what she wanted to hear.
I should know what it is.
But I’m at a complete loss.
Silence stretches between us, street after street.
“How’s Dylan?” she suddenly asks.
“Dylan?” I echo, startled that she’s bringing him up.
“Dylan,” she says.
I park the car and turn myself so I’m looking at her.
“Good,” I say carefully.
She waits.
“Lynn said Indy was visiting,” she says after a while.
I nod.
“The famous Indy,” she says with a soft laugh. “Can’t believe you finally got to meet him. What’s he like?”
My jaw tightens. “He’s… I don’t know. Fine.”
Freya is looking at me so intently I’m starting to feel like I’m disappointing her.
I try and do better.
“He’s nice,” I say.
She tilts her head to the side and quirks her brow. “You don’t like him.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
“I like him just fine.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it, and then her lips press into a thin line.
“What?” I ask.
She looks at me for a long moment.
“Oh, Adrian.” She sounds disappointed, but when she shakes her head, it’s all pity, and I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or herself.
These days I never know what I’m doing.
So more often than not, I do the one thing that feels right.
I text Dylan.
We grab cinnamon rolls from the bakery.
The weather is about as perfect as it can be, and Harborwalk is filled with people. We find a bench.
Dylan starts to sit down. I grab his wrist and stop him.
He throws me a questioning look.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Let’s…” I say. “Let’s pretend, okay? That it’s just us. Nothing and… nobody else. Just us two. It’s a perfect summer day. No worries. No problems. Nothing confusing about any of it.”
Let’s just be the two of us.
“I don’t?—”
“Please.”
Dylan studies me for a bit and nods.
We sit down, facing each other.
Everything relaxes—my body, my mind.
Dylan eyes the box of cinnamon rolls between us.
“We’ll be sick if we eat them all.”
I smile. “We have time.”
I want it, I realize. Time. So much time. All the time.
We bite into the first cinnamon roll together. It’s a thing we do these days. It’s our thing.
We eat.
And we talk.
And I don’t pretend that I’m more fine than I really am. It wouldn’t work with Dylan anyway.
The smiles I have for him are real not pretend.
The laughs are real.
The jokes are real.
The memories are real.
I wipe the frosting off the corner of his mouth. His lips are soft against the pad of my thumb. My hand lingers.
My lips tingle with awareness and memories and longing.
Us two.
On the island.
If I could go back…
I’m not sure I’d ever leave.
The realization comes with instant acceptance and clarity.
And I feel something so unexpected I didn’t think it even existed for me anymore—peace.