Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
everybody makes mistakes
Max
Wordlessly–much like the rest of our walk home–Dylan separates from me at the entrance to the resort, whether because she
remembers I have therapy or because she wants to be away from me, I’m not sure.
During our session, Marianne tells me to take stock of my feelings and figure out which ones I wanted to lead with, and then
I spend the rest of the day stewing over what happened with Dylan at the cliff. It pushes me through a few miles of sea kayaking
with the group. Dylan shares with Fiona, Toby looks a little shellshocked in a kayak with Jude, while I end up with Arun,
who seems more than happy to lead the conversation while I ruminate.
I’m thinking so hard that it takes a few seconds to register that the sand scraping against the bottom of the kayak means
we’ve paddled to our destination, so we exit our kayaks and head over to where our guide is waiting.
‘Max?’ Arun asks. He pulls his trousers up higher, then wrings his hands and looks directly at me. ‘Can I show you the photos
I took yesterday at some point? I used that setting you recommended, and I think they turned out kind of decent.’
My breath leaves me in a rush, and I feel a weird wave of warmth for this kid who, frankly, does not know how to be quiet at a time where I’d like to be alone with my thoughts. ‘Yeah. Not today though, all right?’
‘Thank you so much,’ he says, eyes alight. ‘For doing that. And for your tips. They’ve been so helpful.’
‘It’s all right. You’re talented.’
Pride straightens his shoulders. ‘I’ve posted a few of them already.’
‘Nice one. I saw those shots of Jude from the sunrise swim. They were great.’
‘Most people were nice,’ he says quietly. ‘But some comments were kind of mean.’
I’m struck by a pang of sympathy. ’Keep posting stuff you’re proud of, and the people who’ll like it will find you.’
‘I hope so.’ He offers a small smile, and Jesus, I can’t believe he’s endeared himself to me. He’s wearing a pair of Bertie’s
elephant-print trousers, for god’s sake. He lets out a long sigh and says, ‘It’s easy to let your first emotional response
to a situation be the one that guides you, but I’ve found that if you wait, the second emotion that comes is usually a better
one to focus on.’
I huff a surprised laugh. It’s almost exactly what Marianne said to me earlier. Because, fine, my blood’s been boiling with
frustration since what happened at the cliff. No one has the power to make my choices for me, or the right to control how
I live. But the frustration has simmered down and given way to that second emotion. Fear. Fear, not for my own safety, but that I’ve inadvertently added someone else to the list of people who worry about me. The
people I’m a burden to, however hard I try not to be.
I’m pulled away from these thoughts when our guide starts leading us around the beach and telling us what to look for. He’s
calling the activity a fossil safari, and I can’t pretend I’m particularly interested, but I take photos of everything we
find to send to Finn later, because I know he’ll appreciate this more than I ever could.
Toby’s the first to split from the group, his camera in hand as he captures whatever’s hiding in the rocks and the cliffside, fully engaged with the task at hand.
I follow in his general direction, but as I move further up the beach, I hear someone approach. I know it’s Dylan before I
even turn around. When I do, she stands there, just out of arm’s reach, a groove between her brows.
‘Max,’ she says quietly, playing with her bracelet as she eyes me. ‘I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Are you . . . annoyed
at me?’
Talk. Communicate. Be honest with yourself and the people around you. Marianne’s been trying to hammer this into me for the past six months. I swallow and reply, ‘I mean, I was a bit, yeah.
But—’
‘Sorry. I’m sorry. I crossed a line.’
‘Woah, woah, we’re not doing that.’ Surprise flits across her face. ‘You’re not blaming yourself for my reaction. You didn’t
cross a line–I asked you to tell me what was going on in your head. Don’t ever apologise for how you feel, even if someone
else doesn’t like it.’
She presses her lips together like she’s trying to stay composed, but then her face crumples and I think some part of me does
too, because within seconds I stride over and fold her into my arms.
‘I thought you were annoyed at me,’ she mumbles into my neck.
‘I was.’ She stiffens and I tug her tighter, my lips brushing over her temple as I say, ‘But that doesn’t mean I want to see
you upset, and it definitely doesn’t mean I don’t think your feelings matter. You aren’t liable for other people’s actions
and reactions.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Dylan.’ I pull back to set a finger under her chin and tilt her head up. ‘You weren’t wrong. Why do you apologise for having
normal, human emotions?’
‘I don’t know.’
Her arms wind around my waist, and I tighten my hold. ‘You’re allowed to feel.’
We stand wordlessly for a bit, until she quietly admits, ‘Everything was always my fault with my ex.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He never gave me the grace to make mistakes. So he’d get really annoyed at me if I made a bad joke, or accidentally said something I shouldn’t, or did something in a way he didn’t like, and I think I just got used to apologising for everything, because it was easier to believe he was right and I was wrong by default than to question it and push back and have him give me the silent treatment for days. ’
My heart squeezes. ‘That sounds shit. He sounds shit.’
‘I think he was, looking back.’ She lets out a sad, quiet laugh. ‘I guess, growing up, I never felt I had the space to make
mistakes either. If my mum was in a bad mood because her boyfriend was being horrible, I felt a responsibility to keep everything
else running smoothly. I think my whole life I’ve always been the one who has to deal with the mess, so I try to avoid conflict,
or making mistakes full stop, or I apologise for things in advance, just to mitigate the damage.’
Puzzle pieces come together, and they poke at my tender insides. ‘That’s why you’re so particular, sometimes?’
‘You can say “all the time”.’ Her arms tighten around me. ‘I know I overcorrect. I’m too careful, I’m too intense about rules,
I don’t give enough breathing room; but it’s because it stresses me out when things look like they’re about to spill over.
I hated constantly being rushed and never having anything I needed when I was younger, so when I got old enough to start taking
some responsibility over things, I tried to set them up so I wouldn’t have to feel that way anymore.’ She looses a breath.
‘And it’s all related, I guess. I try really hard not to make a mess. I never want to be at fault, or make it harder for anyone
else.’
‘I get it,’ I say. ‘But for what it’s worth, it’s okay if something ever is your fault. You’re allowed to make mistakes.’
‘With you?’
It feels like a bigger question than it is. ‘Yeah. You can make mistakes with me.’ I press my mouth to her hair. ‘You were
right to be upset with me, on the cliff. So I’m sorry. For scaring you.’
For becoming yet another person you feel responsibility for, I add silently. My honesty can only go so far today.
‘I just . . . I don’t like it, Max. How reckless you are. I know it shouldn’t matter, because we’re not . . . anything. Because this is ending in two weeks. But it stresses me out.’
‘I know. I didn’t think. Which I realise is kind of the whole problem.’ I feel her relax against me. ‘This trip is supposed
to be a break for you, and I don’t want to ruin that. You’re not supposed to be stressed. I’ll try to be better while we’re
still here, okay?’
‘I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was telling you how to live your life.’
‘You weren’t wrong, though. It’s stupid of me to fuck around the way I do. Sometimes . . .’ I don’t think I can say this to
her face, so I hold her tighter against me and say to the air above her head, ‘Sometimes, it feels like I got my body second-hand.
Like it was the last on the rack, and I grabbed it because it was the only one available, but it’s not really the one I wanted.
So you’re right, I’m careless with it.
‘I’m sure most people in my shoes would hold their second chance close, but that’s not who I am. If every moment I’m alive
is tempting fate anyway, then I always feel like I might as well just give fate the middle finger. Remind myself I’m alive
as often as I can, in any way I can. But it’s not always healthy.’
‘I think I understand,’ she says through a sigh.
‘You couldn’t know, because we only met recently, but this is the result of a lot of trial and error. To even be standing
here, able to talk about this without shutting down . . . It’s progress. It’s been slow, and I know it’s still not good enough,
but I’m trying. I’ve been trying.’
She squeezes my waist, and my fingers map patterns up and down her spine. ‘It is good enough. Trying is good enough. You’ve been dealt a rough hand.’
‘My therapist says I swapped my original vices for another, but believe it or not, this is still an improvement. When I look
back at where I was a few years ago? Shit.’ I puff the air from my cheeks and let out a humourless chuckle, my mind flashing
with images of dark rooms, faceless strangers, empty bottles. I barely recognise that man, and I’m glad. ‘You don’t like me
now? You should’ve seen me then.’
She’s quiet for a few moments, steadily breathing into my skin, but then she pulls back and looks up at me, lightly gripping my hoodie. ‘I do like you.’
Something unknown tugs in my chest, and I release it the only way I know how. ‘Careful. I’m a man with an ego; you can’t go
around saying nice things to me.’
‘You don’t have to joke about everything, you know.’ Her voice is gentle. ‘I’m sure it helps sometimes, but if you ever want
to just be sad, or scared, you can be sad or scared with me.’
Dylan’s not telling me it’ll be okay. She’s too practical for that. She’s not begging I never return to that dark place; she’s
simply offering to walk with me if I do. That nameless thing hurtles back into my body, burrowing deep behind my ribs. Maybe
it’ll be protected by my skeleton. Maybe it’ll be safe there.
She cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone as the breeze whips around us. ‘You keep saying I can use you however I want.
I want you to know that you can use me too, for whatever you need.’ She takes a long inhale and her eyes move between mine,
like she’s trying to read something in them. ‘If that’s only sex, that’s fine. But I’m here.’
From her mouth, the phrase sounds wrong. Use me. Squeeze the life from me, wring me out, cast me aside. I wonder if that’s what she hears when I say it.
And I see it there, in those hazel eyes that look like earth and trees and solid ground, that we’re not using each other.
I think we’re both just figuring out how to grow upwards; me in the dark, her with roots that tug her down. Maybe we’re two
plants leaning into the other, twisting and twining as we shoot for the sun.
‘You deserve to take care of yourself,’ she says quietly. ‘I know this is only one trip, and it’ll be over soon. I know this
thing we’re doing isn’t permanent. But you are.’