This Summer Will Be Different

Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?

“I think your timing is impeccable.”

What happens on the island . . .”
“Stays on the island.”

It’s his eyes that say more than the words from his lips. They whisper, they tease, they laugh. I’ve seen them dance in the starlight.

“It doesn’t bother you that the rock has just vanished?”
“A little. But nothing is permanent. It was meant to go. Everyone knew that thing wouldn’t last forever. You saw it. The top was too heavy for the bottom.”

Everything that’s worth having is some trouble.

Opportunities don’t fall in your lap because you want them to. You have to work to make them happen.”

“What are you reading?” It’s not the same book he had at the airport. Felix holds it up. Pride and Prejudice. Is he kidding me? “What?” he says. If I didn’t know Felix, I’d assume he was setting a thirst trap. But he’s not aware his degree of hotness plus a Jane Austen novel is pornographic.

Maybe all she needs now is the ocean and rest.

Can I handle that? Do I want to? Who is my success for?

I set my gaze on the horizon, where the sun is dropping quickly. It will take the warmth with it when it dips below the horizon.

“Live your life for you, and no one else” was one of my aunt’s signature pieces of wisdom. But what if you aren’t sure what you want? Or what a full life looks like? I wish I could ask her.

I take a long sip of the rye. Maybe I can whiskey my fantasies into oblivion.

“Is Lana aware of your crush?” I ask, pointing between him and Bridget. “Of course.” Zach claps his hands. “But it’s not a crush. Loving Bridget Clark is a lifestyle.”

“Sometimes I worry that as I’ve got older, I’ve shrunk my world instead of making it grow,”

“I’m not going to bite.” His eyes are sparkling. Sunbeams on ocean waves. This Felix I’m used to. He’s good at flirting. A natural. It takes nothing to be drawn in. “You’ve been known to bite,” I find myself saying.

“ ‘I’m in the depths of despair,’ ” I say as we tour the kitchen. “ ‘My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes,’ ” he replies. Soon my cheeks begin to hurt from smiling.

It’s not the time. I feel like I’ve been running a marathon at a sprinter’s pace, only there’s no finish line.”

I am here now, and everything is okay.

“You should have a partner who sets you on fire.” I pictured Felix instantly. “I don’t need fire right now,”

I haven’t traveled much because I’ve been so cautious with money, but I love how books can transport you almost anywhere.”

“I have a journal, but most of my writing is in the margins of books.”
“Defiling your precious novels? Felix Clark, I’m shocked.”

Felix gives me one last look, like he knows every single dream and doubt and dangerous thought that lies beneath my skin. And then he’s gone.

We stare at each other, and I’m hit with a feeling so powerful, I put my hand to my chest. My heart is screaming at me. Him, it says. More.

His hand brushes mine, and then he laces our fingers together. I take a shaky breath. I hate how good it feels to have his palm against mine. I hate that I never want his hand to touch a woman who isn’t me. More than anything, I hate that Felix’s hookups never bothered me as much as realizing that it doesn’t matter whether I fit into his world—I’m only a temporary guest. I can’t belong here.

I stare at our joined hands. It would be all too easy to get caught up in the feeling of his hand in mine, to grow used to it, to miss it once I’m gone.

I know what it’s like to feel the warmth of his attention and then go without it. Every part of himself that Felix offers up, every piece I allow myself to savor, is just another thing I’ll have to say goodbye to. Because even if Felix weren’t Bridget’s brother, I’m not part of his world, and that’s never going to change. So I pull my hand away. I ignore my heart’s protests. Him, it says. More.

I could never have him. “I think I might be broken.”

He winked. “I had a good time. That’s what we do, right?” It was like being doused in cold water. A good time. That’s what this was to Felix. That’s all it ever was. Felix hadn’t lost control. I had. I forced myself to smile. “Yes. So did I. This was fun.” He kissed me on the cheek. “It always is.”

“It’s incredible,” I say eventually. “But it looks strange—tides shouldn’t come together like that.” It’s like an optical illusion. “And yet they do,” Felix says, his voice almost next to my ear.

“They’re pulled together,” Felix says, voice low, eyes latched on to mine. “They can’t help it.”

Not waiting for a reply, I step into the storm. The rain is coming down so hard, it stings my skin. It feels good. It feels like the weather has tailored itself to my mood. It takes seconds for my dress to become saturated, the skirt sticking to my legs. Red mud splatters my shins.

“I’m made for a lot of things.”

“There’s a lot about each other we don’t know yet.”
“Hmm . . . That’s true. Important things. Your favorite color, for instance.”
“Pink.”
“That’s my favorite color.”
“Mine, too,” he says. “Pink like your suitcase. Pink like your lips. Pink like that striped dress with the buttons and the buckles on your sandals. Pink like the ribbon on your nightgown. Lucy pink.”

I heave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a real conundrum.”

This is what I love. Creating. Shaping. Building. For the first time in so very long, I lose myself in imagining a cutting garden of my own, the way I used to, riding the streetcar to and from work, doodling in my sketchbook.

I stare at him. “Are you real?”
He looks down at himself. “I think so, yes.” He pats his chest. “I feel real.”
“Well, you don’t look or sound real, Felix Clark.”
“I can show you how real I am.”
“Right here?”
His eyes flare. “Right now.”

“I can see it,” she says, sounding decisive. “He’ll steady you, and you’ll pull him out of his shell. He’s always more talkative when you’re around, and you’ll both take care of each other. I think it could work.”

“I’m sort of panicking.”
“Don’t panic,” he says. “Nothing good comes from panicking.”

my gaze keeps slipping to him, distracted. “Your heart’s leaking out your eyeballs,” Farah says from across the space. So I kick Felix out.

“I know you,” he says. “We’ve met before.”
“But never like this.”

“No, I think I might be having an epiphany. I signed the restaurant contract, but I don’t even know if I really wanted to. I don’t know what I’m doing. I need to figure out what I want my life to be so I can live it fully.” Saying the words out loud makes me miss Stacy all over. I want Italian take-out nights. I want her to take me to a play. I want her arms around me. I want dancing in the kitchen with Bridget. I want to grasp on to those moments, to wrap myself up in them. I want a soft place to land, and more than anything I don’t want to spend my nights alone. Here.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I need to figure out what I want my life to be so I can live it fully.” Saying the words out loud makes me miss Stacy all over. I want Italian take-out nights. I want her to take me to a play. I want her arms around me. I want dancing in the kitchen with Bridget. I want to grasp on to those moments, to wrap myself up in them. I want a soft place to land, and more than anything I don’t want to spend my nights alone. Here.

When the tears come, Felix bundles me against his chest. I try to soak up the smell of him, imprint it on my soul.

“There’s a reason we keep coming back to each other. We can come back to each other again.” I burrow farther into his warmth. “What if we don’t?”

I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve been running for too long. I need space to ask myself big questions and quiet so I can hear the answers. I need a fresh start.

When we part, he takes my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. Fingers laced, we climb up to our bedroom in the home we’ve built together. A house full of books. A field full of flowers. Our own special island.

Fingers laced, we climb up to our bedroom in the home we’ve built together. A house full of books. A field full of flowers. Our own special island.