It’s a view so striking that I can barely find my breath, and it has nothing to do with exertion from the hike. This place isbeautiful,in a way that I haven’t really stopped and appreciated during this whirlwind trip. It’s more than just a tropical paradise. It’s a lush, breathing gem floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
“Yeah,” Tyler murmurs next to me, reading my mind as he adjusts his backpack straps and soaks in the view, bathed in the golden glow of the sunset. It seems like everything is coated in a warm, honey gold. The kind of comforting coziness that you feel snuggling up under a blanket. “It’s stunning, right? That’s how I felt the first time I came here, too.”
“It’s more than stunning,” I whisper, feeling the need to lower my voice in the hushed reverence of this place. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
Tyler hums mildly in agreement, and when I turn to look at him, I see that his eyes are focused on me.
His attention catches me off guard and nearly knocks me off-balance—or maybe my weakening knees have something to do with the walk to get up here. All I can do is stare back at him, locking eyes until I feel a chill run up my spine. Right as I open my mouth to say something—what, I’m not quite sure—Tyler turns back toward the panoramic view of O?ahu spread out before us.
“It feels like a place that isn’t real,” he says gently, so quietly that the breeze practically whisks his words away. “A place that lives and breathes magic.”
A place where anything can happen,I agree, but I keep that one to myself.
It’s such a breathtaking view that we can’t help but stop to take pictures, including a selfie with the sparkling expanse of the ocean behind us. The feeling of Tyler’s stubbly cheek pressed to mine gives me tingles all over, my fingers still twitching as I send the photos to Mom, who responds with a suggestive winky face that gets promptly ignored.
After we admire the scene for a little while longer, the sun starts to kiss the churning waves of the horizon, the rainbow long gone, and the park is closing soon. We begin our walk back in silence, basking in the gentle birdsong and the sound of the wind whipping up the ocean below us.
Eventually, I find the courage to ask the question that is sticking in the back of my mind, demanding to be let out to play. “When did the pain pass for you?”
This stops Tyler in his tracks, but I don’t notice at first, so I come up so fast behind him that I bump straight into his backpack with a littleoomphof surprise. He turns to look at me, sweat dotting his upper lip and hairline, but his expression is incredulous. We’re standing so close together that I can practically feel the heat radiating off his sun-kissed skin, even though the hottest part of the day is long behind us.
He echoes my own question back at me. “When did the pain pass foryou?”
I have to think about my answer for a second, specific moments hard to pin down among the hazy fog of pain and despair that I tripped into headfirst. In some ways, it feels like yesterday that Tyler and I were a couple for the last remaining seconds before I shattered his heart in our high school hallway. But inothers, it feels like that was a whole different lifetime. “It took a really long time, I guess. The whole not talking to each other thing made it extra hard, I think, because you were always the person I came to with the things that were bothering me…but that was obviously the one time where coming to you wasn’t an option.” All those nights spent clutching my phone and sobbing into my pillow like a broken animal, unable to reach out to Tyler becauseIwas the one who brokehisheart.
This is the exact moment that a sharp, painful thought hits me: If it hurt that badly for me and I was the one who made the decision under the assumption that I was doing the right thing, I have no idea how extra painful it must’ve been for Tyler, knowing that I completely blindsided him like this. “But don’t dodge my question. When did it pass for you?”
Tyler studies the darkening horizon, chewing on his lower lip as he contemplates an answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and quiet. “In a lot of ways, I don’t think it ever passed at all. I learned to live with it as a part of me. It made getting through the day-to-day a little bit easier.”
Ouch.Hearing those words leave his lips is an extra painful twinge in my gut. A cold reminder of all the damage I caused in the past, the aftershocks still rippling through us all this time later. “I know it’s definitely too little too late, but I’m really sorry about everything that happened, Ty.” It’s a paltry apology, but it still deserves to be said. It’s the kind of thing that I should be apologizing for years from now, honestly.
Tyler licks his lips as his eyes trail over my face, and I feel a heat stirring in my heart that has nothing to do with the setting sun, and a chill on the back of my neck that has nothing to do with the breeze. He speaks slowly and deliberately, each wordcarefully thought out, his mixed scent of spicy deodorant and boy sweat making the hair on my arms stand on end. “Do you miss me at all, Olive?”
“Every day.” My answer is immediate and impulsive and I want to kick myself for blurting my feelings out so recklessly, especially with this weird haziness between us. A haziness that Tyler seems to take as an invitation, stepping closer to me as the sky gets duskier behind him.
“Not only missing me as a person,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up and gently grabbing a stray tendril of my hair, running it softly between his fingers. His face looks dreamy, but his eyes are hungry. “Do you miss me as your boyfriend?”
Don’t say it. Whatever you do, don’t say it.It’s an answer that I hadn’t considered in over a year. One I hadn’t given any consideration to, until now. My lips and tongue betray me anyway, against my brain’s better judgment. “Every day.” If I’m being totally honest with myself, I’ve missed him every day since that moment in the sweaty gym sock–scented hallway. No matter how far down I tried to shove the regret, it always resurfaced, now more than ever.
My answers seem to be fueling whatever’s happening here, because Tyler makes a low growl in his throat and drops my lock of hair, sliding his palm down to grip my waist instead. An embarrassing gasp of surprise slips out of my mouth, carried away on the wind. We haven’t even made it to the bottom of the mountain yet, but luckily it seems all the other tourists who were up there with us have either already finished their hike or are still a decent pace behind us, nobody else in sight. “Tyler.” I whisper his name into the universe like a question and a plea and a declaration all in one, which he accepts willingly, pulling me closeruntil my chest is pressed flush against his and I can feel his ribs expanding and contracting with every breath.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He smirks devilishly and leans closer, until our foreheads are pressed together and I can feel his breath skimming my face. I close my eyes tightly, hoping I can bottle up this feeling and hang on to it forever, long after the moment passes.Tyler. My Tyler.
His lips brush against mine once, featherlight. I wouldn’t even count it as a kiss. Still, I gasp. “What do you want right now, Olive?” He growls again, and I’m embarrassed by the chills visibly popping up on my arms, standing my hairs on end. There’s also a low heat pooling in my belly that’s impossible to ignore. “Anything. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
I want you to kiss me. I want you to carry me off this mountain and take me back to the guest room. I want to rewind the clocks and never track you down in that hallway to say what I did. I want so many things from our past to be different. I want I want I want I want…
I don’t want to go back down a road that’s only going to lead to hurt. To being my mother. To being brokenhearted and alone. That much I know.
“I want us to finish this hike.” My answer is like a douse of cold water on whatever flame is sparking between us, fizzling it out in a sharp tang of smoke. Tyler steps back from me as if the wisps sting across his face, eyes flashing with hurt.
He shakes his head, defiant. “No.” His voice comes out hoarse. “You want me to be more like Jack. More responsible, my life more thought out. I can do that, Ol. I can work on that—”
I fight the urge to reach out to him, my feet rooted in place. “I don’t want you to be more like Jack. I don’t want you to belike Jack atall.” If there’s one thing Tyler takes away from this conversation, I hope it’s this. “I would never want you to change exactly who you are. And that’s why it’s not a good idea to jump back into something. Not now. Nothing has changed, and itshouldn’thave to. You’re not a bad person. Or awrongperson, for not wanting to do life the way I do.”
He scoffs, bitterness lacing his words. “Let me guess. Just the wrong person for you, right?”
I guess I deserved that. “Tyler,” I whisper, hearing the hurt cracking in my own voice. “You have no idea how I feel right now. But the facts are the facts—there are differences between us that we can’t change.” Differences that still feel like an ocean or a canyon that we won’t ever be able to cross, no matter how much we may want to. No matter how many times we jump off cliffs together or hike volcanic mountains or try local delicacies, the core of who we are doesn’t change. That can’t be faked. There are so many glossy magazine articles about finding The One or taking a chance and going on dates, but the mainstream media has significantly less advice on what to do if the person whofeelslike The One is someone you can’t actually be with, whose priorities don’t align with yours.
