“Go be happy, Aidey,” Maeve says.
“What about yourself, Maeve? When are you going to do what you need to do to make yourself happy?”
“Gotta go! Someone else is calling,” she says. I know it’s a lie, but I let her go.
After I look up Jenna’s name – and read the title of the book she published last yearFalling: How We Fall In and Out of Love (And Why Both Are Good)- I let myself go too, boarding the plane with determination and purpose despite the long delays, time I passed by looking at the videos I recorded of her jumping in her pool, and staring at the photo Maeve took of us in the restaurant at sunset. Not that I needed to have it in front of me. I’ve looked at that image for so long over the last five years, it’s forever imprinted in my mind.
The delays only start to stress me out when I’m arriving at my hotel down the road and see that the sun is already sinking low in the sky. Tumbling out of the taxi, I estimate I have about half an hour before it's gone completely, and considering I've been sweating buckets since the first of five delayed announcements in Dublin airport, I am not exactly thrilled about not having time to take a shower. Jenna will just have to take me as I am, sweaty balls, clammy palms, and stinky pits.
Jesus, will she still want me?
Fuck. Will she even be there?
I think about the postcards. “I promise you.” Written on each one. That has to be what she was promising me, right? That she will be there.
I quickly throw on a crumpled but clean T-shirt and change my jeans for shorts, and then I'm rushing down the street as quickly as I can.
My Dublin body isn't used to the heat and it doesn't take long for the perspiration to make my T-shirt stick to my chest. I also don’t run as much as I used to and that makes me wonder if she is there, will she mind the small belly I have now, or the beard I’ve grown which has the faintest dusting of grey hairs. Something tells me if she’s there, if she’s still the same Jenna I fell for, then she won’t mind in the least. Eager to find out, I pick up my pace and sprint along the waterfront path, and with each step, the pinks and oranges in the sky taunt me, telling me I’m late.
When I see the first sign for the resort, despite my heaving lungs and pounding pulse, I feel a sort of peace wash over me. It's the kind of peace I get in the kitchen. It’s a peace that comes through intention and focus, just like I experience on a busy day at work. As I pump my legs, use my arms to drive my body forward, I feel like I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. It doesn't matter if Jenna is there or not, I owe it to myself to try. Hell, I owe it to Arnie and his letter to try.
I slow down as I approach the resort’s security gate. Awash with nostalgia at the sight of the walnut trees at the entrance, I quickly explain to the guards why I'm there - dropping both Jenna and her brother's name into the conversation - and I am let in after signing my name and giving my telephone number on a guest registration form. I wait until I've cleared their line of sight and then I'm off sprinting again, down to the lobby bar. It all looks and smells and feels so familiar. Was it really five years ago I was here last? I have a brief moment walking through the building’s entrance where I tell myself that even if she's not there, some good can come of this. I can relive where we were, where I was when I fell in love with a wonderful woman.
But that thought is obliterated when I take just one step into the bar and see her. Or at least her side profile. Her hair is in a different style, but her nose is the same and her lips are still unbelievably plump and pink. Her skin is still tanned, or maybe she's been here already a few days so has topped it up, and I itch to get closer to see how many more freckles she has on her face and body.
The one thing stopping me from rushing forward and finding out, is that she's sitting with someone else, deep in conversation. And that someone else is a strikingly handsome white-skinned, silver-haired man who is approximately the same age as Jenna.
If my eyes weren't so delighted seeing her, they would look away because it kills me as much as it thrills me to see her there looking happy, but with someone else. Because she does look happy. My brain can't quite make sense of why she would be here with someone else on the day we are supposed to meet, but my heart is busy absorbing the way her cheeks still bunch up as she smiles, how she stilltalks with her hands, and even perversely, the way the man stares into her eyes like he's getting sucked into something he never wants to leave.
I know exactly how he feels.
I'm going to wait a minute. I'm going to wait and see if she really is happy. I'm going to memorise her looking this happy and then I'm going to walk away and let her live the rest of her life. And I will try to do the same.
That's when my phone rings, loud enough that it can be heard by people close by despite the DJ's music. It's a foreign number I don't recognise. Curious, I press answer and lift the phone to my ear.
“Marty O'Martin,” a voice I recognise says.
“Sweet Cheeks,” I say back, my words shaped by the smile growing on my face.
“A little birdie told me you showed up. Are you with my sister?” Jake asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I’m looking at her.”
And I am. Jenna must have heard my phone ring, because she’s standing up and facing me, a sunbeam of a smile on her lips. A smile of surprise, wonder, and hope. She takes a step towards me and then she stops, as though she’s suddenly terrified, and her hand comes up to rest on her heart.
“Thank you for showing up,” Jake says in my ear with audible sincerity. “I hope you can keep doing that for her.”
“I hope I can too. I know I want to try.”
“Marty, you're losing your touch,” he says. His voice back to the playful tone I remember. “You've said maybe four things to me and none of them have been filthy innuendo.”
“Suddenly feeling a little serious right now,” I say and I am. I can't take my eyes off Jenna. I want to throw the phone in the sea and run to her. I want to tell her I love her. I want to tell the world I love her. Because I do. I still do. As I realise this, I also know that deep down, I never stopped.
“I hope that passes for you. Sounds uncomfortable,” Jake says.
“So is my growing boner, if I’m being honest,” I say quiet enough only he can hear. And I'm not lying. My body is ready for Jenna. My body apparently will always be ready for her.
“And there he is,” Jake says with a soft laugh. “Go get her, Marty O’Martin. I'll see you soon, I hope.”
