“It’s been this way for a decade, so I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve mostly learned to tune it out. It’s tougher in the quiet.” I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. “So, what did you say?”
“Oh. Right.” She laughs to herself. “I said that being angsty is our thing.”
“So, let’s angst.” I turn the radio back on.
The song kicks up, a blast of percussion, before the singer’s haunting, raw vocals come through the speakers. Isla sings along every angry word at the top of her lungs.
We continue like this until our first destination comes into view. Isla bolts up in her seat to turn the music down.
“You’re kidding.” Her wide-eyed stare remains fixated on the roller-skating rink on our right. “Thisis your favorite place from when you were a kid?”
I park the car in the mostly empty parking lot, happy for us to have the rink to ourselves tonight like we did the first time we skated together. “This is our first stop.”
“Feeling nostalgic, Davidson?”
“Maybe I wanted a rematch.”
Isla throws her head back and laughs, and it brings me immediately to the night we first met. I still see her in that hallway, an oversized sweatshirt swallowing her body. She quieted herself as she heard me approach, not lifting her head from where it rested on her forearm, hoping I’d keep walking.
But she’s impossible to ignore.
I made it my mission to make her laugh, to forget about whatever had made her sad. When she beat me in a race across the roller rink that night and showboated through boisterous, bragging laughter, I felt like I won.
We retrace the steps from the first night we met—buying our tickets, getting fitted for skates, lacing up side by side, and venturing out onto the rink, hands joined.
“I tried to find you,” Isla says as we make our first lap. It’s us and a mother and her kids beneath rainbow disco lights.
“When?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “After we met, and the stupid airport ‘lost’ my phone. I searched for every combination of your name and each of the skaters’ last names. For weeks.”
My heart stops beating for a second.
“I’m not on social media.”
“I still won’t fly into the Newark airport.”
I bark out a laugh, stunned at the admission.
“I don’t think you missed much,” I tell her, shifting behind her and gripping her hips as we continue to skate. The cinnamon scent of her hair wafts my way each time it sways with our movements. It’s my new favorite way to skate.
“Smooth move.” Isla briefly glances over her shoulder at me before refocusing on the rink. “Obviously, not with the airport, but….”
On me. My hands grip her tighter, overcome by a need to be closer to her.
“I was convinced that our connection was in my head and that you were humoring me when you took my number. But I still thought about you anyway. You made me want something for myself for the first time since my mother left.”
Isla’s hands land on mine, pushing them off her hips. She speeds up, putting more paces between us, before she spins around to face me. She skates backward until I reach her, tugging me close with that damn invisible string that tethers me to her.
“Want to know what I think?”
I swallow hard, nodding for her to continue.
“I think we would’ve met up at another competition, and figured out we didn’t grow up too far from each other. We would’ve had more firsts together. We’d break each other’s hearts, and heal them again and again until we finally got it right. I don’t think we canescape each other, Wes. Two months ago, I would’ve hated that, but now…”
I move closer to her, one leg landing between hers as our bodies align flush against each other. “Now?” I prompt.
“I hope I’m not wrong,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck.
