But if I’m really ready to become a mother alone, then I should be able to tell Oliver the truth as simple fact, not a question or expectation, as it’s always been with men before. Should be able to say,I want to get pregnant within the next year, without any part of me waiting for him to allow it, withhold it or judge me for it. And I think I can—I think I’m ready. Standing there on the harbor telling the truth about my name made me realize I’m so much stronger than I used to be. And clocking that Oliver probablydoesn’twant a kid has kind of made it easier, too. I need to let him go—properly.
I know what I want. I want to be a mother, and nobody’s judgments or opinions are going to stop me following that path on the timeline I’ve chosen.
I suspect everyone, Oliver included, thinks the two of us need to talk about our real names, but honestly, I’m not sure I even care what he calls himself. Throughout the day today it’s become so obvious that he’s stillhim. He’s no different now that he’s Oliver to me instead of Jones. He’s still the first man ever to challenge me to be myself—to want me to be. Still the first man ever to hear that I’m afraid and rename that a kind of bravery.
Still the first man to make me wild enough to kiss him in the pouring rain when every logical part of me said I shouldn’t.
I know he hoped there was a future for us, once. Maybe knowing I’m called Aspen changes that for him, but for me, there is only one reason I can’t give Oliver my heart, no matter how much I want to.
Off to the barn dance now. Here’s to telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.
And also…mastering line dancing.
Draft
From:Charlie Jones
To:
Subject:Barn dance debrief
I’m not sure I’ll send this one. Emailing feels strange now that we’ve seen each other again—I think I almost forgot that the person I was emailing wasyou, if that makes any sense. But I want to write this all down anyway. For me.
Marly just told me where you and Berty have gone, and I’m so pleased for you, Charlie. I think I knew, even when we were in love, that you would never stop loving him. When Fearne died, and the two of us were such a fucking mess, I remember thinking that you talked about Berty in the same way you talked about Fearne. Like he was gone.
It still hurts so much that neither of us can have Fearne back. But it makes me really happy that youhavegot Berty back. I hope you’re having the most amazing time eloping, or vow renewing, whatever you two are calling it, and I’m looking forward to you coming back home to the island.
Because I think that’s just what it is now—home.
Yesterday on the harbor, I was totally floored to discover who Aspen really was. I felt a little betrayed, too—which issohypocritical, of course, but Aspen and I have talked a lot about being real with each other, and it hurt to know that even when she dropped the facade, she was still playing a role with me.
But then Marly locked us in that farmhouse with you all…and it was so obvious how hard Aspen was finding the day. Watching her make tea with shaking hands, watching her squaring her shoulders to face you, all I could think was,I know how she’s feeling. I know who she is.She has so much going on right now—she’spregnant, and dealing with that, and her anxiety must be in overdrive with everyone talking about her. All I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and tell her she was being so brave.
And ask her about Aspen. Who she is—no, not that, I know who she is, but who shewas. I can’t believe I ever thought I could leave Oliver behind and be this new, sober, healed man, as though it was possible to sever myself from the mistakes I’d made and start again. Iamthe mistakes I made. Without them, I wouldn’t be me. And I want Aspen to knowme.
So this was my mindset when I pulled on my cowboy boots (borrowed from Rog) and headed to the sheep barn.
My eyes found Aspen the second I stepped inside the ramshackle old structure, despite the whole place being total chaos. She was in one of the dresses she wore when she first arrived here—a paisley peach-colored one, paired with a cowboy hat, plaits and boots. Dressing up again, but this time, there was no disguising her.
I don’t know what a barn dance is supposed to be like, and as the preparations went on, it gradually became clear that nobodyelse did, either. Galoshes was watching YouTube videos of line dances at full volume on Toby’s phone (nobody dared ask her to use headphones), Kim kept telling everyone that it was nothing to do with cowboys and we were all wearing the wrong things, and even the band seemed a bit confused: Jerry and the Milkmen were briefly under the impression they needed to perform a cappella.
“Gingham!” Aspen kept saying. “We need more gingham!”
“What’s your name again?” Rog would shout back. Genuinely—he just couldn’t get the hang of it.
“You know what, Rog,” Aspen said eventually, in exasperation, after shamefacedly reintroducing herself to about a hundred Ormer residents who had popped into the old sheep barn to “help” throughout the hour before the dance. “You can just call me Charlie if you want.”
Rog seemed greatly relieved and finally focused on fixing a tarp across the giant hole in the sheep barn roof. (That building was barely a building, really. I’m astonished we all survived the night unscathed and unsued.)
“She’s doing well,” Marly said approvingly, as we set up the bar at the back. “I thought she’d turn tail.”
I pointed out that Marly had not really allowed this option. She’d practically barred the door at the farmhouse all afternoon.
“Look, you two had to face the music right away or nobody would ever forgive you,” Marly said.
She was completely right, of course. “Thank you,” I said. “For bringing us to the farmhouse this afternoon, and…for everything, really. For being my friend. I’m so sorry I lied to you.”
“Hey, we’re all putting on a front in one way or another. You two just went a little too far.” She paused. “Maybe more than a little.”
