I opened my eyes.
“I can’t believe I did that to you.” His foot tapped the wide plank boards of the cottage bedroom floor. “I know you can’t trust me right now. I hope that’s temporary, and that we can figure things out, and maybe even proceed with our original New Year’s plans.”
My stomach lurched.From Yes to I Doto YOUR SOULMAIL IS ATTACHED to...actual“I do”? I scratched the base of my bare ring finger.
He knuckled his hands together. “I just want you to know that I can’t imagine how painful tonight was for you. Your sister... I hope you realize how much your mom loves you.”
“I know,” I said.
He tried to clear the hoarseness from his voice. “You amaze me every day, Olivia Adler, and I hope you know that I’ll do anything I can to earn you back for real.”
Clickclickclick, went the fan.
I thought of Whole Foods flower bouquets, of heart-shaped bacon above my pancakes, of the poster board and sticky notes I’d bought to do our wedding seating charts. Of the dim belief I’d had in our future. We could’ve been talking about what our kids might be like someday, but instead came the derailment of my life.
The kids part stung. They were shadows inhabiting my future, those phantom children, but they were so real. My belief in them was one of the most genuine parts about me. It was physical, weighted; I imagined it would show on an EKG of my chest, an MRI of my brain.
The truth was I wanted to manifest a do-over. I wanted to be a parent who protected her children, because I had been a child who couldn’t protect my parents. I wanted to make macaroni and cheese from scratch yet openly prefer the boxed kind, wake up at five in the morning to sign them up for summer camps with manufactured nature themes, memorize their skin so intimately I could track each new freckle. I was all in. And this man was supposed to be the one who pushed them on swing sets in our imaginary city-suburban playground, walked them to school, gamely learned how to fasten ponytails and trim sandwiches with cookie cutters. I’d pictured him beside me. And now the universe did, too.
“Let me take care of you,” Wells whispered, his throat working. He hovered a hand between us, a question.
Emotion welled, pooled, ran over. My hips ached with something. I was raw, a slip of lava inside a volcano, and the only thing that could cool me was comfort. I wanted to scream, to cry again, but I was also very, very tired, and it would be so easy to believe him here in this cottage bedroom.
I sat up. “Come here,” I whispered.
My knees fell apart. One drifted toward the ocean. I tried not to focus on the fact that my other one splayed in thesame direction where Caleb was on the couch, sleeping. Due north.
Wells’s first motion was slow, but before I could reconsider, he’d covered my body with his. His eyes went heavy lidded, then hazy. It was warm, and like home, and without my permission, it seemed like all my synapses rotated toward him. The sensation was unlike any other I’d had in... ever. Fury and desire met headlong in my body, and there was nothing I could do but ride with it.
I buried my mouth against his rosy shoulder, the one with the constellation of freckles. He smelled like the cologne he wore, salty and smoky. I bared my teeth, scraping them against his skin.
“Olivia,” he said under his breath. I answered his shock with another nip.
In this strange new world, there was nothing that moored me. No one. So many choices had been made for me, the largest one of all balancing on forearms braced on either side of my head, moving in all the ways I loved. So why wouldn’t I choose to enjoy it? Why shouldn’t I? It’s okay to have sex with your soulmate, even if your soulmate has betrayed you in the past. I corrected myself.Especiallyif they have. You can make your own choices.
Before long, I bucked. I held my breath while waves of pleasure crashed over me, over me, over, red light darting against my closed lids.
After, my body hummed with pleasure. Wells slipped into sleep within minutes, his breathing soft and low, his wrist resting atop my hipbones. My brain felt like a mismatched puzzle. Squares of feelings—Mom and Sabrina, Wells, everything with Caleb: all jammed together.
Without discussion, we’d switched our usual sides. Maybe it was a good thing. A fresh start. Wells rolled over. I debated reaching for my phone, but my mind flew to the article, thewhat-ifs of the wedding, the special. The what-if of tomorrow, even.
I did the only thing I could do, which was stare at my aunt’s cracked plaster ceiling until I finally fell asleep.
“That clock can’t be right,” I said as I entered the living area the next morning. I inhaled the scent of burned toast and coffee. “Nine in the morning is lunchtime.”
“Only for those who obliterate their circadian rhythms.” At the counter, Natalie frowned at her phone.
“Ha. Where are Caleb and Wells?”
She jerked her head. Caleb tipped in and out of view from his spot on the rocking chair out front; Wells was nowhere to be found.
A beach day, the light promised. Saturday. Across this stretch of the arm of Massachusetts, weeklong visitors would be turning over, collecting trash bags and clearing out for the next family to arrive. Those here for the weekend were slathering sunscreen, fixing sandwiches, packing coolers. I retrieved a piece of cold toast from what appeared to be a communal plate, crammed it into my mouth.
Natalie said my name, her voice breaking on the first syllable, so it came outLivia.
My stomach bottomed into my toes. I swallowed the chalky toast. “What is it?”
Wordlessly, Natalie handed me the phone. A 212 number was in the middle of calling. New York City.
