Page 97

Stella didn’t let up. “Do you feel like you’re making the wrong choice?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said thinly. Silence sat heavy on my chest and in the room before she spoke.

“I feel like I’m making the wrong choice,” she said softly, and I stirred, turning on my side to look at her.

“That you never went for it with Jacob?”

“Ha, ha. You’re a dork.”

“We have to leave,” I said, softly, almost apologetically. I think I was saying it to myself. She shrugged.

“Iknow.But this sucks. Maybe it’s because this was a vacation, or maybe it’s because so much happened, but it feels like this is allspecialin some way and nothing will be like this again. And I’m just… I’m just going to be sad about her…”

It chipped pieces off my heart, stripped them away and left me—not broken, like I might have expected, but weathered, hollow, tired. “Guess… we’ll get over them,” I said thinly, and she groaned, slinging an arm over her face.

“That’s it? All we can do is just… silently… suffer?”

“You have any other ideas, I’m all ears.”

“You are not,” she snorted, her voice biting. “Every time I try to talk to you about how Brooklynmeanssomething to you—”

“Then what should I do?”

She sat up, turning on me with a wild-eyed look, her hair messy. “Talk to her. I don’t know. Ask her what you should do. Figure it out between the two of you. Do you really think you’ll move on from this?”

“I know it won’t be easy to—”

“It’s not abouteasy,it’s about—this is—” She threw her hands up. “Don’t you worry everyone else is just going to live in her shadow?”

It felt like a blow to the chest, a knife to the heart, and I winced away, a spike of anger the first thing on my lips—I bit it back. I wasn’t angry with Stella. I was angry with the world. Angry with myself. I slumped back in the bed, staring at the curtains wavering in the breeze from the AC.

“For a while, yeah,” I said thinly.

“Well, I don’t,” she said. “I think we’ll be old one day wondering what would have happened if we’d done something brave with our lives.”

I scoffed. “Stella, I’ve known her for a week.”

“How much have you regretted being brave and stupid with your career?”

Ugh. I couldn’t have this conversation. Not like this, not where it prickled at my eyes and made me wonder what would have, could have, should have been. It felt like Brooklyn was right there, like I could reach out and touch her, but…

She wasn’t my career. I hadn’t spent my childhood dreaming of her. Hadn’t gone through life idly thinking of her. She was just… just one person. I’d find others like her.

Or maybe I had. Not by name, but… dreaming of somebody who saw me the way Brooklyn did. Of somebody who noticed me the way she did, made me feel like I mattered, for a little while. Of somebody who looked at me, and when they did, I felt like I belonged. No matter how I showed up.

Maybe I’d spent years dreaming of drinks by the ocean with a beautiful woman who looked at me with the fire in her eyes that Brooklyn did. Maybe I’d spent my life dreaming of tender days and passionate nights like Brooklyn gave me, and maybe all that time, I’d dreamed of somebody perfect who was waiting for someone like me to break down their walls and make it so they didn’t have to be lonely anymore.

Maybe all my life, I’d been waiting for Brooklyn. Maybe I just hadn’t known her name yet.

Or maybe it was just hopeless daydream, latching onto what felt good. And maybe some dreams weren’t for life—maybe some dreams were an experience you lived and cherished forever after instead.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said coolly, standing up. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“You’re just changing the subject?”

“Yep.”

“How long are you going to keep doing this?” she said, and I laughed thinly.