Page 132 of That Last Summer

“You’ll have catch me first!” I said, getting back on the bike.

“Priscila, I’m not a child, I won’t go after you.”

“Your call!”

In the end, he came after me.

We created new experiences, new memories to treasure for posterity. Waiting for Alex to finish his shift on the beach, lying on my towel next to his tower, and then going somewhere together. Anywhere.

Letting go, learning to trust each other again. Gradually rebuilding what we had four years ago.

We haven’t fully healed from our past, not yet. With everything we’ve done, we’ve only rescued half of it, the easy part. The other half, the half still to be recovered, means going back to what happened. Talking about it. And facing it. And I have the feeling that it’s already too late, that we should have done it a long time ago. But sometimes, I just think So what?What does it matter anymore?

I’ve already forgiven him. I know that now.

I know because I’m happy when I’m with him. And happiness is an emotion that overpowers everything. It can fight against anything... and win.

I know because I love him with my soul, with my whole heart. I’m not sure if I’ve started loving him again in these last few months, or if I never stopped. Probably the latter, but again, does it matter?

But there’s a downside too. One that keeps me up at night—when I’m not with him, that is. Because all this happiness is going to shit in a few weeks, when we have to separate.

Knowing how much one person can influence your state of mind is scary. And I am scared; scared of realizing that part of my happiness, this extreme happiness, is because of him—depends on Alex, on sharing moments with him. On sharing a life, together.

Why do I have to leave? Why do I have to go back? Would it be so crazy not to? Is it not equally crazy to abandon this thing we have? Abandon Alex and Priscila? I know he’s affected by my departure. He tries to hide it, but he can’t fool me, not anymore, because this guy sitting on the sofa with me—relaxed, his feet in my lap—is my Alex from the past, the Alex I fell in love with.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks me suddenly.

My bubble bursts and I’m back in the moment I’m living with him now: scoffing a giant bowl of popcorn and a bunch of bags of chips in front of a movie—which I’m not paying any attention to, by the way. I look into his eyes; he’s looking at me too, his gaze hooking me there.

“What are you looking at?” he asks.

“How handsome you are.”

And how much I love you.

What if I tell him? So many veiled words between us, hanging in the air, words that we dare not utter. What will happen when our time together runs out? Will we say goodbye and never see each other again? Will we text at Christmas and birthdays, like old friends? Will we get... divorced? Sometimes I feel the urge to ask all these questions out loud, but it never seems to be the right time. And time is running against me. Tick, tock; tick, tock.

“Come here.” He kicks his feet off my legs and sits up, pointing at his lap. “You’re not paying attention to the movie.”

“It’s all the noise you make with the chip bags. I can’t hear anything else.” I sit on him, wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tighter to his body.

Alex lets out a laugh and then hugs me tightly around the waist, repositioning me on his pelvis. He sneaks his hands under my miniskirt and begins to caress me, and I’m instantly turned on. Alex too, I can tell by the bulge in his pants. I move gently over it.

“What a nerve! You know it’s the other way around.”

It’s true. It’s a recurring thing: he complains because I don’t let him listen to whatever we’re watching, and I make even more noise with the chips.

“Are you staying tonight?” he asks. His voice is hoarse. And the bulge in his pants is bigger.

“Here you mean?”

“Yeah, right here,” he says, jokingly. “You can sleep on my sofa.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“I’m offering you my sofa, what’s there to think about?”

“Hmmm... My bed is more comfortable.”