Page 77

75

UNNECESSARY GUILT

T he fireworks crackle overhead, painting the sky with brilliant streaks of gold, red and violet. After the display is finished, Timmy takes my hand, squeezing it gently as we stroll through the fragrant gardens of the resort. The air smells of jasmine and saltwater, and the sound of waves crashing in the distance adds to the magic of the night. It feels peaceful, like we belong here, walking side by side.

As we wander along the pathways, he points out native flowers and plants, describing each one with admiration. “These plumeria only bloom here,” he says, brushing his fingers lightly against a blossom. His attention to detail is mesmerizing. I’ve never met someone who notices the little things like he does, who makes the world feel vibrant and alive by simply observing it.

I glance at him, feeling both grateful and guilty. His expression is peaceful, but the weight of what I need to tell him sits heavy on my chest. “I have to admit something,” I say quietly, my voice barely audible over the night breeze. “While you were in jail, I met up with someone—here, at the fireworks.”

He doesn’t react immediately, just nods slowly, as if giving me space to speak without judgment. I tell him about the kiss—how it happened suddenly, how I panicked and ran away. My heart thuds in my chest, expecting anger or hurt, but Timmy remains calm. He rubs the back of my hand with his thumb and says, “Thank you for telling me.” That simple sentence feels like an olive branch, and I can breathe again.

The next morning, Timmy and I take a drive to a trendy part of town. The streets are filled with vibrant murals splashed across brick walls—sunsets, oceans, mythical creatures—the energy of the neighborhood is contagious. The sun warms my skin as we sip iced coffees under a bright blue sky, the buzz of people chatting and laughing around us.

We explore the shops together, and Timmy picks out bikinis for me to try on. I’m skeptical at first, but he seems to know what will flatter me better than I know myself. He selects colors I would have never considered—pale yellow, coral, deep purple. I slip one on in the dressing room, and when I see my reflection, I barely recognize myself. I feel radiant. He’s right. How does he see me in a way I can’t?

At an indoor arcade, we find a 3D wall made entirely of paperback books, their pages springing out like wild paper sculptures. Timmy pulls me close, posing me for pictures. “Your readers are going to love this,” he says with a grin, snapping shots of me against the whimsical backdrop. It’s the kind of thoughtful gesture I’ve always longed for—someone who not only shares my joy but enriches it.

In these moments, it feels like I’ve found something rare. This kind of partnership, where creativity and love intertwine effortlessly, seemed out of reach for so long. But here it is, unexpected and beautiful, unfolding before me with each passing day.

Later, we gather groceries, and Timmy meticulously selects the freshest produce. I’ve never seen someone so painstakingly make sure they’re getting the most perfect tomato, the firmest onion, the way he does. He sees objects differently from me, noticing the beauty and imperfections in each. I’m more of a ’turn it over and if it clearly has a bruise pick another one’ kind of girl. He’s the ‘go through every single one in the store and I’ll have only the best’ kind of guy. I’m learning from him, to not just accept what’s given on the surface. To dig deeper, to look deeper.

He picks ti leaves and makes me a magnificent headpiece, with flowers picked out to complement my hair. He takes pictures and smiles at me with kindness in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, with warmth in his voice. “I’m so glad we found each other. You really are my soulmate.”

And I feel it too. I’ve never been with someone so kind, so considerate. Someone so fixated on the little details about me. Who listens carefully to nearly every word I say. Who squirrels the little details away, and then surprises me later when I least expect it, remembering even things said briefly in passing. This is the love I always dreamed of but hadn’t experienced until I met Timmy.

He strings together a delicate lei of plumeria flowers and places it over Sabre’s tiny head and drapes it around his neck, snapping a photo of my cat adorned like a king. “Look at him!” Timmy laughs, his eyes sparkling with pride. “He’s a natural.”

I laugh with him. Timmy is once again making life feel vibrant, full of art and whimsy.

He lets me braid his hair into little Princess Leia buns, running around like a kid while I double over with laughter, tears streaming down my cheeks. How could someone like this ever be dangerous?

And yet, the gnawing doubt creeps in, curling at the edges of my joy. His rage still lingers in my memory, a shadow that refuses to leave. I want to stay in this love bubble forever, but I know deep down that love isn’t supposed to feel like a rollercoaster of exhilaration and fear.

I clutch onto the good moments, hoping they’ll be enough to drown out the bad. But in the quiet spaces between, the anxiety claws at me. And I wonder how long I can live like this—teetering on the edge between euphoria and disaster, praying the bubble doesn’t burst .

The next day, I see something as I’m scrolling through my phone that stops me in my tracks—a meme that reads:

‘Your nervous system will naturally feel calm around people with pure intentions and authentic energy - trust it.’

I don’t feel calm around Timmy. I feel constantly exhilarated and on edge.

I used to think of it as a giddy kind of excitement, but now I’m beginning to wonder if the constant butterflies mean something else, that my body is trying to tell me something.

My anxiety is peaking, but he makes us breakfast, distracting me, and I push the thoughts down.

There’s an ANZAC ceremony at the military cemetery, and I really want to go. Timmy agrees to go with me, and we take an Uber up the winding mountain road. The military ceremony to commemorate the New Zealand and Australian soldiers killed in Gallipoli is somber and reflective, and Timmy stands calmly, holding my hand and taking it all in.

It’s a rare moment to see Timmy this serene and grounded, behaving appropriately in a formal situation. For once, I have no concerns about how he’s going to act or what he’s going to say. I can tell he gets the memo that this isn’t a place to joke around, to stand out, to draw attention, to make a spectacle. We’re here to honor the dead, the fallen, and he’s taking it seriously.

“That was so moving,” he says after the ceremony, wiping a tear from his face. “I used to really want to be in the military, but I wasn’t allowed in because of my back injury. I felt like I was letting my dad down. So I’m so glad my nieces and nephews are following in his footsteps.”

I’d never really thought about it, how it must be to be the child of a respected veteran, and not choose the same career, especially as a male. I get the sense he feels deficient in some way, that he felt the weight of others’ aspirations for him to do it, too. That’s a lot of pressure, I imagine.

In the afternoon, we visit a bar where one of my friends from back on the East Coast is visiting to deliver a presentation on agave- based spirits. Timmy doesn’t drink the entire time, and gives me his tasting samples. He’s social, but appropriately so, and just relaxes and enjoys learning about the different forms of spirits. He asks questions and chats with the people around us.

In the bathroom, the walls are lined with blackboard paint and chalk is provided. He gets me to go into a stall after he vacates it. He’s written ‘Timmy 3 Margaux. She said yes!’

My heart flutters when I read it. This man is helping me to experience pure joy, pure love for the first time. I grab my own piece of chalk and add ‘I did 3 :)’. He smiles when I show him, and pulls me to him for a passionate kiss.

I am living with this man. Truly living. The way I’ve always read about, but never thought would be possible for me.

What a talented, creative individual. And he loves my cat, too. There’s literally nothing more I could ask from this man. I never want this love bubble to burst.