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“Jean?”
“You remembered my middle name?”
“I remember a lot about you.” Unspoken truths hang over our heads, so I change the subject back. “Olive Jean, OJ? Yeah, that’s unfortunate. But I like it though. We’ll just pretend she’s named after a juice.”
Our arms brush against each other’s, and we flinch. We both create more space, but within a few steps, we accidentally brush our hands together again.
“Sorry,” she croaks.
“No, it was my fault.” I shove my hands in my pockets again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Emily looking at me with parted lips, and I look forward, so I don’t do something I regret.
Light music drifts up from a cluster of people, and I recognize the song immediately.
I’ve always considered it our song.
Ten years ago, we went to the Swift, the local dive bar, even though Emily was underage. Carl, the owner, knew her father, and he told me he wanted to keep me where he could see me and that’s why she could stay. She drank sodas while I drank beer, and she slid a quarter into the jukebox the second she saw her song.
“‘Wonderwall’,” she told me, the fluorescent light reflecting on her eyes.
“Ugh, that song is terrible,” I said.
“Shh, dance with me.”
And there we danced when no one else was, a group of bikers watching. Two bargoers pulled me aside when Emily went to the bathroom.
One of them said, “I don’t look like much, but I know tae kwon do, and if you hurt her, I will roundhouse kick you.”
“I promise I won’t.” I meant it, and then I broke that promise.
Now, the song appears again, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.
“It’s our song!” Emily screech-whispers, holding my arm in her hands. “Do you still hate it?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I lie. I don’t tell her that I bought the song and listened to it every morning I was in Costa Rica. How much hearing this song brings back the visceral pain of how much I missed her.
“Let’s dance,” she says. She’s still holding my arm. My eyes roll as she pulls me to a wooded area off of the beach, partially hidden by the bathrooms. It masks my utter excitement that I might get to touch her. I offer my arms like a prince in a fairy tale, and she curtsies, before stepping into my arms.
I wrap my arm around her waist, my senses firing at rapid speed. Her breath is hot on my cheek as I pull her closer, taking her hand out in a waltz pose. I can smell her perfume, musky with a hint of floral. Holding my breath, we start to move. If I give in and inhale her scent, I’ll be in big trouble.
Now that I have every way to get ahold of her, I don’t think Emily can keep Olive from me. But what if we make a real, honest go of it, and she decimates my heart again? Decides one day she doesn’t want me and puts me back at square one? Destined to be a stranger for the rest of her life?
I can’t have that. She feels so good under my hands.
“What are you thinking about?”
I shake my head, burying my thoughts deep inside the recesses of my brain. “Nothing. Just memories, I guess.”
“That’s all this week has been for me.” We continue to move in a circle, her head on my chest. “It’s weird how normal it is.”
“Right, I was thinking the same thing.”
“Like the last few years didn’t happen.”
“Absolutely.” She nuzzles into me further, resting her head into my chest. “This is so nice.”
“It is.” If she looks at me, I will kiss her. Burke is no longer a factor, but I can’t think I was the reason. Sometimes things run its course. If she did it because of me, that makes everything more complicated.
The song ends, and we step apart, looking around. We had a couple audience members, including a middle-aged woman with dark sunglasses smiling goofily at us.
