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I’m not in love with Gabi, but it’s not a stretch to see it happening eventually. Either way, there’s not much harm in agreeing to her terms. I haven’t wanted to see anyone else since she got here, and she only has a few months left before med school anyway.
My misgivings are probably just fear of the unknown. I ignore the voice in my head that says they are something else entirely.
36
Erin
Present
Somehow Brendan and I both manage to fall asleep in the tiny bed, but when we wake the next morning, he’s flat on his back, and I’m draped over him like he’s a massive body pillow.
“Sorry,” I whisper, disentangling myself.
"Do me a favor," he says, "and turn the other way for a minute."
I roll my eyes. "I've seen you in a pair of shorts before."
"Fine, smartass. I was trying to be a gentleman.” And with that, he throws back the covers and reveals the kind of bulge that would catapult this moment straight into an NC-17 rating. "Happy now?"
"Good Lord," I say, covering my eyes. "Put that thing away, perv."
"I woke up with your tits pressing against my arm and your bare leg draped over my stomach, Erin. That doesn't mean I'm a pervert. It means I'm straight."
"Ugh. I wish I could un-see that."
"Yeah, I bet," he cracks. "I just made it a thousand times harder for you to get back together with Rob, didn't I?"
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I've got no complaints about Rob in that department."
"You sure? I can pull it out if you want to do an honest comparison."
I throw a pillow at him. It seems a better option than telling him the truth, which is that yes, I’d very much like to see.
* * *
Someone from the rental company meets us before lunch, and once we’re back in our car, we head north. I feel oddly free, the kind of freedom I normally only experience under certain conditions: at the end of a race or as I collapse on my towel after a few hours of surfing. It’s the experience of no longer giving a fuck, but in the best possible way—where I’m well spent and all the normal comforts of the world feel extraordinary. When I’ve pushed myself so hard that I’m beyond caring what anyone else thinks about me. That’s how I felt yesterday with Brendan, and that’s how I feel today, as we drive to Squaw Valley. I think it has to be him, or at least what he’s reminded me about the person I used to be. I just hope I’m brave enough to hang on to the parts of myself I’m reclaiming.
We reach the house we’re sharing with Olivia, Will and the crew by mid-afternoon, and find complete chaos. Olivia's crew might be just ten people, but ten people with several significant others, plus Dorothy and Peter and Will and Olivia and two children is...a crowd. Part of me wishes I had Brendan to myself a little longer.
"There they are!" Olivia shouts as we approach. She detaches herself from the group of people in the living room, with Caroline in her arms and Dorothy in her wake.
"Ohhhhh." I reach for Caroline. When I saw her last, she was a newborn—squinty-eyed, with a pursed, pouting mouth, asleep 75 percent of the time and nursing the rest. Now she's an actual baby, with Brendan’s eyes and Olivia’s features, and she's so gorgeous it hurts.
"Oh my God," Olivia sighs. "Tell me you're not crying."
"She's so beautiful," I reply, my voice cracking.
"Erin cries every time she sees my kids," Olivia tells Brendan. "Keep an eye on her. I'm worried she might walk off with one of them."
I watch Brendan’s face as he takes Caroline from me, the way it goes soft and wistful. I wish I knew why he was so adamantly against having kids. It’s clear he adores his niece and nephew. And while I watch him, Olivia watches me.
“Let me show you your room,” she says, her eyes alight, and I know exactly what I’m in for.
I follow her up the stairs. “We’re just friends,” I tell her once we’re out of earshot.
The Cheshire-cat grin doesn’t leave her face.
“We are.”
