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“It’s strange to step into the role as the head of a family that I don’t really know. I was born to it, but that doesn’t feel like enough of a reason. Does that make sense?” he asks.
I turn fully now and wait until he does the same and we’re face to face.
I trace the uneven bridge of his nose and gaze into his keen, green hazel eyes while I try to find the words to answer him.
We only met two days ago. We bonded during a highly stressful moment. I was terrified on that ledge. I know how lucky I was. If I’d fallen on another part of that path, I wouldn’t be sitting here. That he was there feels like a very significant detail. One that, despite being mainly a coincidence, I think it will change the course of my life. I overshared a lot on Friday night. I don’t regret it. Yet without the rush of adrenaline from that evening and with our separation looming, my feelings aren’t as sanguine as they were yesterday.
I’m grateful for the serendipity that brought us together. But, lightning doesn’t strike in the same place more than once.
I’m glad we didn’t walk out of here and leave our reunion to fate. A tangible chemistry courses between us. It carries with it an effortless ease, an immediate comfort and mountain of physical attraction. He’s powerful, brilliant, passionate, decisive, honest, funny, and he’s kind. He’s shown me all of that and it’s only been one weekend. What would it be like to spend a whole week, month, year with him? I can’t wait to find out. I have a feeling. Just a feeling… That this man could be my man. So, I decide I’m going to fake it until I make it happen.
I stand and extend my hand. “Let’s go out onto the terrace. It’s quiet and private.” He nods and smiles up at me for a beat before he takes my hand into his and stands up.
We step out onto the red brick paved balcony. It’s another beautiful, if unpredictable, day. Puffy light gray and white clouds dot the powdery blue sky, birds are chirping, the sea rolls and crashes, and the breeze blows lightly around us. From here, the menace of the rocks that I fell from is obscured by a blanket of pine tree. The beach below is beautifully kept and the water is crystal clear.
He stands behind me, wraps his arms around my waist and drops his chin on my shoulder. I cover his hands with mine and try to memorize the way it feels to have him surrounding me. He sighs—it’s not a heavy sigh, but it’s not one that says, “I’m content.”
“I’m listening, Hayes,” I say into the silence.
“Yeah, I can tell.” His voice vibrates from his chest and resonates against my back. I feel the gratitude in his words, even though he didn’t express it explicitly.
We speak with our brains. People hear with their hearts.
“I’ve been preparing half my life for a job that I don’t feel even close to being ready to assume. My father, and then my aunt, told me repeatedly that I have something important to do with my life. And now, it’s one of my strongest desires,” he says.
“I think that’s what everyone wants,” I say.
“No.” He shakes his head and his chin brushes my hair. I nestle tighter against him and his hands come off the rail and wrap around me. It’s the most possessive yet tender embrace. “Some people just want to be important. There’s a difference. I’m learning it now. I’m seeing it in you. Everyone I know is pursuing glory for themselves. Money for themselves. Prosperity for themselves.” His arms tighten around me. “You’re talking about preserving things that benefit your entire community. That’s how I want to think about my family. If I only have this finite time to make my mark, then I want to do it in a way that matters. Like you said, make it count for more than just time spent,” he says.
“Yeah.” I nod, but inside of me, something is blooming. He listened to me. He thought about what I said and found value in it. I think this man might be a unicorn.
He tilts his chin in the direction of the horizon and says, “Those men who sailed out past what looked like flat earth and kept going even though they weren’t sure they wouldn’t fall off—they’re the people I admire. They conquered the earth and then laid claim to it,” he says.
“There’s no conquering the earth,” I scoff.
“Tell that to them.” He nods at the horizon again.
I turn to face him. His eyes are bright and beautiful and just looking into them steals my breath. But I force my mind back to the point I want to make. “Maybe it’s because I grew up on the river. No levee we’ll ever build is strong enough to hold back more rain than the human mind can imagine. Mother nature is merciless. It made me realize how really insignificant we all are,” I say.
“You’re only insignificant if you leave nothing worthwhile and lasting behind,” he pushes back.
“How do we measure what’s worthwhile? Who decides that?”
“What does history record?” he asks.
“Are you saying that if we don’t write down what happened here this weekend you’ll forget it and it won’t mark a moment in your life that will influence how you make decisions in the future?” I ask.
“No, I’m not saying that. And that’s a very nicely-made point,” he says with respect in his voice. I shrug and turn back around to look out at the horizon.
“Until you’ve been overwhelmed by life—found a wave you can’t surf, a mountain you can’t scale, a river you can’t cross—it’s really hard to understand how small you are,” I say.
“I guess …” he says.
“If I hadn’t seen how mother nature gives not one whit about even the best laid plans of men, I may not be sure either. To watch that happen is humbling, heartbreaking, and transformative. We don’t conquer anything. We just have use of it for a short while, but those trees, they grow back.
“Those monuments? They need men to write their existence into history. On the other hand, the acts of bravery and kindness those horrible events inspire may not make it into history books. But they will pass from generation to generation by word of mouth. And when people hear about them, they’ll get goose bumps,” I say.
“So, instead of conquering, I should be thinking about contributing something lasting,” he muses.
