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But this is the long run. It’s been six months, and from the way her eyes quivered with sheer hatred while I held her back from slapping me again, it became clear that time does not heal all wounds.
So I’m faced with a conundrum. Not only am I a bigger asshole than even I realized, but Holly still hasn’t gotten over me. That’s not to say that she’s still romantically interested in me. On the contrary, I’d say that given the choice between setting me on fire or hitting me over the head with a large rock, she would opt for a third option: both.
With another half glass of whiskey in hand, I pace about the airy living room. The salt breezes blowing in from the tide do nothing to relax the turbulent waters of my soul. And within a minute my restless feet lead me outside and onto the sand. I have no destination in mind. No plans to turn back at a certain point. There’s actually only a small, unconscious part of me that even realizes I’m walking along the beach.
I’m considering all of my options, such as following what Holly requested and actually staying away, but I know I’m not going to be able to keep to that. Especially not with her living right behind me. The selfish part of me sees this as my last chance. And the businessman inside me recognizes that I have nothing further to lose in pursuing her. One more rejection will change nothing.
The beach I now find myself walking along is, for the most part, empty. There are a few locals, but they are either in the water, surfing among the more manageable waves that do no thrash quite so hard, or they’re sunbathing further up the sand. And with the two fingers of whiskey I just downed on top of the half a bottle already sloshing around inside me from earlier, I’m tipsy enough that I don’t notice the person in my path until I literally run into them. The moment their knees hit the ground two things happen: I recognize that it’s not just anybody. It’s Holly. And a wave rushes up the shore with more fervor than its peers, knocking her back and soaking her through and through.
She’s spitting out salt water and pulling wet strands of hair from her face as she looks up.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
When I reach down to help her stand, she shoves my hand away. And when she pushes past me, I don’t try and stop her. But I do answer her.
“I don’t know.”
She’s five steps away when I say this. She stops but doesn’t turn to face me even as she asks, “You don’t know what?”
“What’s wrong with me.”
Without being either too modest or too proud, I know that I’m not bad looking. I take care of myself and shamelessly look for opportunities to get my shirt off when I’m with a girl. But despite my body, it’s my way with words that have gotten me to where I am today. I’m cautious with what I say and how I say it. I pause before answering, consider all sides before making a promise, and deliver all my canned responses with a vagueness that doesn’t lock me into anything.
But here on this beach, in front of the one that got away, whiskey tumbling through my veins, what I say next is completely unfiltered.
“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but it started with you.”
This has Holly turning around, but the moment I stop to consider how my words came out, its no surprise that her expression is contorted with scornful rage.
“So you’re blaming me?”
“Yes.” I swipe at my forehead. “I mean, no. Just—I know I’m not making sense, but what I’m trying to say is that I’m like this because of you. I’m in Hawaii because of you. Alone, by the way. And I’m not saying it’s your fault. Not in a negative way, at least.”
“So what are you saying?”
Up until this precise moment, I couldn’t have answered this even for myself. But here under the Hawaiian sunset, Holly painted in gorgeous oranges and rubies, her face contorted not only in anger but in pain, I finally know what to say.
“What I’m saying is that….” I pause because even though the words are there, I have no idea where the rest of this sentence is going to lead. I only know its journey will be permanent. “What I’m trying to say is that I still love you, Holly.”
Chapter 5
Holly
Jessie’s confession hangs in the perfect air between us. Waves lapping at our ankles fill the silence, and the wind blowing through my clothes, wet and sticking to my skin, chill me but don’t distract from what just fell out of Jessie’s mouth.
“You still love me?”
Even when repeated with my own lips, the words feel unnatural. Like antique machinery found in the corner of an attic whose purpose is alien and indiscernible. Once upon a time, I might have known what to do with Jessie saying this, but here and now, I’m stuck.
“I made a mistake leaving you,” Jessie says and as he speaks, he steps towards me. But when he reaches for my hand, I pull away.
“No,” is all that I can vocalize. All that I can think. About him. About this. About everything. “No.”
“I don’t understand how,” he says. “But fate has brought both of us to Hawaii. Exactly like you always used to talk about. And it’s because of you.”
“You followed me here,” I accuse him. “You followed me because you planned this. I don’t know why, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
He takes another step towards me, but I hold my hand up. He relents and takes a deep breath before saying, “I’m telling you the absolute truth. I just finished a huge deal back in New York. Huge enough that when I said I was taking a few weeks off, no one questioned me. I just earned the company a massive amount of money. I could have gone anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. With anyone. And I chose to come to one of the most romantic places on earth. Alone. And I’m not even staying in a five-star hotel. I’m here on the back of the island, where I have to drive ten minutes just to reach a local grocery store that doesn't even carry decent whiskey.”
