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August. August! The plan was to leave in a week. There I was nodding along to plans in August. With the Dublin Ink family. With Mason. What was worse was that I could imagine it all. I saw a whitewashed stone villa with a view of the sea. I saw ripe tomatoes sliced atop thick slabs of buffalo mozzarella. I saw painting Aurnia’s toes on the balcony. I saw fucking Mason on the sand beneath the moonlight, quick because the dawn was coming. I saw getting high with Rian. Getting drunk with Conor. I saw my tongue at the corner of my mouth, eyebrows furled in concentration, as Aurnia tried to teach me how to draw. I even saw the balled-up paper of my thousandth failure soaring out the window onto the avenue below. I heard Mason’s amused chuckle.
And I liked it. I liked it all.
“I’m going to get ice cream every single day,” I said, sipping my wine. “Chocolate churros for breakfast every morning. A shit ton of tapas for lunch. And paella. And for dinner, dinner every day, ice cream. And I’m going to get fat and you’re going to have to roll me back to Dublin at the end.”
I felt Mason’s eyes on me. I could sense his hesitation. His uncertainty. I could practically hear his inner thoughts: what the fuck is she on about? Day 30 is just around the corner. But then Mason was slinging his arm over my shoulder and pulling me toward him in a warm embrace.
“Or we’ll just stay forever in Marseilles,” he said, smiling along with everyone (yes, even Conor cracked the teeniest, tiniest smile for our gratification). “The five of us.”
“Six of us!” Aurnia interjected, laughing.
It was ridiculous really. We started mentioning dates. We went over budgets. We discussed what we would do with the shop. Close for a week? Find someone to cover the place? Oh, someone named Tommy could come over and do some tattoos while we were gone. He was fantastic. No, no, really good. Our clients would love him.
I mean, I should have laughed at it all. Because this wasn’t my life. Dublin Ink. The boys. Little Aurnia. Mason. My life was back in New York. Those were the streets I knew. I had JoJo’s toes to paint. If I wanted to learn to draw, I was certain she could teach me. I didn’t need an amused chuckle from my husband when I chucked a balled-up piece of paper out the window. Besides, it was littering. That’s what Tim would say. And he would be right, of course. He was always right. He was good for me. I behaved myself around him. I kept myself in line. I didn’t order another bottle of wine for the table when we all clearly didn’t need it just because I wanted the good times to keep going.
Because I wanted to hear more about the life I could have in Dublin. Because I wanted to dream Aurnia’s dreams. Because I wanted to believe it could all be real, if just for a little longer.
“And listen, Rachel, if you need work over here, I’m sure we can find a place for you at Dublin Ink,” Conor said. “Or Noah at The Jar is always looking for good staff. You’ve already met Candace…”
I don’t know if it was the whiskey that warmed him to me or Mason’s arm still around my shoulders, but I liked that, too.
“Oh, well,” Mason said, “Rachel actually has a new role back in—”
I interrupted him with a hand on his knee.
“A new role in Dublin,” I said ridiculously, stupidly. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the fantasy. I added, knowing Mason’s eyes were on me, “I mean, that’s what I’d want. Is to find a role here. As a dancer maybe. Or a singer. And I act. I mean, I—”
“She can do everything,” Mason said. “She’s intoxicating on any stage.”
I looked over at him. Both our cheeks were strawberry-red from the wine. We were clearly both far, far away from sober.
“Thanks, baby,” I said.
Mason pressed his lips to mine. And for a moment it was all real. My husband and I out at dinner with our friends. Plans for the future bright and happy. For a moment I didn’t cling so desperately to the present, because we would have loads of evenings like this. Mason would always believe in me, always find me so irresistible that he couldn’t help but kiss me. We would always leave together and make love and wake up in each other’s arms. And we would never know what day it was, never think, “One day less”. Because for a moment Day 30 didn’t exist. Because for a moment there was forever.
My phone vibrated in my lap, distracting me. I pulled away with a sudden jerk. Otherwise I think it would have had to have been Conor or Aurnia who tore us apart. I glanced down at the caller ID to see Tim’s name.
This time the presence of Mason’s eyes on me made me red with a different kind of embarrassment.
“It’s my…producer,” I said, putting the phone away a little too hastily.
“Does he need you?” Mason asked when my phone immediately vibrated again.
I smiled and shook my head. Tim didn’t need me: the woman who ordered too much wine, the cheater, the girl stripping on stage, the mess who still had feelings for her secret husband of ten years who left her. Tim needed the promise of me. The promise of a sweet, innocent wife. Tim needed the woman he proposed to.
I just wasn’t sure I was her anymore. Or if I ever had been her.
Conor and Aurnia were discussing continuing drinks at The Jar. But Mason’s eyes were still on me. I put my phone on silent as Tim called again and leaned forward, elbows on the table, avoiding Mason’s questioning gaze.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Really, let’s not stop. We definitely shouldn’t stop.”
I was afraid if we stopped, the fragile fantasy I was living in would crack. Break. Shatter. The key was to just keep going.
“You know what?” I laughed. “Let’s go to Marseilles!”
Everyone laughed with me. Even Mason. But a part of me was serious. Really serious. I wanted to run away with Mason. With Conor and Aurnia and Rian. With this little life that felt real. I wanted to run away and hide it. Protect it. Keep it.
Before it fell apart.
