'I literally gave him a cop out!' Margot exclaims, a cigarette teetering between her fingers. 'I told him he was free to pick an existing couple if he wanted. I didn't hallucinate that, right? Wouldn't surprise me given this place.'
'Not hallucinating,' I confirm.
You two, obviously.
Caleb's voice is ringing through my head, big and loud. It's like a record on repeat, and not even the nautical soundtrack blasting from the bar can drown it out. Obviously. That's what got me. Obviously. What does that even mean?
Margot brushes the air as a puff of smoke escapes her lips. 'Nick seems alright about it, at least from what I can tell.'
He responded with a clipped it's fine when I asked if Caleb's comment had bothered him as he and I grabbed a second round at the bar, so I'm not sure Margot's quite on the mark there. Caleb, who'd evidently been scolded by Aiden moments earlier appeared midway through our drink ordering and kept apologising to us, which somehow made the ordering process equal parts funny and tragic. My life summarised, essentially.
'I'll talk with him and Dana tonight to make sure they're okay,' I comment in a half-hearted attempt to avoid admitting any awkwardness between Nick and me. To avoid that eventuality, I change the topic of conversation with, 'who would you have said? On the soulmates question?'
Margot glances at the concrete below with a coy smile, but doesn't answer.
'Ask me later,' she says, lifting her head before taking one final drag. 'When I'm too drunk to keep my inhibitions.'
On that cryptic note, Margot stubs out her cigarette, then turns back towards the club. Only, as she does so, she momentarily halts, says something into the doorway, then turns to flash me a smile–a sympathetic one, I'm sure of it–and disappears into the bright yellow building. The strange exchange is explained almost immediately because as Margot vanishes, Dana appears.
'Hey!' she beams at me with a wave, and God, why is she so nice?
'Dana, hey!' I reply with what I hope is matching enthusiasm.
I've got no idea what to do with my hands as she stops opposite me. I settle on clasping them in front of me as I stand stiffly upright, as if I'm a doctor about to break some tragic news.
Dana opens her mouth, then blurts, 'I just wanted to make sure you know I'm totally cool about that whole drinking game situation in there.'
Seriously, being this inexplicably nice can't be legal.
'Oh, it's–Yeah, that's good. I was going to pull you aside to make sure you were cool, so that's–Yeah, that's really good.'
She responds with a smile, and God, she's lying. She's so obviously lying to save face, or worst case scenario, to avoid making me feel bad. Caleb's comment–mine and Preston's relationship–makes her uneasy. I know it does.
'It's cool, if you're not. Cool with it–with Preston and me, I mean,' I begin, and Dana tries to argue, but I stop her with, 'I know he and I are close and it's kind of, I don't know, intimidating for lack of a better word. I just–Yeah, please don't worry about us doing anything behind your back. I promise I'd never hurt you–or anyone–like that, and nor would he.'
I probably don't need to keep going, but I do.
'I don't know if I've ever said, or maybe Preston has, but my parents had a messy divorce because my dad cheated, so it's–Yeah, I'd never do what he did to anyone, or play any part in causing hurt like that, y'know?'
Dana smiles again, and this one has a glimmer of sincerity, so I'm satisfied the unnecessary deep dive into my personal life has helped.
She opens her mouth, hesitates, then eventually says, 'I asked Preston if you guys had ever... I mean–What I mean is I know you guys have...'
I'm momentarily confused by her vagueness.
'Oh! It–Well, yeah, no–It–I mean, yeah,' I ramble, and try to save it with, 'we have, once. Just once.'
She nods, and the way she's pressing her pink lips together suggests she's still holding back. I give her the space and silence to get whatever's on her mind out.
'I trust you. Genuinely, I do, and him. I just...'
She sighs, and I brace myself for whatever's next.
She glances at her hands, then lifts her blonde head to meet my eyes as she says, 'he's really guarded, isn't he?'
It's totally not what I expected, but is in some ways, worse.
'I don't think I know any more about him now than I did before we started going out. I know nothing about his life outside uni, about his family, or even what films, books, or music he's into, and just... Yeah, that kind of thing, you know? I like him a lot. More than he likes me,' she continues, and cuts me short the moment I try to interrupt. 'It's fine, seriously. I knew that going into it, but I didn't realise he'd be so hard to... get to know, I guess.'
I relax my shoulders, and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.
'Don't take it personally,' I say softly. 'He just needs time to open up—More time than most people, but he'll get there.'
Dana is nodding. 'Thanks, Mia. You're probably right. I mean, we get along really well, the sex is great, we're comfortable in each other's company, and besides, it's still early days, right? There's nothing wrong, not really. I just need to be patient with him.'
On the bright side, Caleb's you two, obviously echoing through my head has been abruptly replaced with the sex is great. I grit my teeth together and force my lips into a strained smile.
Thankfully, the rest of the night progresses without any further instances that make me want to gouge out my own eyeballs. I'm not sure if it's due to our rocky start, or due to something I ate, but there's a nauseous sensation in the pit of my stomach that won't budge. It results in me not drinking much, which I don't mind because it's not like I'm alone in that.
Speaking of Preston, from what I can tell, he's had fun–like, actual fun. He's gotten involved in every conversation, asked questions with genuine interest, embraced the restaurant-club with his whole heart, and hasn't threatened to head home early once. Hell, he was the only one to actually partake in the restaurant aspect of the club because everyone else was too full of alcohol–or in my case, nausea– by the time we reached it.
I figure it's the nausea that's making me squeamish with Nick. He's shut down my every attempt to talk to him about what happened, and I'm trying not to overthink it. Outside his refusal to talk things through, he's not saying or doing anything wrong, but the perfectly reasonable comments he's making are irritating me, his jokes feeling flat despite others laughing, his touch, no matter how loving or gentle, making my skin itch, and I'm just finding it all a little... annoying.
That's why when we arrive home and fall into bed, I don't decline his advances. Intimacy will help, I figure–knock me into my senses–so I kiss him back, peel his clothes from his body, let him pull my dress over my head, press myself against him as he moves against me, our breaths heavy.
The trouble is that afterwards, I don't feel any better. I don't feel worse, I guess, but I'm not sure a state of passive nausea is the best reaction to sex with your nearly boyfriend. Nick falls asleep within minutes of us finishing–not hugely unusual for him, and I take the opportunity to escape the room I'm sure is rapidly shrinking while trying to ignore the way my eyes are watering, and the way I'm struggling to breathe.
Approximately two seconds after exiting the bedroom, I get the fright of my life.
'Holy–Fucking hell!'
Preston, who's standing in the kitchen area in complete darkness, looks over his shoulder to smirk at me. After a beat, I realise the microwave perched on a counter in the far corner is on because what else would he be doing at two in the morning beyond cooking himself a meal, right?
It's only when he turns to face me, his expression changing–darkening–that I realise I'm shivering, that the dampness from my eyes has slipped down to my cheeks, and that my breathing is ragged as I stand frozen wearing Nick's oversized band t-shirt.
'Are...' Preston says slowly. 'Is everything okay?'
His jaw hardens, his green eyes glancing towards my bedroom door, which I'm only now realising is adjacent to the kitchen area. The area I'm convinced Preston has been in for a while, for longer than the amount of time Nick's been asleep, and God. I don't need to do the math.
'No!' I reply quickly. 'God, no, it's not–Nothing like that. Fully consensual,' I assure him, then immediately regret adding that detail. 'Sorry, it's–I feel a bit nauseous, that's all, so wanted some air.'
He glances between me and my bedroom door again, and fucking hell, he definitely overheard.
'Are you sure?' he murmurs, and there's something in his voice I've not heard before; his tone is somehow as soft as it is firm, and I'm suddenly certain that if he asked me to unveil my deepest, darkest secrets in that same voice, I'd not so much as hesitate.
'I promise,' I reassure him.
After one final glance between the bedroom and me, he nods slowly. I wrap my arms around myself, partly for warmth and partly in an attempt to calm my breathing.
'Why are you creeping around the kitchen in total darkness at two in the morning like some seaside ghoul, anyway?'
My attempt at humour eases the sharpness in the air because it steals a laugh from Preston. He shrugs as the microwave pings, then ambles towards it, still without bothering to turn a light on.
'Strawberries,' he answers as he opens the microwave, then pulls a bowl from it.
'You eat strawberries warmed up?' I exclaim, nearly gagging at the thought.
'Not quite,' he replies. 'Although I'm intrigued by the suggestion. Next time, perhaps.'
I'm frowning at him as he grabs another bowl–a bigger one–from the kitchen island and approaches me. I'm not in the right headspace for his bullshit right now, so I reach for the kitchen light. Preston stops in front of me as it switches on, and I spot a bowl of strawberries in his left hand, and a bowl of melted chocolate in his right.
'Huh,' I mutter. 'Way more normal than expected. You must be evolving.'
As I'm wrapping the beach house's complimentary living room blanket around me and stepping onto the balcony with Preston, I notice my stomach has stopped churning. The blanket is big, pink, and fluffy, so my shivering has relaxed too, despite the cool February air.
'Feeling any better?' he asks as he lowers himself to the balcony floor, crossing his legs as he sits.
'Stop reading my mind for, like, five seconds,' I grumble in response as I join him. 'But yes.'
He gestures his bowl of strawberries towards me, and I grab one to dip into the melted chocolate. It takes one measly bite for my earlier nausea to feel like a total joke. I forgot how good this stuff tastes, so I steal another, then another, then another, and it takes the sound of Preston's laughter to make me realise how unhinged I must seem right now.
'Thanks for twisting my arm to come on this trip,' he says after a minute or so. 'I'm glad I did.'
I turn to him with a smile, and I suspect melted chocolate slathered over my mouth. 'Hey, this one was basically all you. You've made fantastic progress since I uncovered your zero fun aloud pact.'
'A pact requires multiple people or parties.'
'Literally how do you have friends?'
'It must be my dashing good looks and intelligent wit.'
'Yes, because your name sounds like an STD is peak intelligent humour.' I pause as I grab another strawberry, then mutter, 'prick,' under my breath.
'That's an extremely serious endeavour of mine, not a joke. I'm genuinely curious to know whether anyone–'
'Fuck off.'
He starts chuckling, and the sound of it fills my body with more warmth than a fluffy pink blanket ever could. He's been doing that a lot recently–laughing and smiling the most I think he ever has, at least since I've known him.
'I spoke with Dana about the drinking game situation,' I say tentatively. 'You shouldn't be afraid to open up a little more to her. Not the big stuff—I understand you need way more time for that, obviously, but maybe mention Matty, or listen to the music with her that you listen to with me.' I shrug. 'Start small.'
'Hm,' he replies, unhelpfully, and I'm about to demand more of an answer when he continues with, 'I think I should end things with her.'
I nearly choke mid-strawberry. I cough, only to start stammering as I try to find the right words, and I know he shouldn't. He can't end things with Dana because he's self-sabotaging–I know this is him self-sabataging, and I have to tell him that. I know I should tell him that, but the words are stuck in my throat like black treacle.
'We're never going to work as anything serious, and I know that's what she wants so–'
'No!' I exclaim, finally finding my words–the words I know I should say, and I reel off the script. 'You'll say that with any girl you get remotely close with–I know you will–and you can't go through life like that, Preston. You can't do that to yourself.'
He rests his head back against the patio door behind us, then utters, 'I've done worse.'
I soften my gaze as I scan his side profile, the sound of the distant ocean lapping the shore filling the quiet between us. He closes his eyes with a sigh, then speaks so softly that it's almost a whisper.
'Why are you so desperate for me to be with someone?'
I blink.
'I'm not–It's not that. I just...' I sigh. 'I just want you to be happy.'
'Happy,' he repeats in the same quiet voice, the word sounding like a question. 'Do you know what Mark Twain said about happiness?'
'Nope, but I'd bet you're about to tell me.'
'Correct,' he murmurs. 'Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.'
A pause before my response of, 'Mark Twain can fuck off.'
A smile cracks onto Preston's lips as he opens his eyes, and it lingers as he watches the ocean. I'm picking at a strawberry as I turn my own gaze towards the water.
'Dana mentioned that you told her about us,' I say, although I'm not really sure why.
I feel his eyes on me, but I don't look away from the ocean as he replies with, 'sorry. She asked me outright and I didn't want to lie.'
'No, it's–Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's totally fine. I told you to be honest if she asked. I genuinely wouldn't have minded if you'd told her unprompted.'
Another pause.
'You would've,' he argues.
'Yeah. Yeah, you're right, but I'd have pretended not to.'
We both laugh quietly, and I'm twirling a strawberry stalk between my fingers.
'I think...' I begin, but my voice trails off, so I force the words out. 'I think we should maybe take a step back. From each other, I mean.'
When I turn to him, he's slowly nodding. 'Probably.'
'Not, like, stop being friends or anything crazy like that, but set some boundaries, maybe just as a temporary thing,' I muse. 'Even if Nick and Dana were out of the picture, I think it would be a good idea. I'll still come with you to meet Rhys, obviously, and generally be around if you need to talk, so–'
'You don't have to.'
'No.' I shake my head. 'No, I want to. I just think giving each other space generally could be a good thing, and it'll–I don't know, give us the energy to focus on our other relationships, do our own thing and all that good stuff because it's–We–Things are–'
'It's not healthy to be so reliant on each other.'
I swallow. 'Yeah.'
The urge to turn to him, to wrap my arms around him, or even just rest my head on his shoulder is nearly suffocating, but I can't. That's the whole point; it's why we're doing this, why we said what we just said. I can't. I dig my fingernails into my palms with a deep breath.
'To kick things off,' Preston says, his tone light. 'No more strawberry privileges.'
He jumps to his feet, wishes me goodnight, and just like that, he's gone. Only then does it occur to me that he didn't eat a single piece of fruit.
Ten minutes after Preston leaves, I return inside to find Margot sitting on a kitchen counter with a mug in hand. I quickly gather myself to hide any indication towards an internal crisis. Her blue hair is pulled into a messy bun with too many flyaways to count, her cheeks flushed red, I figure from the alcohol.
'If you're looking for strawberries,' I say, 'that's my bad, sorry.'
She blinks, momentarily confused as she sways lightly–a sign that she's still pretty drunk.
'Nope! Way too healthy,' she says as she gestures her mug towards me. 'Coffee.'
I laugh. 'Each to their own.'
She responds with a wide, proud grin, and as I begin to walk towards my bedroom, she stops me.
'I would've said the same,' she says, giggling.
I halt and narrow my eyes, searching her face for elaboration. 'You've lost me.'
She rolls her eyes, the brown in them partially hidden under hooded eyelids, and for a moment, I don't think she's going to answer me. Hell, I'm convinced she's forgotten what we were talking about.
Only, as she jumps up with her mug in hand and scurries in the direction of her bedroom, she glances over her shoulder to call back to me.
'The soulmates question! My answer would've been the same.'