I WAKE TO find my face and throat are covered in a blanket of Isabel’s unruly curls. She’s lying across my chest, her face buried in my neck, one of her arms stretched across my waist.
Miracles of miracles, it’s well past dawn—I can’t even remember the last time I slept this late. As I run a mental check along my body to see if the night crowded on the sofa has thrown anything out of alignment, I’m surprised to find I don’t just feel fine, I feel fucking fantastic.
Yesterday was one of the most exhausting days of my entire life, but this morning I’m shocked by how energized I feel. After all of those months where my world felt alien and chaotic, it’s actually incredible to wake to find things feel settled.
I’m still getting divorced on Wednesday. I’ve still lost my wife. But maybe I can deal with that a whole lot better now that the discord between Isabel and me has been resolved. It still hurts that our marriage ended, and if last night proved anything, it’s surely that an open, honest conversation between us at any point during that last year might just have been enough to prevent all of the heartache. But even though that conversation came far too late, it’s finally happened, and maybe that chat really did settle something ugly inside me.
This morning, I’m certain in the knowledge that my grief this year wasn’t just about losing my marriage, it was also about losing her. Now that there’s a way forward where we might just manage to reestablish some kind of friendship connection, I feel...better. Closer to whole than I have for the longest time.
I gently shift the cloud of hair away from my face, and Isabel mumbles something in her sleep and rolls toward the back of the sofa.
I think quickly, and as she moves, I slide out from under her without waking her up. Before I walk away, I pause to stare down at her. Resisting the urge to press an affectionate kiss against her forehead, I instead tuck the blanket back up over her shoulder, then stretch my arms over my head as I walk toward the stairs.
This day feels ripe with possibilities. It’s the dawn of a whole new era for me and Isabel—the start of the chapter of our lives where we’re just friends, but maybe even good friends, because after last night, I genuinely believe that’s a possibility. Does Isabel have plans? If she doesn’t, will she want to spend the day with me? What would two friends do with a Sunday like this at Greenport?
By the time I emerge from my shower, I can smell coffee on the air. I jog down the stairs, a spring in my step, and find Isabel in the kitchen with two steaming cups on the bench before her. She’s holding a carton of half-and-half and looks a bit sheepish.
“Did you run out to the store for me?” I ask her.
She laughs under her breath and shakes her head as she finishes pouring the cream into my cup, then extends it toward me. “I bought it for you on Friday,” she informs me.
I raise an eyebrow at her and ask cautiously, “Did you open the carton on Friday, too? If so, should I check it for spit?”
“I think it was just habit, but now that we’re friends, I’m glad I could make you a nice cup of coffee.” Her eyes dart away from mine, and she asks, “Did you sleep well?”
“I think we both fell asleep halfway through that last movie,” I half lie. I’m not overthinking our mutual desire to sleep together. At the time, cuddling up with her just felt natural and right—it doesn’t mean I want her back. It doesn’t mean she wants me back. It just means we’ve now walked a pretty intense path together, and it turns out there’s a natural intimacy that comes from that.
“Yeah,” she says, and she gives me a quiet smile. “The sofa is surprisingly comfortable to sleep on.”
“Do you have plans today?”
“No?”
I was about to suggest we try the bikes again, maybe pack a picnic and go for a longer ride, but Isabel and I were always moving. She likes to be active, but it’s almost a compulsion for her sometimes, and it’s difficult for her to just stop and relax. I guess I’m the same, although my frenetic activity is usually work, not exercise. But today, all I want to do is to be in the moment with her.
“Can I organize a surprise for you?” I ask her, and she raises her eyebrows at me.
“You’ve been surprising me all weekend, so I guess that would be fitting,” she says, with a carefree laugh.
I can’t remember the last time I saw her laugh like that, and I feel an odd twinge in the vicinity of my chest as I recognize that the easygoing version of the Isabel still exists. I shake the sensation off and force myself to smile at her.
“Give me an hour?” I ask.
“How should I dress?”
“Do you have a swimsuit?”
“I think there’s one in the closet...”
“And a book?”
“I have many very heavy, unfinished books in this house,” she says wryly, but then she quirks an eyebrow. “What exactly are you thinking?”
I wink at her, then take my coffee back toward the stairs, tossing over my shoulder, “See you in an hour.”
Jess: Throw me a freaking bone, Paul. Are you two okay out there?
Marcus: Hey there, buddy. Just checking in.
Jake: Have you heard of the John Muir Trail? Was thinking of hiking it at the start of July. Would take about three weeks. You in?
My phone is still on Do Not Disturb, but the lock screen is full of emails and text messages. I unlock it and quickly clear the email notifications, then bash out some replies to the texts.
Jess, the punishment you face for meddling is that I’m not going to tell you how successful or unsuccessful your meddling has been.
Hi, Marcus. We’ve talked a lot and sorted some shit out. No need for that shark-infested moat after all, I think we might actually emerge from this weekend on friendly terms again.
Hey, Jake. Let me know the details and dates and I’ll check my schedule tomorrow when I’m back in the office. I’ll call you during the week, I’ve had the most amazing weekend.
I spend the next half hour making calls to some local vendors, then I slide the cell into a backpack so I can bring it along. I don’t intend to actually use it, but I also don’t want to be without it in case anything goes awry during the adventure I have planned for the day.
When I return downstairs, Isabel is stretched out on the sofa again, this time, reading a biography. Her hair is damp and hanging loose over the armrest, already coiling up into the ringlets. She’s not wearing any makeup. I can see the strap of her red halter-neck bikini around her neck, but the rest of it is covered by the loose T-shirt and yoga pants she’s wearing over top. She looks relaxed, happy and calm and she has never, ever been more beautiful to me.
God, I wish I could tell her.
I have to pause and draw in a breath, and forcibly remind myself that she is just a friend. Friends might hang out and spend the day together, but they don’t go around gushing to one another about how beautiful they are. Once upon a time, I’d feel an urge like this and it would be instinct to hold the words in—to let my fear hold me back, worried that I’d fumble the delivery or misread how she’d react.
It’s curious how hard it is not to say those words to her right now. It would almost be easier to just let them out.
Now, though, I hold the words in because we have only just defused the tension in our relationship, and I can’t risk confusing things all over again.
“Ready?” I ask her.
Isabel looks up over the book and as her gaze skims over my body—from my flip-flops to the cap I’ve pulled on—she suddenly bursts out laughing. I raise an eyebrow at her, but her laughter bubbles up further, and I glance down my body, wondering what I’ve done to amuse her so.
“Paul Winton,” she says, when she can draw breath. “Two days ago you and I hated one another with a passion, but you were still wearing your wedding ring and you told me you couldn’t break the habit of wearing it. Today, we’re three days from our divorce, getting along better than we have in years, and you’ve finally taken it off. What gives?”
I look down at my left hand in surprise. Sure enough, I’ve left the ring upstairs on the basin after my shower. That’s not even as surprising as the fact that I have no urge whatsoever to run back upstairs to retrieve it.
“I don’t have to cling to it anymore.” I stare at my bare finger. “I can let go of what was now, because I understand what went wrong, and I know we can make a way forward as friends again.”
Isabel’s laughter fades to a sad smile. She stands and crosses the room, then throws her arms around my waist.
“I feel so good today,” she murmurs.
Yes. You do. Especially when you’re pressed up against me like that.
I plant a gentle, innocent kiss against her hair, then step back, putting some safe distance between our bodies. Will I ever lose the urge to kiss her? Or get past the shock of attraction that hits me when she’s in my arms? Will I ever train myself not to notice little details about her—like right now, when all I can think about is that she’s wearing perfume today; the citrus one she usually wears for workdays.
“What’s on the agenda today, friend?” she asks me with a smile as she rocks back onto her heels.
“We’re going to do something we’ve never done before, at least not together,” I say. She raises her eyebrows at me, and I extend my elbow for her to take it.
“This is intriguing,” she says as we head toward the front door. “But you have to give me some more information. I mean, what haven’t we done before together? Skydiving? Cross-country skiing? Joining a pie-eating competition?”
“Actually, Isabel, we’re going to do something far more radical than all of that.”
“Oh, this is exciting! What exactly do you have in store for me?”
“Well, friend...” I smile, as I push open the front door “...today, you and I are going to be still.”