Last week, a mysterious package arrived, and it was a brass charm bracelet. On the bracelet were three charms—a paintbrush, a bridge, and a heart. Only one person would know how much each of these things means to me. My heart pounds in my chest as I finger the delicate individual charms. I’ve been waiting for this moment for eighty-nine days.
Yesterday was the longest. My morning shift at the retreat, followed by a shift at Mocha Jean’s, went by astronomically slowly. When I got done at the cafe, I walked over to one of the boutiques on Main Street to pick out an outfit. I thumb the silky material of my forest-green blouse. I tucked it into a pleated midi skirt and paired them with black flats. I’m wearing my hair down but pulled off to one side, as well as red lipstick. I’m feeling good and put together. This is our first date, after all.
“Ma’am, would you like some wine while you wait?” the server asks, his face sympathetic.
I shake my head no. “He’ll be here soon. I’ll wait.” I give him a polite smile.
“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind.” He walks away, and I can tell he thinks I’m being stood up. Sebastian would never stand me up. Not intentionally.
I check my watch. 7:12 p.m. He’s only twelve minutes late. That’s nothing. I check my phone just in case. No texts or missed calls—not that he would call or text. We never exchanged numbers, to make it impossible to see each other. It helped on those warm, lonely nights when I was tempted to call him and beg him to come over. Instead, I would sit down and write him letters instead. Handwritten letters are so underrated. I’m glad we have tangible, physical letters documenting these last three months. It’s very romantic.
The bell chimes on the front door, and I cease to breathe as Sebastian’s figure walks in, his eyes frantic, searching, excited. He spots me and visibly relaxes, a large smile forming on his perfect lips. He runs—literally, runs—over to me. I feel my body stand, the napkin on my lap dropping, the table settings clanking as my thigh hits the edge of the table. I don’t care about any of that. I see him. He’s here. He’s finally here.
I feel my legs run to him, and in one motion, our bodies collide. He scoops me up and spins me around, his lips brushing mine, the room spinning all around us, and then, the sound of clapping from various restaurant patrons. He sets me down, never unlocking his lips from mine, and I feel lightheaded from the rush of blood to my head. When he pulls away, his eyes are wet with tears.
“Mi amor,” he breathes. “Let’s never go eighty-nine days without seeing each other again. Okay?”
I nod furiously. “That sounds like a good plan.” We walk back to our table, hand in hand, and he pulls my chair out for me. “You look stunning,” he whispers into my ear before sitting down opposite of me.
“So…” I say, wringing my hands. “How have you been?” I notice I’m shaking slightly, so I place my hands on the table and will them to calm down.
He smiles back, and then he reaches out and takes my hands in his. “I’ve been good. You have no idea how great it is to see you.”
“I missed you,” I blurt out. He laughs, and I take in his appearance. He’s wearing a navy button-up shirt and tan khakis, with brown dress boots. His hair is still short, but his beard has grown out a bit. The scruff suits him. He’s put on some muscle. He looks sturdy and healthy.
“I missed you too,” he says, his voice soft. “I wanted to wait until we were in person, but I start my first semester at Marlboro College next week. I’m going to finish up my Bachelor’s in Liberal Studies with a concentration in art and hopefully get my credential to teach at one of the local high schools.” He’s beaming, and I can tell he’s been waiting to tell me for weeks.
“That’s incredible!” I exclaim, squeezing his hand. “It sounds like life has been treating you well,” I add, my whole body overcome with sentiment and exhilaration. I can’t stop smiling.
He looks down at our hands. “Well, I had plenty of motivation to get my life on track.”
“And the… depression? How’s it going?” I whisper, wanting an answer to my number-one question.
“The doctor rearranged my medication, and I feel… normal. Like myself. My circumstances helped a lot, too. Just like you said. I had an outpouring of love from my parents, from Emma and Jeb, and from you. It saw me through my darkest times, and I finally feel like I’m emerging on the other side.”
“That’s wonderful,” I gush.
He studies me seriously for a second, his mouth opening and closing. Finally, he speaks. “The hardest part was being away from you.”
I nod. “I know. But you needed that time for yourself. Those three months I had with my parents, away from Charlie, away from everyone… I found myself again. I wanted you to heal on neutral ground, without distractions. You have to learn to love yourself before you can love another.”
He smiles and squeezes my hand again. “I had about two-thousand hours of time to think.”
I smirk. “Oh yeah? What about?”
“I agree with your last letter. I think we should take it slow.”
“Great.” I think back to my last letter to him. I’d mentioned taking things slowly—no rushing into anything. This isn’t a race. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“Well, the problem with that is, as much as I want to take it slow, I’ve been cooped up for three months, thinking about you. It doesn’t help that I have that erotic painting of you hanging in my bedroom.”
I gasp. “You do not! Are you serious? What if someone sees?”
He chuckles. “I don’t give a damn if anyone sees it. My point is… I might not be able to control myself.” His eyes darken, and he thumbs the skin on the palm of my hand, his intentions clear.
I watch him before responding. The Sebastian in my dream was very forward, unafraid of his sexuality. It makes sense that the real Sebastian is the same way. He is a man, and we did have an incredible night in his room, even though it was cut short. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, and to be honest, I’m not sure if I have enough willpower to withstand the way he’s looking at me right now.
“Well, I’m a lady, and I don’t sleep with men on the first date.” I raise my eyebrows, and he laughs, his smile tranquil and light. He looks so incredibly handsome.
“I thought the night I painted you was our first date?” he asks, his voice hopeful.
“This is our first official date.” I smirk, and his face falls.
“I’ll wear you down. You’ll see.” His voice is tinged with the kind of confidence only someone as good-looking as him can possess.
“You won’t. I have standards.” I don’t bring up the fact that I can feel them crumbling, second by second, as he sits before me, eyeing me like a prize he just won. I take a sip of water to cool down. Just then, the server comes over and takes our orders. I point to the mussels as an appetizer, and the house-made gnocchi as an entrée. Sebastian scrunches his eyebrows together as he studies the menu.
“Pardon me,” he says, setting it down. “I was distracted by my beautiful date here, and I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu. I’ll have what she’s having.”
I blush, and the server scrawls something into his pad. “Very well. And to drink?”
“Bring us the nicest bottle of Champagne you have,” Sebastian says.
I immediately protest. “No, that’s crazy, you can’t—”
“I can,” he says, reassuring me. He winks at the server. “We’re celebrating.”
The server nods and walks away.
“What are we celebrating?” I ask, reaching out to grab his hands.
“Life,” he says simply. Anyone else might find that line cheesy, but to me, that one word is everything.
*
I’m really testing my self-control as we walk out of the restaurant, and Sebastian places his warm hand on the small of my back, igniting my whole body. I bite my lip and take a deep breath. This is where it has to end tonight. This is where I’d planned on saying goodbye for the night
. Even though we had an incredible dinner, and we laughed and talked like old friends, we really should take it slow.
Sebastian leans in, and for a second I think he’s going to say goodnight. Instead, his hand slides lower and cups my ass. “So, do you want to come back with me, or do you want to delay the inevitable?”
I can barely breathe. “What’s the inevitable?” I whisper back, my eyes locked on his lips and the way he licks them.
“I need to finish painting your hands and feet.” Damn. I was almost in the clear, but then he had to go and mention his incredible artistic abilities. “You’re not going to deny me art, are you?”
“That would be cruel.” I give him a wicked smile, and that does it—he grabs my hand and pulls me quickly towards his black Jeep. Ah, the beloved Jeep. “Isn’t it weird that this exact Jeep was in my dream?” I ask as he opens my door. He stands next to the door and watches me, stroking his chin.
“Hmm, it is pretty uncanny. Dreams are strange, though. Sometimes, they tell us the truth we need to hear.”
I furrow my brows. “Yeah, but how did my brain know you drove a black Jeep?”
“Do you believe in alternate universes?” he counters, leaning in really close. “It’s like The Matrix,” he jokes, kissing me on the nose.
“I’m serious! It’s kind of a romantic story, and it led us to here, but did you ever stop and wonder why and how?”
“The universe works in mysterious ways, Marlin. I believe in alternate universes. In fact, I think every single decision made creates a counter universe. For example, today I had a ham sandwich and decided to put mayo on the bread instead of my usual mustard. But perhaps a version of myself is out there—the one who put mustard on my sandwich. It’s probably very similar to the life I’m living right this very second, except for the fact that I had mayo instead of mustard. Then you have the bigger decisions, like where to go to college, and you have the life like you dreamt.”
I look down at my heels. “Yeah, that makes sense. Different universes, different…” I trail off, searching for the right word.
“Realms,” Sebastian finishes for me.
I smile. “Exactly. My dream was just one of many realms. And they’re all the realm of you.”
“Very poetic,” Sebastian declares, laughing. He closes my door and goes around to the driver’s side. It’s strange how this feels so much like the dream—even the smell of the leather seats is exactly how I remembered. I decide not to dwell on the peculiar way we came together and, instead, focus on how well Sebastian seems to be doing.
He starts the car and begins the ten-minute drive to his house. I’m not even nervous anymore. Over dinner, we fell into some sort of comfortable rhythm, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing about the same things. Getting to know him via written letters helped too, so now, instead of being nervous, I feel like myself. I feel like I’m finally in the right place, with the right person.
“I love you,” Sebastian utters, and I turn to face him. He’s only ever said it to me in person the night he painted me, and even then, it wasn’t those three magical words. It was I’m falling in love with you. Which is just as special, but those three words are so domestic, everyday, yet new. I’m startled by how right all of this feels.
“I love you, too.”
So much for taking things slow.
He takes my hand and squeezes it. I look at him and ask the question I’ve been dying to ask someone—but afraid of the answer—just as he pulls into the driveway and parks the Jeep.
“Is the type of love that results from two broken people weaker or worse off than regular love?”
“What is regular love?”
“I guess it’s when two whole, complete, happy people come together. You know... making a good thing better. Six months ago, we were both so broken. I’m not saying that we’re rushing into anything, but do you think our love is normal?”
Sebastian looks at me thoughtfully. He reaches out and traces his finger across my jaw, never breaking eye contact. “Our love is stronger. More resilient. Happy people who fall in love learn to take that love for granted over time. We’ll never do that, because we’ll always remember what it was like to walk through the hellish battlefield alone. It’s always better with you, and our love is more potent because of it.”
His words strike a chord with me, and before the tears fall out of my eyes, I lean over and kiss him gently on the lips.
“I can’t believe you convinced me to come home with you,” I mutter, my mouth on his. Our breath mixes, and I catch a whiff of his peppermint deodorant.
“I knew I’d win,” he answers, pulling away and opening his door. “I waited three months for you. I wasn’t going to let you get away tonight.” His eyes narrow, and he looks at me that way again.
My legs turn to Jell-O as I meet his gaze, and my stomach clenches in anticipation. I get out of the Jeep, and we walk to the front door together, not saying a word. He unlocks it and turns to face me before we walk in.
“Are you sure?” he asks, eyeing me like I’m a delicacy. I can tell he really doesn’t want me to say no. I’m not sure I could say no. “You know… your standards and everything,” he clarifies.
“Screw my standards.” I push him against the door, my lips urgent against his. “We’re not normal anyways,” I say, biting his lip.
“Thank fucking god,” he whispers, pulling me inside and closing the door behind me.
Epilogue
THREE years later
“Honey, which piece should we hang above the bed?” I ask, tugging on my ear and studying the various paintings lining the wall of our new bedroom. “I don’t think the red poppy one would go very well with the blue chair.”
Sebastian walks in and stands next to me. For new homeowners, we haven’t spent too much time analyzing color schemes and types of wood, but for some reason, the painting that hangs over the bed seems like an insurmountable task. It doesn’t help that all of Sebastian’s pieces are phenomenal. It’s hard to choose just one.
“I have a couple of other pieces in the dining room,” he confirms, nodding. “Yeah. Maybe one of those.” He walks out, and I’m left staring at the blank wall again.
When he returns, he’s carrying two canvases—one small, twenty inches by twenty-four inches. The other is quite large—at least forty-eight inches wide. When he turns them around, I gasp at the large one.
“Wait, I’ve never seen this one before,” I breathe, walking over to it. It’s exquisite. Yellows, reds, and oranges are exploding all around each other. It’s violent yet peaceful, calm yet furious. The thick globs of paint are mesmerizing. The painting itself isn’t of anything—it’s just paint splashed around, the yellows blending into the reds and oranges, forming a swirling mass of paint. “I’ve seen all of your work; how come I haven’t seen this one?”
“It’s the one I painted the day after I met you.”
I stare at him. “Wait... the first one you painted after your incident?” I think back to that day and how Darcy suggested I work solely with Sebastian; he’d painted for the first time in three months. I look back at the beautiful painting, and I feel my eyes swell with tears. “It’s perfect,” I say, my voice quiet.
He walks over to me and wraps his arms around my waist. “It says a lot about how you made me feel that day,” he explains, and we both look at the piece together. “It’s like you caused an explosion of colors in my heart.”
“You’re so cheesy,” I laugh, twisting around and draping my arms around his neck. “But I love it.”
“I’m happy,” he says, nuzzling his nose with mine.
We’ve made a habit out of telling each other that we’re happy. Most people might find it odd, but it’s always reassuring with him. Ever since our first date, things have been smooth sailing. I think life decided to even things out for us. We had so many imperfect years before we met each other, but once we got together, everything clicked into place.
I never believed in fate
before Sebastian. I thought it was a romantic, irrational notion, and I staunchly believed in being the captain of your own life. In certain aspects, I still believe that a little bit. But for the most part, I know now that whatever brought me to Sebastian was fate. We’re living it. We might’ve been seven years behind, and we might’ve had to go through hell and back before getting here, but it was all worth it in the end.
“I’m happy, too,” I say, kissing him softly.
Love isn’t about loving a perfect person. No one is perfect. Everyone has flaws. You can fall in love with the flaws. You can love every atom in their body.
*
Later that night, as our tired bodies crawl into our new bed in our new bedroom, I sidle up next to Sebastian underneath the covers. Vermont is experiencing a freak September heat wave, and we really don’t need a blanket tonight, but I like being under the covers with him. I feel him wrap his strong legs around mine, cocooning me in. He reaches around with one arm and holds my hand. He thumbs my ring finger and brings his lips to my ear.
“Are you in the mood?” His words are gentle, and they send a shiver down my spine. “King Henry is tired, but he might be up for some fun.” He reaches around and trails his hand down the side of my body.
I giggle. “In the morning. You’re exhausted.”
“Mmm.” He scoots closer. “Hey, you never told me why you wanted to name it King Henry,” he whispers, his voice curious.
“That’s what you called it in my dream.” I shrug. “I don’t know. That memory is lost, but I liked the idea of continuing the tradition.”
He chuckles. I think he’s fallen asleep, but after a few minutes, he speaks again. “We should get married soon.”
I swat his hand away. “Not until the house is finished.” I’m smiling, though. “Plus, you always ask me when you’re half asleep.”
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 21