And then I’d brought her out onto the patio, and she’d looked ethereal, the sun pouring over her like it followed her wherever she traveled.
Never had the sun seemed brighter than when she was standing under it. Which was partly why I’d poured all of myself out to her the way I had, telling her all the things I didn’t tell anyone—not even Sam. And it wasn’t that I trusted Mila more than him, but it was that Mila knew what I’d gone through, and she was going through it herself.
She’d been so willing to listen to me, so inviting—and telling her all the things I’d been wanting to talk about for so long had felt like an unburdening of weight I’d unknowingly carried.
I rubbed my thumb over my ring as I waited outside of her hotel.
Ultimately, I’d decided not to cancel for the pure fact that the excitement I was allowing myself to feel around Mila was addicting. Touching her face had branded longing on my bones, another thing I’d missed.
I heard laughter and knew it to be hers, just as the door to the hotel opened and she stepped out. Stepped didn’t accurately describe the way she left though—it was musical, like she danced out of the door. Her dress was long, with fluttery sleeves and colored dark brown with large, pale blue flowers all over it. Its sides were open in the front, revealing tanned, smooth skin to her knees.
I had to remind myself to stop staring at her legs.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, too focused on smiling at the person who was still talking to her as she left. I couldn’t even look at them though, not with her standing there, the sunlight backlighting her. She had an energy that I couldn’t explain, something that warmed me even from a dozen feet away.
When she turned her head, her long hair spilled over her shoulder, and she saw me just as she pushed the hair from her face and revealed the long column of her throat.
I had to remind myself not to swallow my tongue.
“Ames,” she said, the smile still brilliant on her face. I remembered the moment she’d tumbled in my pub, and the thought I’d had. That someone that happy, that bright, could never have touched sadness in her life. But here she was, grieving, but still happy.
It perplexed and intrigued me.
“Mila.” I swallowed. “Ready to go?” I hoped my voice didn’t betray how fucking tongue-tied she was making me feel.
“Yes.” She waved bye to the person holding the door and then started down the street toward me, with that same skip in her step.
“Are you dancing?” I asked her.
Her eyes were bright—so damn bright. She grinned. “Yes. I haven’t been dancing in a while—I mostly do solo dance. But I’m tickled you noticed.”
It was hard not to notice. “You should go to Lotte’s studio. I mean, if you wanted to. She’d like that. You could practice there, or whatever it is you do.”
She laughed and shook her hair from her face. “’Whatever it is you do’? I dance. Obviously, Lotte does too. And thanks. I’ll check it out.”
She looked at me expectantly, and I was still so mesmerized by the image of her in a dress, all highlighted by the sun, that I hadn’t moved from my spot.
“Oh, come on Ames. It’s just a dress.”
But it wasn’t the dress. It was her.
Nevertheless, I led the way to Sam’s house and asked myself what I was doing.
The taxi dropped us off a few streets away, at Sam’s family home. It was one in a row of homes, stacked one after the other, identical in exterior.
“Sam lives here?” she asked, looking up at its three stories as she held onto the railing.
“His family does, so he does too.” I rang the bell, but I didn’t need to. Sam’s mum had long insisted I was family, had ushered me in when it’d been just me, following Sam home like a lost puppy. And then later, in secondary school, with Mal on my arm. And then after, she’d been the one on my doorstep, forcing me to take food so that Lotte wouldn’t have to cook again as everyone around her grieved the same losses she grieved with more fortitude than Asher and I had.
The door flew open and Sam stood on the threshold, his hair slicked back and his clothing pressed. “Who are you?” I asked him good-naturedly as he stood back and ushered us in.
“Mum wanted me to look nice for guests.” He closed the door behind us and Mila looked all around, taking in the narrow corridor and the frames that filled the walls. “Not sure who she thinks the guests are—certainly not you. And since we saved Mila,” he winked at her, “from falling over the bridge, I wouldn’t call her merely a guest either.”
“Oh, because you’re my hero?” she smiled at him, but the smile was different than the one she’d given me. And that made me feel a little bit better about just how wide that smile was.
“Exactly. Glad we’re on the same page.” He led us through the door into the kitchen, where his mum was. She’d secured her dark, blonde hair into a bun, but a hundred tendrils had escaped it, framing her face in tight ringlets.
“The kettle isn’t working, Samson. Please go and have a look at it?” When I stepped from behind Sam, she pushed past him toward me. “Oh, Ames! So good to see you!” She wrapped me in a hug that I gladly returned, and then she stepped back and looked at Mila. “Oh, my, aren’t you a pretty thing?”
“Oh. That’s so nice of you to say.” Pink tinged Mila’s cheeks and she put her hand out. “Hi. I’m Mila.”
Sam’s mum clasped her hand. “I’m Bronwen. Lovely to meet you.” She looked at me. “You did good on this one.”
“Oh,” Mila said. “We’re just friends.” She looked sideways at me, a glint in her eye. “He’s promised me that this is not a date.”
Bronwen’s eyes narrowed on me and she shook her head. “Did he? Unfortunate that such good looks were wasted on a lad so daft, isn’t it?”
Mila laughed, and I felt my neck grow warm with the way they both were looking at me. “He is rather nice to look at,” Mila agreed, tilting her head to the side.
“Want a lager, Ames?”
“Absolutely,” I said, grateful for the reprieve.
“Mila, some wine?” Sam asked her.
Looking at me, she said, “I’ll take a lager.” There was a slight twitch to her lips, and I had to tear my eyes away from her to follow Sam.
“Surprised you brought her,” Sam said as he popped the tops on our beers and looked at me over the top of his.
“You were all but shoving her into my lap at the pub the last time you were there.”
“Because I can tell—she gets under your skin. Got to get that out.”
I gave him a look. “Unlike you, I’m not keen on shagging my way through everyone who walks into the pub.”
“Of course not. But she’s not just everyone.” He leaned on the counter and pointed at me with the beer in his hand. “And you know I’m right.”
I looked to the hall, where Bronwen was introducing Mila to Sam’s many siblings. “I told her about Mal.”
“Oh?” Sam brought the bottle to his lips and looked to the hallway.
“I told her about how she died.”
Sam paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “That’s interesting.”
“I know.” I sighed and rubbed a hand over my mouth. “She gets it. She knows what it’s like. That’s the bugger of it. It’s not like I’m talking to just anyone about it.”
“Mm-hm.” He took a large glug of his lager and then set it down. “You like her, then?”
“What’s not to like? She’s pretty.”
“Don’t fuck around, Ames. You’re not one to chase pretty things.”
“Well, I’m not chasing her.”
“No. You’re bringing her to my family dinners. Which is no insignificant thing.”
“You’re a real pain in the arse, sometimes. You know that?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s good to see you, and with her no less. Even if it’s nothing, it’s good to see you out of that pub for a change. I can’t remember the last time that’s happened.”
“Boys, set the table please,” Bronwen said, poking her head around the corner just as a tiny thing, with blonde corkscrew curls ran into the kitchen and launched herself at Sam. He snapped her up just before she ran headfirst into the cabinet and propped her up on his hip.
“Uncle Sam, look at my new tattoo,” she said, yanking up her sleeve and revealing the misshapen heart she’d drawn on the inside of her elbow.
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Sam traced it with his finger and then tilted his head toward me. “Do it yourself?” She nodded. “No surprise there. You remember Ames, don’t you, Jodie?”
“Hi!” she said with her two front teeth missing.
I realized then how long it’d been since I’d last had dinner with Sam’s family. The Jodie I remembered had played with scissors and cut off nearly all of her hair. Now, it was halfway down her back. “Hey, Jodie. You’ve gotten big.”
She rolled her eyes in a dramatic way. “That’s what everyone says.” She wiggled out of Sam’s arms and ran toward the dining room.
“Here,” Sam said, pushing plates into my hands.
“She’s grown up a lot,” I said, looking at Jodie who was playing hide and seek in the dining room.
“Yeah, that’s what happens, mate. People keep growing.” He clapped me on the back and pushed me toward the dining room to set the table.
Mila was already seated, talking animatedly with Lotte and Sam’s sister, Eliza, who was nodding and practically vibrating in her seat.
“Hey, Lots.” Sam rubbed a hand over her hair, tousling it in all directions as she gave him a scowl. “Glad you could join us for dinner.”
“Thanks for the non-invite,” she shot back at Sam.
“Eliza, I thought we agreed not to let twits into our home.”
Bronwen came up behind him and slapped him across the back with her towel. “Don’t be a git, Samson. We’re always happy to have you, Lotte dear.” She gave her a warm smile and then turned to Sam with an eyebrow raised. “Besides, if we stopped inviting twits, that would mean you were out then, wouldn’t it?”
Sam laughed and set down the last glass on the long table. “Touché, Mum.”
But Lotte looked more than a little offended by the remark, and internally, I sighed. I knew Lotte had a crush on Sam, but I’d hoped she’d mostly outgrown it.
“Lotte was telling me about her studio,” Mila said, and looked over her shoulder at me. “Ames said I might like to go.”
“Yes! She’s coming on Tuesday morning. You should come, Eliza.”
Eliza, who looked like a female version of Sam, shook her head and laughed. “Oh, no, I’m afraid I’d be terrible at it. Remember my wedding?” She looked sheepishly around the room as everyone laughed and nodded, remembering how she’d broken her own brand-new husband’s toe during one particularly memorable dance. “I’ll stick to what I know best.” She leaned back in her chair and patted her rounded belly.
“Eating your weight in fish and chips?” Sam teased, and narrowly dodged another swat from his mum. Sam gave his mother a smile that I imagine charmed her, or at least at some point had charmed many girls. But his mother appeared to be immune.
“That’s your job. If I even get a whiff of fish, I spew, everywhere.” She made a disgusted face and looked at Lotte. “It’s a good thing babies are so cute, because they’re a bitch to make.”
“Poor Richard. Best not tell him he’s so miserable in the sack.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes at her brother. “Keep it up, Sam. I’ll break your nose like I did seven years ago. And then you’ll have to actually have a personality in order to catch a date.”
“I’ve got personality in spades. Right Mila?” He winked at her, and something about it set my teeth.
All of us turned to Mila, who looked uncomfortable by the attention. Even Lotte looked at her more intensely than she initially had. “Um…”
I stepped up behind her and placed my hand on Mila’s shoulder. “If you did, she’d be here as your date then, wouldn’t she?”
“Ooooh,” Eliza said gleefully, rubbing her hands together. “He’s got a point, Sammie-whammy.”
Sam didn’t look like his pride suffered even a little, which appeased me for the moment. Because if he had, I’d have known that he was interested in Mila. And though I wasn’t staking my claim to her like some caveman, I didn’t want him to stake his.
“Dinner’s ready, everyone!” Bronwen called. The thunder of a half dozen feet on the stairs made the frames on the walls shake, just as a handful of kids—Eliza’s little army—burst into the room. Even the youngest had graduated from hammy thighs to toddler legs in my absence. It made me feel a little bit ashamed to have missed so much, especially because Sam’s house had been as much—if not more so—of a fixture in my life than my own.
Chapter Eight
I was quiet at first, on the way back to my hotel. I’d insisted Ames and I walk instead of taking a taxi, mostly because I knew it was close but also because I wanted a little bit more time with him to myself.
“You called me your date.”
Ames looked at me surprised. “I did?”
Nodding, I rubbed my hands together to warm them. “Well, you didn’t say that exactly. But you said that if Sam had a better personality, I would’ve been there as his date. Which implies I was there as yours, right?”
He tried not to smile, so I gave him a knowing look and shrugged. “Remember. I don’t kiss until the third date.”
“I never said I was going to kiss you.”
Giving him a smile, I said, “You don’t have to say it, but I think you want to.”
He stopped walking, so I did too. We were three feet apart, neither of us moving toward or away from each other.
“What makes you think that I want to?” he asked, his eyes sliding over my mouth.
“Because you keep looking at my lips,” I replied as quietly as I could. And just to make my point clear I looked directly at his lips before lifting my eyes to his. "All through the dinner, you stared at my lips. But the first time I noticed was at Postman's Park.”
“Which was why you ran away.”
I nodded.
“And you were afraid of being kissed by a married man.” It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway.
“I don’t want to be that girl again. I don’t want to hurt someone, and I don’t want to be hurt myself.”
"What girl is that?"
“A girl that steals someone else’s man. Been there, done that, and I don’t want to travel down that path again.”
"Was that your boyfriend that died?"
"Yes." I rubbed my hands together, realizing that a simple statement that had thrown him off, had turned into a conversation that was now throwing me off. "When I met him, I didn't know he had a girlfriend at first. And he didn't make it clear to me that he was taken, and by the time I realized the strength of my feelings for him, I found out the truth and still, I continued." I waited for him to look at me with judgment in his eyes, or maybe even a little fear, realizing that I wasn't the person he probably thought I was. But he just looked at me thoughtfully and took one step closer.
"Are you haunted by that decision?"
"I don't know how I can’t be."
He nodded slowly and looked at the ground. “That’s very interesting. Because it appears that you are the one who hurt the most.”
"I don't think so."
“What happened to the other girl? Was she upset at realizing what you’d done? Because do you think she’d have preferred to be with a man who could do that to her?"
I rubbed my hand across my forehead.
“I haven't really thought to ask," I said. “She's dating my brother and she seems happy."
He took another step closer to me. "And what about you? Are you happy?"
"I am always happy." I licked my lips as I thought of how to explain it. "And am I grieving the loss of my boyfriend? Of course I am. But, I don't have to be sad all of the time. He left me, not wil
lingly. So, if I was sad about that then I feel like that would be rather selfish. I have made a lot of selfish decisions, and that's not who I want to be."
He seemed to digest what I was saying. His head was bent toward the ground and he was nodding slowly. He raised his head looked at me and said, "I envy you."
I almost had asked him why but at the last minute I chickened out. And then I felt the first drop of rain on my shoulder. It was dark now, with streetlamps lighting up, and headlights passing us by, so the only light between us was artificial, with harsh shadows.
But I could make out faint droplets of rain that were increasing in speed along the ground between us. I looked up at him with a smile on my face. "Does it always rain here?"
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Unfortunately? I love the rain." I tilted my head back to the sky, letting the rain wash over me. My hair was going to look insane and I was sure that my makeup would smear all over the place. But that was okay with me. It was raining, and it felt so good to be on a dark street in London with the rain washing over me. A window above us opened and music poured out. I recognized the song as being something from the sixties, only because it was the record my parents played the most when I was a toddler learning to walk along to the beat of the song.
"Isn't this lovely?" I asked. I didn't look at him though, my face was still turned up toward the sky. And the music got louder, as if the owner of the stereo knew I needed to hear the beat of a song from my childhood while on the street with a man I didn't know well, but a man I was learning to like. "This is a perfect moment. It's just everything I didn't know I needed."
The rain came harder but it didn't hurt when it hit my skin. It was almost as if the rain here was softer than it was back home, which I knew sounded crazy. But it felt real to me. I opened my eyes and saw that he was watching me carefully. "What are you thinking?" I asked him.
"I'm thinking you are a little bit mad, just like I predicted when we met."
The Weight of Life Page 7