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My mind is a mess on the drive but once I get into the crowd with music filling my ears and the drums rattling my chest, everything fades away. This is exactly what I need. We stay in a nearby hotel and exhaustion has me passing out the second my head hits the pillow every night.
It isn’t until the third evening that thoughts of Arlow drill their way through the wall of avoidance I constructed. The last band plays, and the soulful sound of the singer’s voice brings tears to my eyes. Stars shine overhead and all I can think is that Arlow would love this.
I make my way out of the crowd and wind through the blankets and chairs scattered over the back lawn section until I find a quiet spot. Tomorrow is our last day and then it’s time to return to reality.
The reality is that I’m falling for a man who simply doesn’t feel the same way about me. I know he enjoys spending time with me, and our chemistry is undeniable, but he doesn’t want anything more. Whether it’s the ex, a fear of commitment in general, or that I’m just not the one for him, his reasons don’t matter. The outcome is the same. So is the decision I need to make.
The truth is I’m not sure I can be his friend. Not right now. It’s not that he followed me in the woods or that I don’t trust him. I feel too much. His regret over kissing me stung. His regret over our passionate night of mind-blowing sex is devastating. The morning after, I tried to tell myself that even if it was a one time thing, I’d be okay with it, but now I don’t know if I can be.
“Hey girl.” Freya’s aunt Helen sits down beside me in the grass. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just needed a break.”
“You look like you’re going to burst into tears. What happened? Did somebody mess with you?”
“No, nothing happened.”
Helen is one of the most interesting people I know. She was a psychiatrist for over twenty-five years. A self-described hippie, she has always made time for concerts and festivals. After retiring in her fifties, she decided she was going to do the thing she loved most, watching her favorite bands. She’s laidback and such an easy person to talk to that when she tilts her head to look at me, the words spill out. “I’m falling in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”
Her face softens and she nods, pulling a tissue out of her bag to hand to me when a tear leaks out. “I’m sorry.”
“Happens all the time, right?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light as if that might change things. “So why does it feel like the world is ending?”
“Because love is a world all its own and the end of any world is tragic. Do you want to tell me about him?”
For the next ten minutes, I let it all pour out. Meeting Arlow, spending all our nights together, how I fell in love with nature along with him. I tell her he’s an artist, and even about the drawings he did of me, how he followed me, but not about his identity. Helen is a smart empathetic woman who counseled people and couples for most of her life. If I want her genuine opinion or input, she needs to know as much as I can tell her.
“An artist,” she says with a nostalgic smile. “No wonder he has you in knots. The creative types are always a challenge. They worship love like no other, but they live in their heads and it’s not always a good place to be.”
“I’ve never met anyone like him. Kind and gentle but with this rugged masculinity that’s irresistible. There’s this silent stillness in him that’s so calming.” My mind flashes back to him thrusting into me, his hands biting into my hips. “And it’s the best sex I’ve ever had, oh my god,” I exclaim, letting my head fall back with a laugh. Just getting it all off my chest has made me feel better.
Helen chuckles and pulls her jacket around her tighter. “In my experience, the calm kind-hearted guys are wild in the bedroom and savagely protective if you’re in danger. Quiet hearts are soaked in love, and the passion that comes from them can be addictive.”
“You sound like you had your own artist.”
A fond smile accompanies her nod. “The first man I loved was a painter. The last was a musician. None of the men between could even come close.”
“I’m not sure what to do. He’s been honest with me from the first time I kissed him that he doesn’t want to be with me, but then we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other. Is it even possible to be friends at this point? I want to think that I can set stricter boundaries and not lose him completely, but I don’t know. Tonight, I miss the fuck out of him.”
Helen rubs my shoulder. “I can’t tell you what to do, but if you want my advice, I think you need some space. It’s only been a couple of days. Do you have to go home tomorrow? Are there responsibilities you need to get back to?”
“I suppose not.”
“Don’t go back because you miss him. Give yourself a little time and get some perspective. We’re going to be traveling for the next couple of weeks, hitting the last of the festivals and a few concerts. Stick with us.”
There’s no job I need to return to and no reason not to go with them. No reason other than how badly I want to see Arlow. But then what? Try not to want him the way I do?
“Do you think a platonic friendship is possible when one person feels more?”
Helen considers it. “Feels more? Maybe. Love is a different monster.”
We stand up as our friends approach us. “Thanks for the talk. I’d love to hear about your artist and musician sometime.”
“Stick with us and I might even give you the details.” She grins at me. “And they are scorching. My musician was a master with his instrument.”
“What are you two laughing about?” Leo asks.
“Musician dick,” Helen says, and both of us crack up.
