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‘I didn’t believe you,’ I say. What I mean isI didn’t want to hope.
‘I know,’ he murmurs, a crease deepening between his brows. ‘And I didn’t help things with how bad I’ve been at staying in contact. I just…’
‘Finn, it’s fine. I get it.’ I offer him a small smile. ‘You were busy.’
‘No, I wasn’t.’ He tears his eyes from my face and looks down at my hand on the bench. ‘I’ve spent years staying in contact with my family through texts and FaceTime. It’s normal to me. But fuck, I’ve never found it so difficult to accept before, that the only way to see you would be on a screen. I’d see things I wanted to tell you about, stuff I thought you’d like, and I’d type out a text, but I’d overthink and never send it. I thought maybe if I stopped trying then I could get you out of my head. But it didn’t work. You were always in my head.’
His expression twists with guilt. ‘And now I keep thinking I should’ve stayed and supported you while Max was sick. That was the one thing I could’ve done, as your friend.’
‘You were on the other side of the world and you still checked in when you could. That was enough. I didn’t expect you to upend your whole life’s plan for me. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’ I know better than anyone what happens when guilt festers for too long, the way it blisters your insides and causes more damage than the thing you initially felt guilty about. ‘I told you to go. You needed to go. I needed it too, I think.’
‘Are you doing okay, really? Is Max?’
‘Yes. To all of it.’ There’s a smile on his face at my confirmation, but his eyes are still guarded. ‘I promise, Finn. I’m in a good place.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’ He goes to push his sleeves up out of habit but remembers he’s wearing a blazer and tugs at the cuffs instead. ‘Jesus, I really fucked it. I took that job for all the wrong reasons. I think you realised before I did.’
‘You wanted to prove yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that.’
His curls bounce with a shake of his head. ‘But it wasn’t about me. Not really. Can I tell you what I’ve learnt?’ I nod and he swallows before starting to explain, ‘As a kid, I knew my mum loved me, and I knew my stepdad did too, but when they got their perfect new family I felt like the odd one out. It felt like the twins were more important to my mum, somehow, and that’s why she only stopped moving us around so much when they came along. That’s always been in the back of my mind. Even in therapy over the years I was pretty good at avoiding telling them anything about it. I never let myself say these thoughts aloud because I didn’t want my mum to feel bad; because I knew how much she’d sacrificed to give me all the opportunities I had.’ He sighs and says quietly, ‘But at least she tried. And keeps trying. We had a long discussion recently and since then we’ve been really trying to stick to our weekly calls. Turns out I need attention. Who knew?’ His weak chuckle makes me want to pull him to me and never let go.
‘Has it helped?’
‘I think so.’ Another deep breath, and I can tell it takes a lot for him to say what’s coming next. ‘All I remember is the rose-tinted version of my childhood with my dad. I always felt like he was the odd one out of the family too, like me. It didn’t register that he did that to himself. He was the one who left. But I thought if I could prove myself to him, become more like him, he’d see me as an equal and I wouldn’t be so lonely.’
His voice is level when he continues, ‘You said once that my dad didn’t deserve me, and I hated hearing it. I hated it because I’ve spent years trying to earn crumbs of his attention. But you planted this seed in my mind that he should be better. That I deserve better from him. These past few months,every time he rescheduled a meet-up or dismissed some achievement I told him about, that seed grew and I realised he’s not worth it. And that I can’t control the way he is.’
‘Him being a bad dad to you isn’t your fault.’
‘I know that now. But somehow I projected this onto you. Onto everyone. I’d got into the habit of feeling like I needed to try to earn people’s affection. But you’re not the dad I was seeking approval from, you’re not the mum who I thought didn’t care, and you’re not the ex who made me feel small.’ I see him; eager, earnest Finn, and I see the shadows of all the people who’ve taken advantage of his openness, of the people who’ve tried to extinguish his light. ‘You’ve always made me a better version of myself without even trying. Any time you laughed, or opened up to me, it felt like you were telling me I was worthy. Like I was enough.’
‘Youareenough,’ I say. ‘And everyone sees it. Your dad should be begging at the door for you to be in his life, but he’s not, and that’s his loss. You’re incredible, Finn. If I need to tell you every day until you believe it, I will.’
I’m dimly aware of autumn arriving around us; images of fireworks and pumpkins, the sound of leaves crunching, the smell of bonfire in the air.
I keep going. ‘Just existing near you made me remember how to be happy. I feel like I’m finally giving myself a chance, and it started with you.’
‘You did that yourself.’
‘But I couldn’t have done it without you. One of the new things I’ve been working on is being more honest about my feelings. Making sure I communicate them. I just…’ I shake my head as I try to collect my thoughts, and Finn looks down at my fidgeting hands on the bench, sliding his own over them and squeezing. ‘It was like I was living on autopilot for so long. And then you arrived and you coaxed me out and I started to turn into someone I liked. Someone who participates in their life. You set that in motion, and I’ll neverbe able to thank you enough for it. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you all this earlier. How important you are to me. Do you know how special it is, that you help people bloom?’
Maybe now I can take steps forward on my own, but I needed the initial nudge. I won’t deny how much Finn contributed to getting me out of the dark. If he’s the sun, I must be the moon. Sometimes you need a little help to glow.
His warm eyes settle on mine and I feel my throat tightening when I speak again. ‘Sometimes, you meet someone and they change everything. That was you, for me. You changed everything.’
He lets out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and I close the distance and pull him into a hug, his chin settling in the crook of my neck like we’re two clichéd puzzle pieces that fit together in a way they never could with other people. Because I might not speak four languages, but I understand Finn O’Callaghan. This man is not unlovable. He’s not someone to ignore, to replace, to abandon. He’s a fireplace burning in a cabin, warmth amidst the barren cold. He is, without a doubt, someone to come back to.
I lean back just enough to see the firelight flicker across his face, casting shadows over his cheekbones. His smile spreads like the low, sultry light of sunset, and the only way I can think to appease the swell of emotion threatening to surge out of me is to squeeze him harder. I settle into the familiarity of his shape, feeling the heat of his hands at my back, breathing him in and relishing the fact he’s here, exactly where he should be.
Fireworks burst across the screen and colour dances between us, over us, around us. Then the light fades and all I know is the feel of his hands sliding up to cup my face. I hold his wrists to keep them there as we look at each other, my chest somehow filled with rocks and air, weighing me down and lifting me up at the sametime.
His thumbs brush across my cheekbones when he speaks again, our chests rising and falling in sync. ‘All those years I spent looking for reasons to run away, I didn’t realise I was being pulled towardssomething. The place I belonged. Somewhere that felt like home. Then I came here, and suddenly it all made sense. It’s you, Ava.’ His voice is perfectly clear, like he’s sat with this thought for a while and knows exactly how to say it. ‘Before you, I didn’t know home could be a person.’
We’re still just as opposite as we were on the first day we met, but when his lips find mine in the dark, I’m certain no one has ever belonged with anyone more than he belongs with me.
My hands drag through his hair, graze his jaw, run along his shoulders, and his do the same to me, and I know we’re trying to ground ourselves here in this place, in this moment, on this planet, because everything about us feels otherworldly. Maybe it always has. It hits me that we never were those lonely satellites spinning out of control in the cosmos. We’ve always been two stars, bound for monumental collision.
We stay like that for so long that the season shifts to winter around us. Christmas lights, snowflakes, gingerbread. When we eventually pull apart, he’s still rubbing slow circles on my back and peppering my face with kisses like he’s trying to make up for lost time.
