Driftwood

With the grace of a beached whale, I plopped on the sand next to my ex-boyfriend Dylan. “I think I’m finally drunk enough to ask you the question I’ve wanted answered for the past seven years.” Seven years. Had it really been that long since we were college freshmen? “What the hell happened to you in Mexico?”

Dylan didn’t answer me straight away. He gazed at me the way only Dylan could, with quiet blue eyes that took in more than he let on. He strummed his beat-up, second-hand guitar as the sun set over his shoulder. “You may need to be drunk to ask, Amber, but I need you sober to understand.”

All that courage I’d drummed up balled itself into my fist. “I think I’m entitled to know what happened, given that you dumped me over it.”

“I didn’t dump you, Amber, I—.”

“Come on, Dylan.” I pounded my fist into the sand; speckles flew into the air. “You told me you were going to Mexico for a week’s vacation and never returned. What would you call that?”

Dylan’s hands fell silent on the guitar. “I asked you to join me there, if you’ll recall.”

“Yeah, right.” I shrugged him off and watched the sun mark the wistful end to yet another day. “As if I’d also tank my entire future to party in some Mexican backwater.”

Dylan sighed. “I didn’t stay there to party, Amber.”

“Then why were you there?” My jaw clenched with a rage I hadn’t felt in years. “Tell me, dammit.”

“I tried telling you.”

I should have been over it by now, but facing those blue eyes, I was a heartbroken teenager again. “What, in that stupid letter you sent back with Kyle?” Kyle was Dylan’s best friend, and the two of them had traveled to Mexico together for winter break. A week later, Kyle returned alone, bearing nothing but an envelope. The letter went on and on about how he’d discovered something amazing in Mexico and how I should come down there to join him, but I recognized it for what it was: a sign that the greatest relationship of my life had somehow crashed and burned.

Dylan’s expression tightened. “I called you when I got back into the country if you recall.”

He had called. At first, I’d been prepared to let him grovel and then take him back. But Dylan hadn’t groveled. He hadn’t seemed the least bit sorry about his choice. Even that I could have forgiven, but there was more. Within five minutes of starting the conversation, I realized this was no longer the guy I’d loved a few months earlier. Dylan left for Mexico a fiery, ambitious college freshman. He came back empty. Rather than returning to school, he moved back in with his parents and took some manual labor gig.

Now, seven years later, our college friends and I were finishing grad school and starting our careers, and Dylan was still scraping by doing the same dead-end work. I knew this from Kyle, who, after three years attending law school out of state, was now back and engaged to my best friend, Libby. Dylan and I set them up, just a few weeks before the fated Mexico trip. Now in some desperate attempt to return the favor, they’d convinced each of us to join them for an afternoon at the beach, no doubt hoping we’d fall back in love. Didn’t they understand that even if I could forgive Dylan for abandoning me, I had no interest in dating a loser? Dylan no longer crashed with his parents, but had only managed to upgrade to a tiny basement apartment Kyle called The Coffin.

I ought to have kept my mouth shut but couldn’t hold back. “Look, Dylan, I know this is the wine speaking, but that doesn’t make it any less true. You need to get your life together. I mean, look at you.”

Dylan lifted his thick arms. “Something wrong with the way I look?”

That bastard. He knew I wasn’t referring to his physical appearance. Even worse, he knew how attractive I’d always found him, how I’d melted over his sandy-blond hair and dimpled chin. The years had treated him well. His jaw had squared out and now sported a trim beard that hid the dimple but gave him a manly look he’d lacked. He’d been almost wiry in college, but seven years of manual labor had filled him out nicely, a fact I’d tried not to notice since there was no way I was getting sucked in again.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one the years had been kind to. Whenever I look back on old pictures from middle school to college, I always saw the same thing, a girl hiding from herself. My shoulders were rounded forward, my dark hair pulled back, my face devoid of makeup, and I carried an extra ten to fifteen pounds of security fat. Ironically, Dylan was the first one to draw me out of hiding, to show me the beauty of my curves. Even getting dumped hadn’t sent me scurrying back into my shell. Now, seven years later, I was no longer embarrassed by the woman I’d become. I stood straight, shed those unwanted pounds, let my hair grow out, and wore just enough makeup to shine. In other words, that girl who had been so infatuated by the first handsome boy to notice her was no longer starving for attention.

It wasn’t only physically that I’d matured. I knew what I wanted in life and could no longer be swayed by an easy smile and a dimpled chin. Handsome though he might be, the new Dylan was no longer enough for the new Amber. I knew that, and it was time he accepted it too. “You and Kyle used to be on the same track. Yet, he drove here in a new BMW while you rode your bike.”

“So…” Dylan’s eyes narrowed.

He probably considered this shallow, but I was no longer just looking for companionship. I wanted someone I could build a life with. That didn’t necessarily mean riches. It might be a different story if Dylan was poor because he devoted his life to pursuing his dream and building a non-profit or something. But I wasn’t about to make those same sacrifices for a guy stagnating in his life. No, thank you. “You had such potential.”

“He still does,” Kyle called from up the beach. He and Libby walked over hand in hand. “Potential is Dylan’s specialty.”

My head fell into my palms. I never would’ve brought this up if I knew Kyle could hear. “Let’s drop it, OK, Kyle?”

“Not a chance. The fact is, while I was slugging away in college and law school, Dylan here was building his potential.” Kyle jabbed Dylan’s side. “Weren’t you, Dylan?”

“You could say that,” Dylan replied with an easy grin.

“I do say that. If potential is what you’re looking for, Amber, Dylan’s your man.”

“Amber’s right, Kyle,” Libby said. “You talk too much.”

“That I do, my love.” Kyle bent over and kissed her hand, then patted Dylan on the shoulder. “If the girls don’t want to talk, then let’s sing. Play us some Janis, Dylan.”

“Bobby McGee?” he asked.

“Yeah, right. You know the one I want.”

Much as I hated Dylan, I couldn’t believe Kyle would be so insensitive. “Dylan, play us something else. How about Yellow Submarine?”

“We’ve got all night,” Kyle said. “You can make the next request, Amber.”

Libby came over to my side. “Kyle, don’t be a jerk.”

But Dylan ignored us both and struck up the chords for Janis Joplin’s Mercedes Benz. I couldn’t bear to sing along, but the two men belted out:

Why must Kyle be so cruel? Despite all the pain Dylan had caused me, I was a mother bear at heart, and the wine brought out a ferocious need to protect. “Come on, Dylan. Let’s take a walk.”

From the speed that Dylan dropped the guitar and rose to his feet, I knew he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity. Poor, clueless Dylan. Couldn’t he see I just wanted to look out for him? Of course he couldn’t. He followed me down the beach like a puppy, and then, once we were out of earshot, came the inevitable. “I was wondering if you’re free next weekend, Amber?”

A mixture of butterflies and squirming maggots filled my stomach. “Dylan, I think it’s best we just stay friends.”

“If you give me a chance, I think you’ll like me.”

“Like you?” I stopped walking. “You think that’s my concern, that I won’t like you?”

Dylan’s arm reached out. My heart raced, and I felt the heat of his solid hand as it landed on my shoulder. “Give me a chance, Amber.”

The setting sun’s orange glow danced in Dylan’s deep, blue eyes. There was a presence about this guy. I’d never felt so safe as I did in his company. I’d put my trust in him like I had with no other. And then he’d smashed me and my trust on the rocks. There was no way I was going there again. I threw off his hand. “It’s not happening.”

Dylan’s head sank. “Can’t we ever put the past behind us?”

“I could forgive the past, Dylan, if I believed in your future.” I searched the sky for words. “This isn’t college anymore. I’m looking for something more.”

Dylan sat down on the edge of a jetty. “You mean a guy like Kyle?”

Part of me wanted to sit beside him, to enjoy the sunset on the water. Instead, I turned my back on the scenery. “You say that with such scorn but look where Kyle is today.” I pointed toward the bonfire. “You can’t blame a girl for wanting to be with a guy who’s going somewhere.”

“All you see is our past and present, Amber.” Dylan’s voice grew louder, and he dug his heels into the sand. “You have no idea what awaits either Kyle or me.”

“Come on, Dylan. I don’t need a crystal ball to see where each of you is headed.”

“True.” Dylan crossed his arms. “All you need to know is where to look.”

“Oh? You think I’m looking in the wrong place, do you?” I planted my hands on my hips. “Kyle’s an attorney at a top firm. He’s making a great living, and if he makes partner, he’ll make a fabulous living. He’s got a gorgeous car, a gorgeous apartment.”

“And…” Dylan punctuated each word, “a big fat, gorgeous rock on his gorgeous fiancé’s finger?”

Was he making fun of Libby or me? “Yes, that too!”

“You realize Kyle works over 60 hours a week at a job he himself calls ‘soul sucking?’”

“Grow up, Dylan! A career doesn’t have to be all butterflies and rainbows.” As a fifth-grade teacher, I spent half my time stopping my class from bickering. But out here, I wasn’t Miss Romano, I was Amber, and Amber was a traditional Italian girl raised to never back down from a fight.

“You’re saying what?” Dylan stood, and his voice boomed. “That you need to sacrifice for financial stability?”

“Duh. It’s part of being a responsible adult.”

“Responsible? The only things Kyle’s sacrificing are his time and health.” Dylan’s hand thrust toward the bonfire. “He’s not making himself a living; he’s digging himself a grave.”

Was he proud of being a loser? Did he really have the audacity to spit on a friend making something of himself? I should have kept quiet, but the heat in my chest was boiling over. “Big deal! So Kyle has to put in long hours and do grunt work for a while. Look at the lifestyle he’s building.”

“That’s your definition of success?” Dylan’s hands flew into the air. Maybe he had a little Italian in him after all. “An exorbitant lifestyle?”

Was he daring to call me shallow? Is that what this was about? Was he expecting me to fantasize about living in a dump for the rest of my life? “Is it so wrong wanting some nice things and a little financial stability?”

“So that’s your goal? Nice things and stability?” Dylan’s gaze bore through me like an X-ray, throwing me off balance.

I teetered from one foot to another, uneasy, unsure, but mad as hell, nonetheless. “I want to be able to afford a home. I want options.”

“So which is your goal?” Dylan stepped up to me, challenging me to think straight, which his gaze always made it difficult to do. “Options? Or stability?”

“My goal?” What did he want from me? He was the one who was supposed to be all lazy and clueless. My gaze fell to my toes, which were easier to face than his eyes. “I can’t say that I’ve ever sat down and formulated a goal. But… but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s exactly what it means. Without a goal, how can you possibly know if you’re moving toward it or not?”

I studied Dylan’s ratty shirt, the grease under his fingernails, his disheveled hair. I never saw him doing drugs, but I always suspected that he’d gotten sucked into the Mexican party scene and never got his life back together. I couldn’t help but hate him for being such a bum. And here he was lecturing me about my goals. “Wake up!” Rage seethed in my belly like bubbling acid. “You asked me out, and you don’t even have a car to pick me up in.”

“Not all of our parents buy us cars and pay our way through college, you know.” Dylan’s nostrils flared like a raging bull. “Every dollar I spend, I need to earn myself, so you better believe I need something before I buy it.”

Now he was calling me spoiled? The nerve. “I’ll have you know that I make my own car payments and pay my own grad school tuition. And is it such a bad thing that my parents wanted to help me out until I got on my feet? Don’t you want to provide for your own kids someday?”

“Trust me, I’ll be able to provide my kids exactly what they need.”

I caught the way he stressed the word need. Would he throw his kids out into the world with nothing but the shirts on their backs to learn from the school of hard knocks? Did he think poverty was some badge of honor? “Look, Dylan, if it brings you comfort to tell yourself you’re doing great, then so be it. But don’t expect me to come along for the ride.”

I waited for Dylan’s next blow, to hear him come roaring back about how well he was actually doing. We Romanos knew how to fight, and I stood braced to fend off his attack. But the retort died on his lips. He must have seen that it was a losing venture because he exhaled toward the heavens, shook his head, and walked away, back toward the fire, with his head bowed.

I took a long walk to cool off before returning to the bonfire. I scanned the scene but didn’t see Dylan. His guitar was missing too.

“So you let him down easy, I see.” Kyle poked at the coals with a piece of driftwood.

“I was a bitch and a half.” I poured myself another glass of wine. “He left?”

“Oh yeah. We barely got a goodbye.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him.” Despite the pain he’d caused me all those years ago, Dylan had never been malicious, just clueless. “But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe a bit of reality will wake this guy up.”

“Wake him up to what?”

I collapsed next to the log pile. “That Dylan’s 25 and doing nothing with his life.”

“Oh?” Kyle broke apart a glowing coal. “Is that reality as you see it?”

Dylan was his best friend, but did Kyle have that much of a blind spot for him? “Come on, Kyle, you told me he’s living in a basement apartment the size of a coffin.”

“You’re behind the times. I said that about his old apartment. Now he’s living in a slightly bigger basement I call The Crypt.”

“Glad to hear he’s moving up in the world.” I rubbed my hands together in the heat of the flames. “But he’s still awfully far from being able to afford even a normal lifestyle.”

“I assure you, he can afford it now.” Kyle threw on another log. “He just doesn’t put the same value on normal that you do.”

“Come on. Why would a guy live in a basement if he could afford better?”

“Why not ask him that?”

I thought surely Kyle, who’d worked so hard to build a career, would see things my way. Was there something I’d missed? “After our last conversation, I doubt he’ll be eager to speak to me again.”

“Fine, then I’ll tell you what he told me. He lives in the basement because the mortgage rates are better if he lives in the building.”

Mortgage? “Wait. You’re saying he owns the entire building?”

“That’s right.” Kyle leaned back onto his elbows, enjoying my flustered state.

I searched Libby for answers, but she seemed as clueless as I was. “Then why live in the basement if he could live anywhere?”

“The basement has the lowest rental value. By taking the least expensive apartment for himself, he builds his financial foundation that much faster.”

Something didn’t add up. “You said Dylan just moved. Is that what he’s been doing all this time? Living dirt cheap in The Coffin to save up and buy himself a building?”

Kyle’s grin was pure mischief. “Oh no, he owns that building too.”