Page 90 of What's in a Kiss?

The look he gives me makes me wonder how many rounds of this bout we’ve fought.

“I was raised by narcissists too, remember?” he says. “Your issues with your mother would have still exploded, even if you hadn’t come to New York—”

“No!” I say. “That’s the thing! They wouldn’t have. I’d still have her. Same with Masha. If I hadn’t left, if I hadn’t gone to New York, if I hadn’t been...”

I stop just before I saywith you. But Jake knows me well enough to hear it in my silence.

“Things would be better if you hadn’t chosen me? If you didn’t work on a successful show that makes people happy? If you didn’t have a loving husband? If you gave up your dreams totake on your mother’s grief, which by the way is a ridiculous request for a parent to make of a child? Things would be better then?”

It’s a complicated question. I want to tell Jake yes, and I want to tell him no, and I want to say the same goes for him—that his life would be better if he hadn’t chosen me. But I can’t say anything. I’m crippled by the ignorance of every small decision I don’t know we’ve made. Every conversation, every argument, every thoughtless movement in the night.

“No wonder you can’t imagine having kids,” Jake says, turning to walk away. “Who would bring a child into a life they don’t even want?”

••••••

We climb therest of the way in silence, especially not remarking upon the incredible family of deer—a doe, a buck, and two fawns—that pass us, inches away, going the other direction, down the steep-inclined road. The doe locks eyes with me as she passes, and it feels like a sign that Jake and I should stop fighting and appreciate these moments. You don’t get an unlimited amount of magical island interactions.

The zipline office sits beneath a canopy of trees. Awaiting us are five of the longest ziplines in California, looking out over the ocean. I recognize Aurora’s stylist, and Miguel Bernardeau, who’s tightening a harness around his young Spanish girlfriend’s waist. And there’s Amy, my mark, fastening her helmet. She waves like she’s not groaning to see us again, lighting a little Olympic flame of hope inside me as Jake touches my elbow.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m going to take a walk and meet you later—”

“Please,” I beg him. “Please do this with me.”

A woman with a clipboard approaches us. “Names?”

“Olivia Dusk and Jake Glasswell,” I tell her.

“No,” she says.

Jake spins on his heel. “Just the word I was hoping to hear.”

“Wait.” I grab the collar of his T-shirt. “Those are our names,” I tell the woman.

“Not if you want to be on the three fifteen shuttle.”

“I think the issue is we were supposed to be on the three p.m. shuttle,” I say, “but we got a little...”

Divorce-y?

“But we’re here now,” I say. “Can we join the three fifteen group?”

“Under normal circumstances yes,” she says. “But Ms. Apple has been quite specific about the schedule, and I’m afraid the shuttle is full for the rest of the day.”

“It’s a real tragedy,” Jake says. “Somehow we’ll have to find a way to carry on.”

“Olivia!” Ivy sticks her helmeted head out of the shuttle. She clocks Jake’s annoyed and my distressed expressions. “Is there a problem?”

“You’reon this trip?” I say, walking to the van. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re the one who insisted Aurora put me on the list!”

“Oh yeah,” I say. “Good thinking.”

Ivy looks over my shoulder at Jake and lowers her voice. “What’s going on?”

“We missed our shuttle,” I say, “and now—”

“We’re going to skip it,” Jake finishes.

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