Page 16 of Past Lives
He snorts. “Always the sentimental one.”
His words hurt more than I thought they would. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just practical.” I take another sip and feel it burn my tongue and throat. “You said you wanted to buy me out.”
He sets his glass down, knuckles whitening. “If you’ll let me.”
“Why?” I ask. “You never cared about the property before. Granddad’s ashes, maybe, but not the goddamn rocks and bogs.”
He shrugs, oddly childlike. “America never suited me. No place has, but here at least people leave you alone.”
I swirl the whisky. “Is that it? You want to disappear?” I can hear a bit of envy in my own voice.
He meets my eyes. “Not disappear. Just stop drifting. Here, I know who I am. The land remembers me.”
He’s being honest, and I hate that about him.
“You ever feel like that?” he asks. “Like you fit, somewhere?”
"No. Maybe sometimes at Harvard, or when the app hit seven million users. But no." I think of the Silicon Valley office, constant searching. "Nothing lasts."
Angus nods. “Then sell it to me. You’re not coming back. Leave the ghosts to ghosts. It’s a joke, really. Still, my hand tightens on the glass, and I have to set it down before I break it. glass.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll start the paperwork at home.”
“Good,” he says. He gives a rare smile, meant more for the land than for me. I almost feel sorry that he needs it so badly.
We sit in silence for a while, watching frost spread across the window and darkness fill the yard. Angus refills our glasses, and I start to think the night will end with us drunk and trading gentle insults, like we have before.
But then, in one of his rare turns, he says: “Were you really in Galloway?”
The question is so abrupt I nearly choke.
“Yes.” My throat remembers every second. The mud, the trees, the endless empty moor. “Why?”
He leans forward, elbows on knees, blue veins etched at his wrists. “Mom said something about it. What were you doing there?”
I stare at the whisky. “I don’t know.” Then: “Following someone, I guess.”
He arches an eyebrow, incredulous. “A woman?”
“Sort of.”
He laughs. “You never change.”
But it isn’t a joke, and I don’t laugh. Angus pours more whiskey, and the room feels heavy with drink and expectation. I don’t want to say more, but the alcohol makes me talk anyway.e alcohol.
“I saw her at Bemelman’s in the city. But it felt…I don’t know how to say it.” The words are dry and foreign in my mouth. “Like I’d seen her before. Not her, exactly, but the shape of her—her laugh, maybe. Then, when I arrived in London, I saw her being interviewed on a BBC travel show. She mentioned she was traveling to Scotland, too.”He watches me, and it feels strange. I hate being looked at like this.
Angus leans forward. "So you tracked her to Scotland."
"Yes," I admit, the whiskey loosening my tongue. "I wanted to know more about her. I can't explain it, but something about her felt... familiar. Like a song I'd heard before but couldn't name." I stare into my glass. "I followed her to Glasgow first. Just... watching from a distance. Then, when she left for Galloway, I followed her there, too." I look up, half-expecting judgment in his eyes. "Every time she looks at me, I swear to God, Angus—it’s like being struck by lightning."
Angus whistles low. "You've got it bad, brother."
I tense up. “No. Well, maybe.” The truth is, I don’t know what this is. Every time I talk to Maya, it feels like the ground drops out from under me, like I’ve missed a step on the stairs.
Angus grins wolfishly. “So what did you do, Romeo?”
I clench my jaw. “Nothing. She took a train to Inverness, and I came here. Maybe I’ll never see her again.”
