Candlelight

“I can drink water too, you know,” Isla blurted. “You didn’t have to order me wine—”  

“Isla,” Will smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, darkened by the shadows of the candlelight perched on the table between them. “It’s okay. You’ve always been willing to support me, and I appreciate it, but I’m not your burden anymore,” Will said. “I haven’t been for a while.”  

“It’s not a burden,” Isla shook her head, leaning into the table. Isla felt as though she was replaying a conversation, practicing for an old role she had spent years longing to fulfill. 

Only this time, the face she was looking into was different. Of course, there were the obvious signs of the lost years between them: the dimples that once marked Will’s fleeting moments of joy were now covered by a thick, graying beard, and the unbrushed head of hair that once dipped below his shoulders was now clean-shaven. But there were subtle markers of time, too. Wrinkles had deepened around Will’s eyes. They appeared to cement all the moments he had lingered in a half-shut gaze, lost in his own thoughts and emotions before he would go back for another round of whatever vice was helping him escape for the night. 

In case he hadn’t heard or believed her, Isla repeated herself. “Will, all I’ve wanted was for you to get healthy. It’s never been a burden—”  

“I know, I know,” Will waved her sentiment off. “But it’s okay. I know what I can and can’t handle.” 

Isla listened to the words but searched his eyes. Will did not avert his gaze, and even in the dimly-lit restaurant, Isla could see the whites surrounding his irises were no longer tainted red. 

“I’ve been getting help and it’s actually helped this time, you know. Have a sponsor and everything.”  

Before Isla could affirm how healthy, how good, he looked, Will changed the topic. 

“Well, now that my old drug addiction is out of the way,” he chuckled, and raised his water glass into the air.  

Addiction, Isla repeated in her mind. So, was no longer passing it off as a habit he enjoyed. 

“Congratulations,” he said, nodding toward her hand. When Isla followed his gaze, she was confronted with the pear-cut diamond glittering upon her finger.  

“You’re engaged,” he stated the fact, their eyes lingering on each other as if to avoid looking at the even smiles spread across their faces. “Is he uh, is he coming tonight?”  

“His name is Blake,” Isla said, and looked for the usual tightened jaw of jealousy, but Will’s beard only framed his smile. “But no, he’s at home.”  

“He didn’t want to come?” Will asked, holding her gaze.  

“No,” she replied with a sad laugh as she thought of her fiancé. When she had left Blake, the football game had begun. Blake and his friends had been huddled around the big screen, their bodies crowded across the couches and fold-out chairs in the living room of Isla and Blake’s modest, two-bedroom suburban home. Isla had kissed him on the cheek, and Blake had told Isla to enjoy her visit to her mother in the city. Then his focus was once again consumed by the dynamic yet two-dimensional screen. 

Feeling her palms grow sweaty, Isla rubbed them against her tailored brown trousers, but she didn’t know how to calm her heartbeat. It’s not like she was doing anything wrong, she reassured herself. Just meeting an old friend. That was her and Will's relationship before any of it, after all; before their love had become intertwined with attraction, Will and Isla had been college friends, trying to make sense of how to become adults while still coping with life like children. 

“What’s wrong?” Will asked, and she felt him studying her, as if searching for the real answer to Blake’s absence.  

“Why did you text me?” 

Will tilted his head. “I heard you were engaged,” he said, but his words did not flow, they were selected.  

“It felt wrong not to congratulate you, Isla, after all we’ve been through,” Will said, only to look down and correct, “After all I've put you through.”   

Isla felt her lips close.  

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked—”  

“Yeah, it has,” she agreed, still looking at him, but now he escaped her stare. “So why text me now?”  

“To congratulate you,” he repeated, as if repetition would make it the truth. Maybe it was the truth, but as that possibility flashed through Isla’s mind, she realized that, for the first time since knowing Will, she actually wanted his words to be a lie.  

“Why did you come?” he asked, and she should have known he’d ask, because questions with Will were double-sided and Will was always aware of the other side.  

Isla stared into her drink as if the alcohol contained answers, or at least had the power to release them. Yet, as she glared at the liquid now, she felt hollow, worried that drinking would empty everything from her only to fill her with a blurry, formless confusion.  

“I don’t know,” Isla finally admitted with a slight shake of her head.  

“I wanted to see if you were actually happy,” Will blurted, and when she looked back at him, he was already studying her.  

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged and took a sip of his water. “That’s what I wanted to see.”  

“And?” Isla asked, feeling herself sit straighter as she waited for an assessment, an answer.  

“And what?”  

“What do you see?”  

“Regret,” Will said, almost too soon. “I’ve spent this past year alone, Isla. Separating myself from a lot of people, trying to get better. Thought of a lot of things...” 

Isla could feel each individual heartbeat in her chest as she tried to remember this moment while it was happening, afraid Will’s vulnerability would slip away as fast as it had come. A memory would be the only thing left for her to hold onto. 

“And I don’t know if it’s fair for me to say right now, but there’s a lot I regret. About you, us. The way I treated our relationship. And I didn’t want to add another regret to my list by not congratulating you.” He took another sip of his water before setting the glass down.  

Everything Isla had been hoping for was happening. All those years of Will’s life unfolding online without her, leaving her to wonder if she was on his mind the way he fell into hers. The sleepless nights she would lie awake, wondering what feelings her memory might bring. Shame, confusion, love, lust? Melodrama, joy, pain? Whenever Isla thought of Will, she felt the full spectrum of human emotion. Sometimes just as clearly as she had felt while living through the experience, as if memories with Will could transport her to a different time. 

But now Will wasn’t living in her memories. He was sitting across from her, alive in real time, and as Isla listened to the words he spoke and watched the way his eyes moved when he spoke them, all that kept repeating in her mind was to remain careful.  

“So, congratulations,” Will said, and clinked his glass against hers since she had not made a move to do so. “It’s good to see you happy.”  

A smile was offered, even as Isla felt her body grow heavy. Will sipped his water, his shoulders already relaxing. The diamond claiming Isla’s finger glittered in her face as she took a sip of her wine. 

After cheering to her engagement, Isla was desperate to change the topic, wrap the night up in small talk and pleasantries, and go home to her fiancé. Her mind had created a fantasy off of one text from her ex. A fantasy that seeing Will, and having the opportunity to talk to him one more time, would reveal that she was not just a thing of his past. Even if their fates were never meant to work out, Isla had wanted to know that it hadn’t all been in her head. That her memory was just as haunting to him as his was to hers. 

“So,” Will said, leaning back into his chair with a sigh. “What else is going on with you? Besides,” he tilted his head toward her ring. “The obvious.”  

“Well …" Isla tried to reflect on the past few years, wondering where all the time had gone. Sure, she had memories of date nights, going to work, other people’s weddings and baby showers—but where had the time actually gone? She wanted to tell him she had been adventurous, the way she and Will had been throughout their early twenties. Divulge in some story about a road trip along the East Coast where she met interesting people, and stayed awake to watch the earliest colors bleed across the sky, but none of those stories were real. 

Spontaneity had dissipated from her life once Will had left. After dating him, Isla’s mind had grown tired of the unpredictable, and no one else had been able to motivate her to give up sleep, or skip a class, to pack up and drive with no destination in mind, the way Will had inspired her. 

“I guess I’ve just been busy,” Isla admitted. “You know, the usual invitations and obligations. What about—” 

“How did he do it?” Will interrupted. “How’d he propose?” The smile on his face faded to a thin line as he waited for an answer.  

“Well …" Isla began, taking another sip of wine. A story that once seemed thoughtful now seemed vulgar. 

“He took me to the conservatory,” Isla began, her voice low against the quiet murmur of the restaurant. “And, yeah, we were just walking through, admiring the greenery, and then he,” Isla swallowed, “he got down on one knee. While we were in front of a wall of roses. It completely shocked me, you know. We hadn’t even looked at rings together.” 

“I’m surprised he didn’t do it in front of the cala lilies,” Will said, but his voice was low, as if he hadn’t meant for her to hear. He scratched the back of his head and clutched his glass of water.  

So, he remembered her favorite flower.  

Isla glanced at him through a softened gaze. “He … had a bouquet of them waiting for me at home.”  

“Ah,” Will nodded, but couldn’t look at her. “Well, good. Happy for you both.”  

“You know you don’t have to be,” Isla blurted, her mouth dangling open as she did nothing to explain or take the words back. Her heartbeat seemed to slow for the first time all night, as all her senses narrowed onto Will. “Will, I don’t even know if I’m happy for me.”  

Will tilted his head back. Isla didn’t wait for a reply.  

“I thought I was. I thought getting engaged would be such a happy time,” she continued, her voice trying to speak the words before her mind could stop her. “I thought I’d get the engagement photos and wear the beautiful ring. Have something to celebrate, but …" her throat grew dry, as if her body was creating a defense to protect her from revealing the parts of her life she worked hard to hide from everyone, even herself.  

“It’s all happening so fast,” Isla paused and waited for Will to agree, but he never did. 

“I mean, I’ve only known Blake a year. You and I dated for much longer than that,” she finished, but Will remained sitting across from her, his posture straight, his lips pressed together to block any words from spilling out.  

“It’s all happening too fast,” she repeated. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”  

As the seconds ticked in silence, Will stole a breath and leaned into the table. “You can always get a new ring …" 

Isla felt her breath become trapped in her chest, knowing that a different ring wouldn’t feel right if the wrong person slid it on her finger.  

“But …” he paused, only resuming when Isla put her drink down and was ready to look at him. “Isla, if it’s all wrong, don’t put yourself through this.”  

“But I don’t know if I can put myself through calling it off, either,” she admitted, suddenly picturing Blake on one knee, the earnestness in his eyes when he had expressed his desire to share the rest of his life with her. She thought of their memories the past year, moving into the first home either of them owned, and the excitement his parents had displayed when celebrating their engagement news. All these thoughts came crashing when Will said her name.  

“Isla,” he said, his voice as firm as his stare. “This is just a blip in time.”  

Isla listened to his words, but couldn’t hear the meaning.  

“A few years from now, you’ll look back on this with a new perspective,” he continued, but that’s as far as he was willing to let the explanation go, she realized, when he leaned away from the table and back into his chair.  

“Okay?” she said, hearing a familiar irritation edge its way into her voice. “And what is that supposed to mean?”  

“Don’t take the easy way out,” he warned. “It’s never easy in the long run.”  

And with that, he finished the last of his water, leaving his empty glass on the table. After the waitress came over and Will requested the check, he tilted his head, and cocked an eyebrow in the air.  

“Why don’t you take the night off from all this worry?” he asked, and she could feel his leg shaking beneath their table. “Come back to my place.”  

Isla wondered if this was an ex-lover or an old friend making the suggestion. She knew which one she preferred, but she also knew how that story would end. She imagined going home with Will, played out the conversations they would share about the world, and life, late into the night. Remembered how they used to lose track of time until they watched the sun paint the world outside in its pale, tired shades of winter. 

But it would never be enough. Isla knew she could never compete with Will’s addiction, his disease. Even when he claimed he was clean, Will was addicted to risks that made him feel alive. 

“Will, I want to go home with you. I really do.” 

“But?” 

“I still don’t know why you texted me.” 

“I still don’t know why you came.” 

“We’re not in our early twenties, anymore,” Isla said, the words flowing from her lips. “I’m trying to create a life, Will. Not escape it for just a night.” 

She waited, but he only nodded. 

“You’ll never be content,” Isla said, feeling her jaw tighten as she stared at his stoic expression. “Will you? Not with something predictable, at least.” 

“I don’t think you’ll be content either,” Will said, staring at her through a squinted expression. “We’re sitting at the same table, Isla.” 

“Earlier, you said I looked happy.” 

“Yeah, well, happiness is fleeting. I know that better than anyone.”

They remained in their stares, the flame of the candle casting halos upon their faces. An affair would end the same way as their relationship, Isla considered; late nights that once seemed touched with a hint of magic would lead to arguments in bed. Excitement would transform to boredom. Lies would be told that would have no concrete beginning or end. Only this time, they would be older, both of them wiser. There would be no youthful innocence to blame their actions. It would be their grand finale, and it would taint all their rose-colored memories of each other until the vibrancy of their past became indistinguishable from a mistake. 

“I want to go home with you, Will, but I have a different home now,” Isla said, and watched as he raised an eyebrow, his eyes pleading with her. “It’s not a perfect home, but it’s a stable one. And I’m not going to risk it. Not for one night.” 

Isla stood from the table, and dropped a twenty-dollar bill between them, knowing, better than anyone, that unresolved relationships stayed alive in one’s mind.