The Rules of Regret

by Megan Squires

  I stared at the two containers on my shelf, grateful for what was hidden in them. I did love Lance, and in a way I knew I always would. And I didn’t think I’d ever really get over him, so maybe he’d always own a piece of me. Maybe I’d never be completely whole.

  Every recent memory I had involved him in some form. Some memories were good, others were bad, and a lot were just mediocre, which was how our relationship had evolved; the downward slope toward breaking up. But the memories were a part of me and a part of him, so I held onto them. It felt like having those memories in my grip was the only way to make things good again. In my mind, I could go back to when things were good with Lance and remember that. I would choose to do that, because I hoped that when I died, others would choose to remember the good in me, too.

  I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, glancing around the room, taking a final inventory. It really hadn’t been my room for quite some time. My younger sister, Natalie, had taken it over while I was at college, but whenever I came back home, it was where I slept. There were still a few things here that were mine, but most of what was left of me blended in with Natalie’s posters, her books stacked high against the far wall, and her cosmetics strewn across the dresser. It was funny how what was once solely mine morphed into someone else’s. I couldn’t tell where the blur between Natalie and me started, but it was there and this room was a weird amalgamation of that.

  I bounded down the stairs, the weight of the bag bouncing along my back as I approached the landing. Chris, my oldest brother, passed me on the way up, shifting his shoulder slightly to slide by, nodding his nearly-shaved head my direction without looking up from his phone. That was his goodbye to me, I figured, and I wondered if it ever occurred to him that maybe it could be our last.

  Of course it hadn’t occurred to him, which was good, because he was normal. He didn’t think of life in lasts. He probably just thought of life in the present and that was the way it should be.

  No one else was home, so no other ‘almost’ goodbyes took place on my way out the door. I tossed my bag into the back of the Jeep and fit the key into the ignition. I’d made a run to the store earlier and my stash of junk food littered the passenger side. I was ready for this.

  He wasn’t expecting me for another three weeks, so the entire drive I felt that giddy/nervous sensation that wasn’t all completely mental, but it was physical, too.

  I knew I loved Torin.

  I couldn’t describe it in a way that others would get, like those common phrases, ‘It was love at first sight,’ or ‘We were meant to be.’ I didn’t think I really believed either of those things. They felt too simple for the emotions evoked when I thought about him. Words, even though there were an endless amount at my disposal, couldn’t be arranged into my feelings. At least I couldn’t do that on my own, with my limited vocabulary. I knew I’d have to borrow someone else’s for this one.

  I began the drive in the morning, and by early afternoon the Jeep was rounding the turn into Quarry Summit, the dirt road kicking up copious amounts of dust under my tires, the once-formidable evergreens rising up on either side of my vehicle, framing me in like a welcoming hug.

  He was up ahead in the distance, and my body reacted to the sight of him instantly as he inched closer into view. He was shirtless, shoveling some loose gravel at the edge of the parking lot, and the sun wrapped around his body, defining his tone and muscular form. He brushed the sweat from his brow at the same moment he caught sight of my Jeep. Like nothing else existed, he dropped the shovel from his grip—almost throwing it—and raced toward me as I killed the engine. His hand was at the handle to the door before I could push it open and his mouth was on mine before I could even say 'hi.’

  He tasted like sweat and salt, but I dove right in, my lips curling with his, my back arching as he bowed over me.

  “What are you doing here?” he gasped, an excitement in his eyes that made every hour of my lonely, carb-fueled car ride up here worth it.

  “I had to tell you something.”

  “And it couldn’t wait three more weeks?” His lips met mine once more, this time teasing them apart so his tongue could slide in. My legs went all Jell-O and my heart started a hundred meter dash. I pulled away, lightheaded and dizzied.

  “I have one rule in my life,” I said, pushing my back against the driver’s side door. Torin’s hands slid into the back pockets of my jeans. “To live without regret.” I lifted a hand to his chest and pressed my palm onto his heart. “I haven’t done a good job with that so far. I figured I should start now.”

  He shook his head a little, his hair tossing side to side. “What do you regret?”

  “Honestly, in life, a lot of things. But with you, not many.” It was strange, but with Torin, I seemed to do and say what I felt without keeping much in. Regret came when you held something back. With Torin, there was no holding back.

  “That’s good. No regrets.”

  “That’s beyond good. And that’s why I didn’t want to wait the three weeks to see you again. I would regret that.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t wait.” He shot me a smile and pulled me into a hug that was almost a headlock. As he breathed into my hair he asked, “So what is this potentially regret-inducing thing you have to tell me that can’t wait?”

  I very nearly cleared my throat. “We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.” My shoulders lifted in an insecure shrug and I added, “That’s from Orson Welles.”

  “Yeah.” Torin nodded, but seemed a little unaffected.

  “You make me feel less alone in this illusion we’ve created,” I clarified as Torin squinted down at me. His hair was definitely blond in this moment with the sun highlighting it in slight golden waves. I wondered how red mine probably looked in this same lighting.

  “That’s a really tragic quote, Darby.”

  I didn’t think he’d say that. In the many ways my brain played this all out, that was not one of the reactions.

  “It’s not meant to be tragic.”

  “See, if you’re going to do this whole quoting thing, you have to choose the right material.” He held me at arm’s length, but I wished he’d tuck me back into his chest just so I didn’t have to maintain eye contact.

  “I thought that was the right material. I felt alone; you make me feel less alone.”

  “I couldn’t disagree more with that statement.” His tone was unwaveringly no-nonsense and I started to feel stupid. And angry. Mostly with Orson Wells for saying something that made so much sense to me, but apparently none to Torin.

  “We are not born alone. We are born out of love between two people, and even in the instances when that ideal isn’t the case, we’re still born from someone.” He started in with the reason and logic, which I found pretty darn attractive because he was speaking my native tongue. “And living alone? Couldn’t be further from the truth. We cannot live in a vacuum.” He shook out his frustration and his hair skated along his jaw. “The dying thing? Maybe... that might be the only instance we’re ever alone, but even on our deathbed, we have life’s memories to keep us company.”

  He paused.

  I waited. I didn’t say anything and secretly hoped the Jeep’s door would magically spring open and swallow me into it. This vulnerable thing was hard. Even harder when it wasn’t received the way I’d envisioned.

  “The illusion isn’t in pretending we aren’t alone, the illusion is in pretending it’s ever possible to be alone.”

  “I really thought I had something with that.” I sighed.

  “I think you did,” he assured. “Absolutely. But your interpretation was a little off.”

  “That’s the story of my life!”

  “Ha!” Torin bellowed, more loudly than I would have liked. “You’re kinda right. The Story of Darby’s Life: A Skewed Interpretation.”

  “I feel completely and utterly lame now, so thank yo
u for that.” I pretend punched him in the gut, but a bit of my frustration pulsed through my fingers. “Orson led me astray.”

  “Don’t feel lame, Darby.” He rubbed his stomach in circular motions. I think I probably slugged him harder than I’d intended, but he didn’t let on. “You’ll find your quotable quote yet.”

  My bag was still in the Jeep, so Torin opened up the back and pulled it up onto his shoulder. I wasn’t quite sure where I’d even be sleeping, since camp was done and the cabins were locked up for the season. I hadn’t prepared much, other than that one quote, and even that fell a little flat.

  “I’m actually glad you came up early.”

  “Actually glad? I was hoping for exceedingly glad.”

  “I’m actually exceedingly glad that you’re here, because there is something I want to show you.” He stretched his hand out for my keys and I dropped them into his palm. “I thought I’d have about three more weeks, so I’m a little behind.” He slid into the driver’s seat of my Jeep, motioning for me to join him in the cab, tossing my bag back in. “I’ve got something I want you to see.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  It was strange to drive in a vehicle through the forest when we’d spent so much time in the expanse of wilderness on foot before. For about ten minutes we coasted across carved-out dirt roads, ever increasing in elevation until Torin abruptly shut off the engine right where the Jeep sat like there was some imaginary stop sign I couldn’t see. “We have to walk the rest of the way.”

  I nodded and unclicked my belt.

  He waited for me to join him, and then twisted his fingers into mine, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. Before I had always trailed him. Now we were side by side.

  Last time I was in these woods, I didn’t know that the process of falling in love with Torin was already underway. I wondered what was underway right now that I wasn’t aware of, because life apparently occurred in hindsight. It was only when you looked back on things that you could see clearly.

  Had Anna not died, I probably wouldn’t have ever gotten together with Lance. And had Lance and I not been together all those years, I wouldn’t have come to this camp in the first place.

  Life, in itself, was inertia.

  Even when you left everything alone, it continued to move forward, continuing on its journey. There was a momentum to life, and the only thing that could stop it was death. It didn’t feel as rewarding as I thought it would to finally figure all of that out. It just felt real. Living finally felt real, because even when you stood still, everything else kept moving, with or without you. I had to face that reality, and even if I couldn’t, it wouldn’t really have an effect on how the mechanics of life worked. It would just keep going; that was the hard truth of it all.

  “This is it,” Torin pronounced as we crested the hill. The air was thinner, the forest more sparse. “Over here.”

  When he stopped, I glanced around him, craning my neck, expecting to see just what it was that he wanted me to see, but there was nothing. Only an open expanse of dirt with a few boulders rising out of it.

  “I feel like I’m missing something.” I looked around again.

  “Technically, there’s nothing here.”

  Good. I was glad that my interpretation of this wasn’t as skewed as my apparent interpretations of other things.

  “But there’s the potential of something, and that’s what I want to show you.” Torin kind of bounced on the heels of his feet as he spoke, a giddiness that couldn’t be contained within the confines of his body. “So this is the summit.” His hand outstretched to the left in an encompassing wave. “On the property we have here, this is the highest point.”

  Just past his hand I could see the sloping mountains that slanted toward the valley, the tops of the trees that I’d only viewed earlier from their trunks. They were smaller up here, and it was incredible how their looming grandiosity was diminished so much from this perspective.

  “You can’t see the forest for the trees,” I muttered, my eyes sweeping across the miles of evergreens that blanketed the hills like a green, crocheted afghan.

  “Holy heck, Darby! You just did it!”

  “Did what?”

  “Your quote!” Torin half shouted, his pale eyes lighting up with intensity. His hands gripped my biceps and shook me excitedly. “And a damn good one at that.”

  “It’s so true.” I continued staring at the valley, my eyes unblinking. “This perspective is like... it’s unreal. Like there’s this big, beautiful forest that you can’t even see until you’re actually out of it.”

  “C'est la vie,” he murmured, his fingers looser on my skin now, sliding up and down the length of my arms in an affectionate, swirly motion.

  “Such is life,” I repeated.

  And it was. Life was the big, beautiful thing that I wasn’t sure I’d ever appreciated for the actual beauty it held. Not until I could see it from another perspective. Somehow, Torin had been able to do that, but I was still working on getting there. The paint chips, the trees. I was close, but I hadn’t reached my summit point of view.

  “Anyway.” He snapped me back around to face away from him. “I have something for you.” Torin briefly let go of me and walked toward a small, rust-coated shed that I’d overlooked in my whole forest-realization moment. There was a padlock with a key still in it, and he twisted it to the right to pop it off of the metal handle. The door creaked on its hinges as he held it open, and for a second he disappeared inside. When he came out, he was holding a roll of blueprint paper.

  “This is for you,” he said, handing me the paper. “This, and this.” He motioned toward the dirt underneath us with a stomp of his boot-clad foot. “I want you to make the shell. And I want us to fill it up.”

  “What?”

  “It’s all yours. Like seriously, do whatever you want with it. Design a house or a cabin or a tee-pee if you feel so inclined.” His smile spread wide across his face and I lifted my finger to trace his full bottom lip like it was instinct. “But it’s all for you,” he spoke against my skin. “Well, for us, hopefully... but only when you’re ready.”

  I replaced my finger with my lips as I stood up on toe to meet his mouth with mine. Torin ran his fingers through my hair, tucking the strands around my ear before he cupped my jaw in his palms. The way he looked down at me like I was the only thing that existed in this world left my stomach feeling warm and heavy.

  “I know things aren’t in our favor, Darby. Had you and Lance only broken up, that would have been a ton to deal with.” His hands stayed in place on my chin. “But he cheated and you fought and then he freaking died, and I’m not naive enough to think that we won’t have our struggles because of that.” I couldn’t break my gaze with his eyes. Everything about him drew me in. “But I want to struggle through it with you. I think the noble thing for me to do would be to step back and let you have your space, but I don’t want to give you space.” He paused, ever so briefly, before saying, “I want to be in that space with you. And I want to share this space with you, too.” Turning around 360 degrees, he met my eyes after the full-circle rotation. God, he was gorgeous. I didn’t know how I missed it in the beginning, but he’d turned into this gorgeous boy, on the inside and out. “Your own summit, Darby. Your own corner of the world,” he said. “I want to share this mountaintop with you.”

  Again, there weren’t a lot of my own words readily available and I stunk at reciting others, so I just held him there and thought of how amazing it was that this guy had just given me my own mountain to build dreams upon.

  You couldn’t plan for anything in life. It happened to you. But holding the empty blueprints in my hands felt like a promise: a promise of a new start, a new hope. I could make something here and we could fill it up with us. In all of my life, I didn’t think I’d been given a greater gift than the grid-lined paper that rustled between my fingertips.

  “I love you, Torin.”

  “I love you, Darby.” He didn’t say 'I love
you, too,’ like it was a response to my saying it, but he spoke it as a declaration, as if it stood all on its own. “I know I have this tendency to get attached to things easily, but even if that weren’t the case, I’d have fallen for you just as quickly.” He pulled me closer to him, his hips pressing against mine, his chest still bare and suntanned, the filmy layer of dirt and sweat that coated him creating a rugged aura that was hopelessly irresistible. “Maybe it’s our experiences, maybe it’s our similarities. Whatever it is, I recognized something in you. It was like my heart recognized yours.”

  I completely got that. Our beats becoming one, morphing into the same metronomic pattern.

  “So there’s this... get this—” he teased, his eyes opening more, “a quote—I heard that says we’re given two hands to hold, two legs to walk, two eyes to see, two ears to listen. But why only one heart?”

  I shook my head to encourage him to continue toward the punch line.

  “Because the other was given to someone else. For us to find.” Torin smiled a soft, thoughtful smile, and the hip pressing became more intense and our foreheads touched as we moved closer. “I found my heart in you, Darby.” I swear we were so close I could feel the flutter from his eyelashes whooshing against my skin. “I know I told Lance I was the one that took the time to look for you. That I’d found you. But maybe I was just looking for myself all along, and I found myself mirrored in you. Does that even make any sense?”

  “Does it make sense that you’d find yourself in finding me?” I pushed up a bit so our noses aligned. “I think that’s exactly what love is, Torin. I think that’s what happens when a you and a me becomes an us. In finding what you love, you find more of yourself.”