Fluorescent Numbers

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is the only thing that keeps me tethered to reality. That and the distant music from the reception, a reminder that we’re not alone, no matter how much it feels like it right now.

Evan breaks the kiss first, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing hard, our chests heaving in unison.

“Wow,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees, his own voice rough. “It really was.”

We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other, neither of us willing to let go. My mind is racing, trying to process what just happened. *This changes everything*, I realize. *This isn’t pretend anymore. It’s real.*

“Margot,” Evan murmurs, his fingertips brushing along my jaw. “I think we need to talk about what this means.”

I nod, my voice choked. “I know,” I say. “But maybe… maybe not tonight? I don’t think I can handle any more earth-shattering revelations today.”

Evan chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “But we will talk. Soon.”

“Soon,” I agree, leaning into his touch.

We walk back to the reception hand in hand, our shoulders bumping together as we follow the sandy path. I feel different, lighter, like a weight I didn’t know I was carrying has been lifted. For the first time all weekend, I’m not thinking about my family or their expectations. I’m just thinking about Evan and the way he makes me feel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of dancing and laughter. Evan rarely leaves my side, his arm always around me, his smile always for me. I catch my mother watching us with a speculative gleam in her eye, but for once, I don’t care. Let her speculate. Let her think whatever she wants. For now, for tonight, I’m happy.

It’s late by the time we stumble back to the hotel, our shoes in our hands, sand dusting our feet. The elevator ride to our floor is silent, charged with the memory of that kiss on the beach. When we reach our room, Evan hesitates outside the door, his key card in his hand.

“I can sleep on the couch,” he offers, his gaze searching mine. “If you want.”

I shake my head, my heart pounding. “No,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “Stay with me.”

His eyes darken, his grip on the key card tightening. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say, stepping closer, my hand coming to rest on his chest. “I want you to.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He opens the door and ushers me inside, his hands already reaching for me. We don’t bother with the lights, navigating by the moonlight streaming through the window. Our clothes come off in a frantic tangle of limbs and desperate kisses, until we’re falling back onto the bed together, skin against skin, breath mingling.

The fluorescent numbers on the alarm clock beside the bed read 2:17 AM when we finally fall asleep, exhausted and sated, our bodies still linked. I’ve never felt more content, more complete. *Maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like*, I think drowsily as I drift off. *Maybe this is what I’ve been missing all along.*

I wake up the next morning to the sound of Evan’s steady breathing in my ear, his arm draped heavily across my waist. For a moment, I just lie there, listening to him sleep, marveling at the way the sunlight catches the gold in his hair. *He’s so beautiful*, I think, my heart clenching. *And he’s here, with me.*

But then reality comes crashing back. It’s Sunday. The wedding is over. And Evan and I… what are we now? Last night feels like a dream, hazy and unreal in the harsh light of day. *Was it just the magic of the wedding?* I wonder. *Or was it something more?*

Evan stirs beside me, his eyes blinking open. He smiles when he sees me watching him, a slow, sleepy grin that makes my stomach flip. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey,” I whisper back, my cheeks heating.

He leans in and kisses me, a soft, lingering press of his lips against mine. “Last night was incredible,” he says when he pulls back.

“It really was,” I agree, my heart pounding.

We stare at each other for a long moment, the silent question lingering between us. *What happens now?*

But before either of us can say anything, my phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a text from my mother.

Family brunch in 30 minutes. Don’t be late.

I groan, dropping my head back onto the pillow. “So much for a lazy morning,” I mutter.

Evan chuckles, his fingertips drawing patterns on my hip. “Come on,” he says, sitting up and stretching. “We should get ready. Don’t want to keep your family waiting.”

I watch him walk naked to the bathroom, my eyes trailing over the lean lines of his body. *God, he’s gorgeous*, I think, my mouth going dry. *And he’s mine. At least for now.*

The family brunch is being held in the hotel’s sun-filled dining room, with views of the ocean glittering in the distance. As we walk in hand in hand, I can feel my family’s gaze on us, curious and assessing. My mother looks particularly smug, no doubt congratulating herself on finally getting me to bring a boyfriend to a family event.

“Margot, Evan, over here!” she calls, waving us to a table by the window where my father, sister, and a few aunts and uncles are already seated.

We make our way over, Evan’s hand a comforting pressure on the small of my back. “Morning, everyone,” I say, forcing a bright smile as we sit down.

“Good morning,” my Aunt Helen says, her eyes narrowing on us. “I hope you two got some sleep last night. You look a bit… tired.”

I feel my cheeks flush, but Evan just laughs, squeezing my knee under the table. “We had a late night,” he says easily. “The reception was a lot of fun.”

“It really was,” Sarah agrees, smiling at us. “You two were quite the dancers.”

“We do our best,” Evan says, winking at me.

The conversation turns to other things – the wedding, the weather, my cousin’s new job – and I start to relax, letting myself enjoy the feeling of Evan beside me, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of my family’s expectations.

But then, just as we’re finishing our meals, Aunt Helen turns to me, her expression sharp. “So, Margot,” she says, her voice carrying across the table. “When are we going to meet your next boyfriend?”

The question is like a bucket of cold water, shocking me into silence. I stare at her, my mind blank. “Excuse me?” I finally manage to say.

“You know,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “The next one. After this one.” She nods at Evan, who has gone very still beside me. “You always seem to have a new one every few months. I just wondered when we could expect the next installment.”

Her words are like a physical blow, each one hitting harder than the last. I feel my face flush, my hands clenching into fists in my lap. “Aunt Helen,” I say, my voice tight. “That’s not fair. And it’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks, one eyebrow arched. “What happened to that nice boy you brought to Christmas? The one with the glasses? And before that, the artist? You never stick with anyone for long, Margot. Why should this one be any different?”

I’m trembling now, anger and humiliation warring inside me. I want to defend myself, to tell her that she’s wrong, that Evan is different. But the words won’t come. All I can think about is the fact that she’s right. I’ve never been able to make a relationship last. Why should this time be any different?

Before I can say anything, Evan speaks up, his voice calm and steady. “With all due respect, Helen,” he says, “I think you’re being unfair. Margot is an amazing woman, and I’m lucky to have her in my life. How long our relationship lasts is up to us, not you or anyone else.”

His words are like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my emotions. I reach for his hand under the table, squeezing it tightly. He squeezes back, his eyes holding mine.

“I’m just saying,” Aunt Helen sniffs, “that she has a pattern. And patterns are hard to break.”

“People can change, Helen,” my mother says unexpectedly, her voice firm. “And even if they don’t, it’s not our place to judge.”

I stare at her, surprised by her defense. She’s usually the first one to criticize my life choices. But she meets my gaze, her eyes soft, and gives me a small nod.