After My Boyfriend Saved His Fiancée While I Was Drowning

Phoenix called on a Thursday. His voice was light. Easy. Like nothing had been wrong.

"Montauk this weekend," he said. "Small group. Sailing. You should come."

I was folding laundry. Biscuit was asleep on the couch. "Who's going?"

"A few people. My cousin. Some friends. Emerald."

I set down the shirt I was holding. "Emerald."

"It's not like that," Phoenix said. "It's a group thing. I want you there."

I should have said no. I knew I should have. "Okay," I said instead.

"Great." He sounded relieved. "I'll arrange a boat for you. Something small. Easy to handle. We'll meet at the marina Saturday morning."

I hung up and sat on the floor. Biscuit woke up and pushed his head into my lap. I held him and stared at the wall and didn't let myself think about what I'd just agreed to.

The night before we left, I stood on my rooftop. The city stretched out in every direction — lights and noise and the particular kind of loneliness that comes from being surrounded by people who don't see you. Biscuit was at my feet. The air was cold. I should have gone inside.

I didn't. I stood there until my hands went numb and thought about the parking garage. The rain. Phoenix's blood on my jacket. The way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing between him and the pavement. I'd believed him then. I'd believed all of it.

I went inside. I packed a small bag. I didn't sleep.

The marina was crowded Saturday morning. Phoenix was already there, standing on the deck of a yacht that looked like it cost more than my building. Emerald was beside him. She saw me first. She waved.

Phoenix came down to the dock. He kissed my cheek. "You made it."

"You said to come."

"I did." He gestured to a small boat tied twenty feet away. "That's yours. You remember how to sail, right?"

I looked at it. It was small. Old. The kind of boat you rented when you didn't want to spend money. "I remember."

"Good." He squeezed my hand. "We'll stay close. It'll be fun."

Emerald called his name from the yacht. He let go of my hand and walked back. I stood on the dock and watched him climb aboard. He didn't look back.

I got in the small boat. The engine started on the third try. I followed them out of the marina, staying back, keeping distance. The water was choppy. Gray. The sky looked like it couldn't decide whether to rain.

By midday, we were far enough out that the shore was a thin line behind us. Phoenix's yacht cut through the water smooth and fast. My boat rocked. Spray hit my face. I tasted salt.

I saw Emerald move to the bow. She was looking at me. Then she was at the wheel. Phoenix was beside her. I couldn't hear what they were saying. The distance was too far. But I saw her turn the yacht. I saw the angle change.

She was coming straight at me.

I turned the wheel. The boat responded slow. Too slow. The yacht was closing fast. I could see Emerald's face now. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't angry. She just looked focused. Determined. Like this was something she'd already decided.

I shouted. The wind took the sound. Phoenix was at the wheel now. I saw him see me. I saw him understand.

He turned.

Not toward me. Away. Toward Emerald. The yacht swerved and the wake hit my boat like a wall. I felt the hull lift. I grabbed for the rail. My hands slipped. The world tilted.

I went under.

The water was cold. Colder than I expected. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but dark. My lungs burned. I kicked. I came up. I gasped. A wave hit my face and I went down again.

I didn't panic. That was the strange part. I should have panicked. I just thought, very clearly, that this was how it ended. That I'd pulled him out of a parking garage and he'd let me drown and that seemed about right.

I kicked again. Harder. My head broke the surface. I coughed. Saltwater came up. I looked for the boat. It was capsized, ten feet away, drifting. I looked for the yacht. It was farther out. I could see two people on the deck. Phoenix was diving. Not toward me. Toward Emerald, who was in the water on the other side, screaming.

I started swimming. I didn't think about it. I just moved. Stroke after stroke. My arms were heavy. My legs were heavier. The shore was so far away it didn't look real.

I don't know how long it took. Long enough that I stopped feeling cold. Long enough that I stopped feeling anything. My hand hit sand. I dragged myself forward. My knees scraped rock. I crawled onto the beach and lay there, coughing, shaking, staring at the sky.

I heard footsteps. Phoenix. He was dripping, breathing hard. Emerald was behind him, wrapped in a towel someone had given her.

"Oakley." He dropped to his knees beside me. "Jesus. Are you okay?"

I looked at him. His face was pale. Worried. He reached for me.

I sat up. My voice came out flat. Calm. "We're done."

He blinked. "What?"

"We're done," I said again. "Don't call me. Don't come by. We're done."

"Oakley, you're in shock. Let me—"

I stood. My legs shook but they held. I walked past him. Past Emerald. Past the small crowd that had gathered to watch. I kept walking until I found a road. I didn't look back.

I took a bus back to Brooklyn. I was still wet when I unlocked my apartment door. Biscuit ran to me, whining, circling my legs. I sat on the floor and held him and finally, finally, I cried.