When things are going poorly, I dream about tidal waves. I’m told it’s a sign of feeling powerless, those walls of water surging toward the sky. I wake gasping, too upset to fall back asleep.

I hate that dream, but there’s one I hate even more—the one I have when things are going well.

In it, I’m back at my best friend’s wedding. The air is balmy but not hot, the sun dropping low over Grace Bay in the distance while a cellist plays Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

The wedding coordinator taps my shoulder. I give Olivia a quick hug, careful not to crush her veil, and walk into view. Every head turns toward me. I don’t love being the center of attention, but that has nothing to do with the tight knot in my stomach right now.

Don’t look at him.

How many times have I pled with myself in this way? Ignore him, forget him. I don’t know why I bother—it’s never worked once. Even now, with my boyfriend sitting somewhere in the crowd, I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m not five feet down the aisle before my gaze goes straight to the one person it shouldn’t go to: the best man.

He stands to his brother’s right, watching me the way he’s done often over the past few months—as if he’d eat me alive if I’d allow it. His eyes, as blue as the sea behind him, meet mine, and my heart doesn’t seem to beat but bounce inside my chest. There’s one long bounce where five or six beats should have occurred. Inside my head I begin pleading with him: It’s not too late. You can still fix this. Please, please fix this.

* * *

I hate waking from that dream. I hate the way I wake hungering for the sight of him, someone who never deserved a moment of my time in the first place.

I open my eyes this morning with my ears still straining to hear the cellist, surprised for a moment to find only normal sounds—running water, the whir of an electric razor. My heart is still bouncing in my chest as I roll toward the nightstand and slip on my engagement ring. I can’t believe I’m still having that dream after so many years have passed.

I know what a shrink would say, because I’ve already seen one. Cold feet, she assured me. It happens to everyone. God I hope she was right.

Rob emerges from the bathroom clad only in a towel. “Sorry,” he says, frowning. “I was trying to be quiet.”

He got stuck at a client thing and didn’t get in until after midnight, yet here it is barely 5 AM, and he’s already leaving for the day. This has been his life for months now, thanks to a merger he’s overseeing. I wound up scraping last night’s dinner into the trash. I don’t blame him for it, and the merger itself is nearly done, but I sometimes wonder if the frantic pace will ever end. Rob seems to enjoy it a little more than he should.

“There’s no reason both of us should be running on fumes today,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

He grabs boxers and drops the towel, revealing a perfect body, honed by long hours in the gym and a commitment to healthy eating I wish I shared. It’s a pleasure to watch him dress, even this early in the day.

“You know,” I say, attempting to sound seductive, “if we’re both awake and in the same place at the same time, I can think of something I’d rather do than sleep.”

I’m not sure if I’m motivated by desire or guilt—I really hate that I had that dream again. Thank God he can’t see inside my head.

He flinches. “They’re eight hours ahead in Amsterdam, hon. I’ve really got to get going. But I’ll be home early.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groan.

Brendan, Rob’s best friend, has just returned to Colorado after several years overseas, and he’s coming over tonight. This is only happy news for one of us.

Rob arches a brow. “You promised you’d be nice.”

“Just to be clear, I only promised to be civil. Which is more than I’ll get from him in return, I’m sure.”

He sighs, pulling on his jacket.“I don’t understand why you hate him so much.”

It’s nothing I’ve ever been able to explain. Hatred for Brendan is like some underground water source—you think you’ve got it all out in the open, but it just keeps coming.

Except when I’m dreaming about him. I don’t seem to hate him much then.