Funny Story – Emily Henry

TITLESBYEMILYHENRY
FunnyStory
HappyPlace
BookLovers
PeopleWeMeetonVacation
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Copyright?2024byEmilyHenryBooks,LLC
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LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Henry,Emily,author.
Title:Funnystory/EmilyHenry.
Description:NewYork:Berkley,2024.
Identifiers:LCCN2023046632(print)|LCCN2023046633(ebook)|ISBN9780593441282(hardcover)|ISBN9780593441220(ebook)|ISBN9780593816486(exportedition)
Subjects:LCGFT:Romancefiction.|Novels.
Classification:LCCPS3608.E5715F862024(print)|LCCPS3608.E5715(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23/eng/20231010
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2023046632
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2023046633
CoverdesignandillustrationbySandraChiu
BookdesignbyAlisonCnockaert,adaptedforebookbyMollyJeszke
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.3_146746584_c0_r0Contents
Cover
TitlesbyEmilyHenry
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
_146746584_ForBri,whopickedmeupfromtheairportthenightwefirstmetanddrovemethroughasnowstormwithouteverlookingback.Istruckgoldwithyou.1
WEDNESDAY,MAY1ST
108DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
Somepeoplearenaturalstorytellers.Theyknowhowtosetthescene,findtherightangle,whentopausefordramaticeffectorbreezepastinconvenientdetails.
Iwouldn’thavebecomealibrarianifIdidn’tlovestories,butI’veneverbeengreatattellingmyown.
IfIhadapennyforeverytimeIinterruptedmyownanecdotetodebatewhetherthisactuallyhadhappenedonaTuesday,orifithadinfactbeenThursday,thenI’dhaveatleastfortycents,andthat’swaytoobigachunkofmylifewastedforwaytoosmallofapayout.
Peter,ontheotherhand,wouldhavezerocentsandaraptaudience.
Iespeciallylovedthewayhetoldourstory,aboutthedaywemet.
Itwaslatespring,threeyearsago.WelivedinRichmondatthetime,amerefiveblocksseparatinghissleekapartmentinarenovatedItalianatefrommyshabby-not-quite-chicversionofthesamekindofplace.
Onmywayhomefromwork,Idetouredthroughthepark,whichIneverdid,buttheweatherwasperfect.AndIwaswearingafloppy-brimmedhat,whichIneverhad,butMommailedittometheweekbefore,andIfeltlikeIowedittohertoatleasttryitout.IwasreadingasIwalked—whichI’dvowedtostopdoingbecauseI’dnearlycausedabikeaccidentdoingsoweeksearlier—whensuddenly,awarmbreezecaughtthehat’sbrim.Itliftedoffmyheadandswoopedoveranazaleabush.Righttoatall,handsomeblondman’sfeet.
Petersaidthisfeltlikeaninvitation.Laughed,almostself-deprecatingly,asheadded,“I’dneverbelievedinfatebeforethat.”
Ifitwasfate,thenit’sreasonabletoassumefatealittlebithatesme,becausewhenhebenttoretrievethehat,anothergustsweptitintotheair,andIchasedafteritrightintoatrashcan.
Themetalkind,boltedtotheground.
Myhatlandedatopapileofdiscardedlomein,thelipofthecansmashedintomyribcage,andIdidawheezingpratfallintothegrass.Peterdescribedthisas“adorablyclumsy.”
HeleftoutthepartwhereIscreamedastringofexpletives.
“IfellinlovewithDaphnethemomentIlookedupfromherhat,”he’dsay,nomentionofthetrash-noodlesinmyhair.
WhenheaskedifIwasokay,Isaid,“DidIkillabicyclist?”
HethoughtI’dhitmyhead.(Nope,justbadatfirstimpressions.)
Overthelastthreeyears,PeterdustedoffOurStoryeverychancehegot.Iwassurehe’dworkitintobothourvowsandhisweddingreceptionspeech.
Butthenhisbachelorpartyhappened,andeverythingchanged.
Thestorytippedontoitsside.Foundafreshpointofview.Andinthisnewtellingofit,Iwasnolongertheleadinglady,butinsteadtheteensycomplicationthatwouldforeverbeusedtojazzuptheirstory.
DaphneVincent,thelibrarianthatPeterpluckedoutofthetrash,nearlymarried,thendumpedthemorningafterhisbachelorpartyforhis“platonic”“best”“friend,”PetraComer.
Thenagain,whenwouldheevenneedtotelltheirstory?
EveryonearoundPeterCollinsandPetraComerknewtheirhistory:Howthey’dmetinthirdgradewhenforcedintoalphabeticalseating,bondingoverasharedloveofPokémon.How,soonafter,theirmothersbecamefriendswhilechaperoninganaquariumfieldtrip,withtheirfatherstofollowsuit.
Forthelastquarterofacentury,theCollinsesandtheComersvacationedtogether.Theycelebratedbirthdays,ateChristmasbrunches,decoratedtheirhomeswithhandmadepictureframesfromwhichPeter’sandPetra’sfacesbeamedoutbeneathsomeiterationofthephraseBESTFRIENDSFOREVER.
This,Petertoldme,madehimandthemostgorgeouswomanI’devermetmorelikecousinsthanfriends.
Asalibrarian,Ireallyshould’vetakenamomenttothinkaboutMansfieldParkorWutheringHeights,allthoselovestoriesandtwistedGothicswhereintwoprotagonists,raisedsidebyside,reachadulthoodandproclaimtheirundyingloveforeachother.
ButIdidn’t.
SonowhereIam,sittinginatinyapartment,scrollingthroughPetra’spublicsocialmedia,seeingeverydetailofhernewcourtshipwithmyex-fiancé.
Fromthenextroom,JamieO’Neal’srenditionof“AllByMyself”playsloudlyenoughtomakethecoffeetableshiver.Mynext-doorneighbor,Mr.Dorner,poundsonthewall.
Ibarelyhearit,becauseI’vejustreachedapictureofPeterandPetra,sandwichedbetweenbothsetsoftheirparents,ontheshoreofLakeMichigan—sixabnormallyattractivepeoplesmilingabnormallywhitesmilesoverthecaption,Thebestthingsinlifeareworthwaitingfor.
Asifoncue,themusicratchetsup.
Islammycomputershutandpeelmyselfoffthesofa.Thisapartmentwasbuiltpre–globalwarming,whenNorthernMichigandershadnoneedforair-conditioning,butit’sonlyMayfirstandalreadytheapartmentturnsintoabrickovenaroundmidday.
IcrosstothebedroomhallwayandknockonMiles’sdoor.Hedoesn’thearmeoverJamie.Iescalatetopounding.
Themusicstops.
Footstepsshufflecloser.Thedoorswingsopen,andaweedfogwaftsout.
Myroommate’sdarkbrowneyesareringedinpink,andhe’sinnothingbutapairofboxersandafunkyknittedafghanwrappedaroundhisshoulderslikeaverysadcape.Consideringtheoverallclimateofourhotboxapartment,Icanonlyassumethisisformodesty’ssake.Seemslikeoverkillforamanwho,justlastnight,forgotIlivedwithhimlongenoughtotakeawhole-assshowerwiththedoorwideopen.
Hischocolate-brownhairsticksupineverydirection.Hismatchingbeardispurechaos.Heclearshisthroat.“What’sup.”
“Everythingokay?”Iask,becausewhileI’musedtoadisheveledMiles,I’mlessusedtohearinghimblastthesaddestsongintheworld.
“Yep,”hesays.“Allgood.”
“Couldyouturnthemusicdown,”Isay.
“I’mnotlisteningtomusic,”hesays,deadserious.
“Well,youpausedit,”Isay,incasehereallyissimplytoohightoremembermorethanthreesecondsback.“Butit’sreallyloud.”
Hescratchesoneeyebrowwiththebackofhisknuckle,frowning.“I’mwatchingamovie,”hesays.“ButIcanturnitdown.Sorry.”
Withoutevenmeaningto,I’mpeeringoverhisshouldertogetabetterlook.
Unliketherestofourapartment,whichwasperfectlytidywhenIarrivedandisstillperfectlytidy,hisroomisdisastrous.Halfofhisrecordsarestackedatopthemilkcratestheyostensiblybelonginside.Hisbedisunmade,arumpledcomforterandthesheetuntuckedallthewayaround.Twotatteredflannelshirtshangoutofhismostlycloseddresserdrawers,likelittleghostshe’spinnedthere,midescape.
Indirectoppositiontothecreamsandtaupesofmyroom,hisisamessy,cozymixofrusts,mustards,seventiesgreens.WheremybooksareneatlyorganizedalongmybookcaseandtheshelfIinstalledabovemywindow,his(veryfew)arefacedown,spinescracked,onthefloor.Electronicsmanuals,loosetools,andanopenbagofSourPatchKidsarescatteredacrosshisdesk,andonhiswindowsill,astickofincenseburnsbetweenafewsurprisinglyvivacioushouseplants.
HisTV,though,iswhatcatchesmyeye.Onscreenistheimageofathirty-year-oldRenéeZellweger,sportingredpajamasandbeltingasongintoarolled-upmagazine.
“Ohmygod,Miles,”Isay.
“What?”hesays.
“You’rewatchingBridgetJones’sDiary?”
“It’sagoodmovie!”hecries,alittledefensive.
“It’sagreatmovie,”Isay,“butthissceneis,like,oneminutelong.”
Hesniffs.“So?”
“Sowhyhasitbeenplayingforatleast”—Icheckmyphone—“thelasteightminutes?”
Hisdarkbrowsknittogether.“Didyouneedsomething,Daphne?”
“Couldyoujustturnitdown?”Isay.“AlltheplatesarerattlinginthecabinetsandMr.Dorner’stryingtobustdownthelivingroomwall.”
Anothersniff.“Youwanttowatch?”heoffers.
Inthere?
Toobigofatetanusrisk.Anungenerousthought,sure,butIhaverecentlytappedoutmysupplyofgenerosity.That’swhathappenswhenyourlifepartnerleavesyouforthenicest,sunniest,prettiestwomaninthestateofMichigan.
“I’mgood,”ItellMiles.
Webothjuststandthere.Thisisasmuchasweeverinteract.I’mabouttobreaktherecord.Mythroattickles.Myeyesburn.Iadd,“Andcouldyoupleasenotsmokeinside?”
Iwould’veaskedsooner,exceptthat,technically,theapartmentishis.Hedidmeahugefavorlettingmemovein.
Thenagain,it’snotlikehehadmanyoptions.Hisgirlfriendhadjustmovedout.
Intomyapartment.
Withmyfiancé.
HeneededtoreplacePetra’shalfoftheirsharedrent.Ineededaplacetosleep.DidIsaysleep?Imeantweep.
ButI’vebeenherethreeweeksnow,andI’mtiredofshowinguptoworksmellinglikeIcamestraightfromtheleastfamousoftheGratefulDead’sspin-offbands’concerts.
“Istickmyheadoutthewindow,”Milessays.
“What,”Isay.
ImmediatelyIpictureachocolateLabradorridinginacar,itsmouthopenandeyessquintingintothewind.ThefewtimesMilesandImetbeforeallthis,onawkwarddoubledateswithournow-partneredpartners,that’swhathe’dremindedmeof.Friendlyandwirywithanupturnednosethatmadehimlookabitimpish,andteeththatweresomehowtooperfectincontrasttohisscruffyface.
Thetollofthelastthreeweekshasgivenhimaslightlyferaledge—aLabradorbittenbyawerewolfanddumpedbackatthepound.Relatable,honestly.
“IstickmyheadoutthewindowwhenIsmoke,”heclarifies.
“Okay,”Isay.That’sallI’vegot.Iturntogo.
“Yousureyoudon’twanttowatchthemovie?”hesays.
Oh,god.
Thetruthis,Milesseemslikeaniceguy.Areallyniceguy!AndIimaginethatwhathe’sfeelingrightnowmustbecomparabletomyowntotalemotionaldecimation.Icouldtakehimuponhisoffer,gositinhisroomonanunmadebedandwatcharomanticcomedywhileabsorbingfifteenhundredgramsofweedsmokeviamypores.Maybeitwouldbeniceeven,topretendforabitthatwe’refriendsratherthanstrangerstrappedtogetherinthisnightmareofabreakup.
ButtherearebetterusesofmyWednesdaynight.
“Maybesomeothertime,”Isay,andgobacktomycomputertocontinuelookingfornewjobs,farawayfromPeterandPetra,andfarawayfromWaningBay,Michigan.
IwonderifAntarcticaisinneedofachildren’slibrarian.
Onehundredandeightdays,andthenI’moutofhere.2
BACKINAPRIL
BEFOREIKNEWINEEDEDTOLEAVE
Here’showtherestofthestorygoes,whenI’mtheonetellingit:PeterCollinsandIfellinloveonedayinthepark,whenthewindsweptmyhatfrommyhead.
Iamarguablytheworld’sworstsmall-talker,buthedidn’twanttosmall-talk
WhenItoldhimthehatwasagiftfrommymother,hewantedtoknowifwewereclose,whereshelivednow,whatthegiftwasfor,andbytheway,Happybirthday,areyouabirthdayperson?AndwhenItoldhim,Thankyou,andyes,yes,Iam,hevolunteeredthathewastoo,thathisfamilyalwaystreatedbirthdayslikehugepersonalsuccessesratherthanmarkersoftime.AndwhenItoldhimthatsoundedbeautiful,thebirthdaysandhisfamily,hesaid,They’rethereasonI’vealwayswantedabigfamilyofmyownsomeday,andatthatpoint,Ialreadywould’vebeenagoner,evenifhehadn’taskedmerightthen,asiftherewasn’tgarbagestickingtomychestnut-brownhair,Whataboutyou?Doyouwantabigfamily?
Datinginmylatetwentieshadbeenhell.ThiswasthekindofquestionI’dusuallyaskrightbeforetheguyontheotherendofthephoneghostedme.Asifithadbeenaformalproposition:Shouldweskipgrabbingadrinkandmaybefreezesomeembryos,justincase?
Peterwasdifferent.Stable,steady,practical.ThekindofpersonIcouldimaginetrusting,whichdidn’tcomenaturallytome.
Withinfiveweeks,we’dmovedintogether,syncedourlives,friendgroups,andschedules.Atthefirstover-the-topbirthdaypartyIeverthrewhim,Peter’sandmyrespectivebestfriendsinRichmond,CooperandSadie,hititoffandstarteddatingtoo.
Withinayear,Peterproposed.Isaidyes.
Ayearlater,whileweddingplanning,westartedlookingforahousetobuy.Hisparents,twooftheloveliestpeopleI’veevermet,senthimthelistingforagorgeousoldhousenotfarfromtheminthelakesideMichigantownhe’dgrownupin.
He’dalwayswantedtogetbackthere,andnowthathissoftwaredevelopmentjobhadgoneremote,nothingwasstoppinghim.
MymomlivedinMarylandbythen.Mydad,atitlethatreallydeservestohavescarequotesaroundit,wasoutinSouthernCalifornia.SadieandCooperweretoyingwiththepossibilityofmovingtoDenver.
AndasmuchasIlovedmyjobinRichmond,whatIreallywanted—whatI’dalwayswanted—wastobeachildren’slibrarian,andloandbehold,theWaningBayPublicLibrarywaslookingtofillthatexactposition.
SoweboughtthehouseinMichigan.
Well,heboughtit.Ihadterriblecreditandslimsavings.Hecoveredthedownpaymentandinsistedonpayingthemortgage.
He’dalwaysbeensogenerous,butitfeltliketoomuch.Sadiedidn’tunderstandmyhang-ups—IletCooperpayforliterallyeverything,she’dsay,hemakesashit-tonmorethanme—butSadiehadn’tbeenraisedbyHollyVincent.
Therewasnowaymybadass,hyperindependentmotherwouldapproveofmerelyingonPetersoheavily,andsoIdidn’tapproveeither.
Hecameupwithacompromise:I’dfurnishtheplace,addpiecemealtotheassortmentoffurniturewe’dbroughtfromRichmond,whilehecoveredthebills.
Mostofhisfar-flungfriendshadcushywhite-collarjobsandcouldaffordtotakeaseparatetripforhisbachelorparty.WhereasSadieandtherestofmyfriendsweremostlyotherlibrarians—orbooksellers,oraspiringwriters—whocouldn’taffordtwoseparatetrips.Thus,sheandCooperwouldflyinafewdaysbeforethesummerceremonyinstead,andwe’ddomybachelorettethen.
So,threeweeksago,inearlyApril,PetertrudgedoutforhisNightontheTownandIstayedbehindtoreadinournewbutter-yellowVictorian.Forthefirstfewstopsofthenight,hetextedmecutegroupshots.Hisbrother,Ben,upfromGrandRapids,andhishighschoolbuddyScott,withwhomI’dfinallymanagedtobondbyreadingthefirstfourDunenovels,alongwithsomeotherRichmondfriends.Theyallhadtheirarmsslungaroundeachother,Petersplittingcenter—ineverypicture—withhiswillowy,platinum-haired,cat-eyedgoddessofabestfriend,onePetraCollins.
Petra’sboyfriend,Miles,hadnotbeeninvitedtothebachelorparty.Peterdidn’thateMiles.Hejustdidn’tthinkMileswasgoodenoughforPetra,becauseMilesisastonerwithoutacollegedegree.
Petraisalsoastonerwithoutacollegedegree,butIguessit’sdifferentwhenyou’reaperfecttenwithapicturesquefamilyandwell-paddedbankaccount.Thenyou’renotastoner;you’reafreespirit
Anotherthingthatmust,despitemygreatestwishes,bementioned:Petraispreternaturallynice.
She’sthatwomanwho’sinstantlyfamiliarwitheveryone,inawaythatmakesyoufeelchosen.Alwaysgrabbingyourarm,laughingatyourjokes,suggestingyoutryherlipglossinthebathroom,theninsistingyoukeepitbecause“it’sbetterwithyourcoloring.”
Ireallydidn’twanttobejealousofher.Itmadesensethatshewenttohisbachelorparty.Shewashisbestfriend.ItmadesensethatIdidn’tgo.That’showthisantiquatedtraditionworks.
I’dhopedtostayawakelongenoughtoshoveaglassofwaterandsomeibuprofenintoPeter’sdrunkenhandwhenhegothome,butIdriftedoffonthecouch.
WhenIjoltedawakeattheclickofthefrontdoor,itwasfullbrightinthelivingroom,soIcouldseePeter’ssurpriseatfindingmethere.
Helooked,honestly,likehe’dstumbleduponawomanwho’dbrokenintohishouseandboiledhispetrabbit,ratherthanhislovingfiancéecurledonthesofa.Butstillthealarmbellsdidn’tgooff.
ItwashardtofeeltoopanickywithPeternearby,lookingliketheveryleastinventivedepictionofthearchangelMichael.Sixfootfour,golden-blondhair,greeneyes,andastrongRomannose.
NotthatIhaveanycluewhataRomannoseis.Butwheneverahistoricalromancewritermentionsone,IthinkofPeter’s.
“You’reback,”Icroakedandgotuptogreethim.Hestiffenedinmyhug,andIpulledaway,myhandsstilllockedagainstthebackofhisneck.Hetookholdofmywristsandunwoundthemfromhim,holdingthembetweenourchests.
“Canwetalkforaminute?”heasked.
“Ofcourse?”Isaiditlikeaquestion.Itwas.
Hewalkedmetothecouchandsatmedown.Then,asfarasIcouldfigure,acoupleoftectonicplatesmusthavesmashedtogether,becausethewholeworldlurched,andmyearsstartedringingsoloudlyIcouldonlycatchbitsofwhathewassaying.Noneofitcouldberight.Itdidn’tmakesense.
Toomuchtodrink…
Everyonewenthome,butwestayedbacktosoberup…
Onethingledtoanotherand…
God,I’msorry.Ididn’twanttohurtyou,but…
“Youcheatedonme?”Ifinallysqueakedout,whilehewasinthemiddleofyetanotherindecipherablesentence.
“No!”hesaid.“Imean,itwasn’tlikethat.We’re…Shetoldmeshe’sinlovewithme,Daphne.AndIrealizedIamtoo.Inlove.Withher.Fuck,I’msosorry.”
Somemoresorries.
Somemoreringingears.
Somemoreplatitudes.
No.No,hedidn’tcheatonme?No,hesimplyconfessedhislovetosomeonewhowasnotme?Iwastryingtojamthepiecesofthepuzzletogether,butnothingfit.Everysentencehesaidwasincompatiblewiththelast.
Finallymyhearingcaughtonsomethingthatseemedimportant,ifonlyIcouldfigureoutthecontext:aweek.
“Aweek?”Isaid.
Henodded.“She’swaitingformenow,sowecanleaverightaway.Notbeinyourhairwhileyoufigurethingsout.”
“Aweek,”Irepeated,stillnotunderstanding.
“Ilookedonline.”Heshiftedforwardonthecouchtopullafoldedpieceofpaperoutofhisbackpocket,andhandedittome.
Sometrulydeludedpartofmethoughtitwouldbeanapologynote,aloveletterthatmadeallofthis…notokay,butmaybesalvageable
Insteaditwasaprintoutoflocalapartmentlistings.
“You’removingout?”Ichoked.
Aflushcreptuphisneck,hiseyesdartingtowardthefrontdoor.“Well,no,”hesaid.“Thehouseisinmyname,so…”
Hetrailedoff,expectingmetofillintheblank.
Finally,Idid.
“Areyoufuckingkiddingme,Peter?”Ijumpedup.Ididn’tfeelhurtthen.Thatwouldcomelater.Firstitwasallrage.
Hestoodtoo,browsshootingtowardhisperfecthairline.“Wedidn’tmeanforthistohappen.”
“Ofcourseshefuckingmeantforthistohappen,Peter!Shehadtwenty-fiveyearstotellyoushewasinlovewithyouandchoselastnight!”
“Shedidn’trealize,”hesaid,defensiveofher.ProtectingherfromtheblastofthisemotionalfalloutwhileIwashereonmyown.“Notuntilshewasfacedwithlosingme.”
“Youbroughtmehere!”Ihalfscreamed.Attheend,itturnedintoasortofderangedlaugh.“Ileftmyfriends.Myapartment.Myjob.Myentirelife.”
“Ifeelsoterrible,”hesaid.“Youhavenoidea.”
“Ihavenoideahowbadyoufeel?”Idemanded.“WhereamIsupposedtogo?”
Hegesturedtotheapartmentlistings,nowontheground.“Look,”hesaid.“We’regoingoutoftowntogiveyouspacetofigurethingsout.Wewon’tbebackuntilnextSunday.”
We.
Back.
Oh.
Oh,god.
Itwasn’tjustthatIwasexpectedtomoveout.
Shewasmovingin.Aftertheygotbackfromasexynew-couplevacationthatwasbeingpitchedtomelikeanactofkindnessformybenefit.Ialmostaskedwheretheyweregoing,butthelastthingIneededwasamentalpictureofthemkissinginfrontoftheEiffelTower.
(Wrong.I’dlaterlearnthey’dbeenkissingalongtheAmalfiCoast.)
“I’mreallysorry,Daph,”hesaid,andleanedintokissmyforeheadlikesomebenevolentfatherfigure,regretfullyshippingoffforwartodohisduty.
Ishovedhimaway,andhiseyeswidenedinshockforjustasecond.Thenhenodded,somberly,andheadedforthedoor,totallyempty-handed.Likehehadeverythingheneededandnotalickofitwasinthishouse.
Asthedoorfellshut,somethingsnappedinme.
IgrabbedoneofthebulkcontainersofJordanalmondsMrs.CollinshadpickeduponherlastCostcotrip,andranoutside,stillinthesilkpajamasPeterboughtmelastChristmas.
Hecastawild-eyedlookoverhisshoulderatmeashehoistedhimselfintothepassengerseatofPetra’sopen-topJeep.Shekeptherfacedecidedlypointedaway.
“Youaresuchafuckingasshole!”Ihurledahandfulofalmondsathim.
Hegaveayelp.Ithrewanotherhandfulatthetailgate.Petrastartedthecar.
Ichasedthemdownthedriveway,thenthrewthewholebucketattheJeep.Ithitawheelandwentskiddingtothesideoftheroadastheypeeledoffintothesunset.
Sunrise.Whatever.
“WhereamIgoingtogo?”IaskedfeeblyasIsankontothedew-dampgrassofour—their—frontyard.
Istayedtherewatchingtheroadforprobablytenminutes.ThenIwentbackinsideandcriedsoharditmight’vemademevomit,ifIhadn’tcompletelyforgottentoeatthenightbefore.Iwasn’tmuchofacook,andbesidesthat,Peterwasextremelycarefulwithhisdiet.Lowcarbs,highprotein.IdugaroundourunderstockedcabinetsandstartedmakingEasyMac.
Thensomeonestartedpoundingonthedoor.
FoolthatIam,myonlyguesswasthatPeterhadcomeback.Thathe’dmadeittotheairportonlyforaburstofclaritytosendhimracinghometome.
ButwhenIopenedthedoor,IfoundMiles,red-eyedfromeithercryingorsmoking,andbrandishingathree-sentencenotethatPetrahadlefthimontheircoffeetable,asifitwereapitchforkormaybeaflagofsurrender.
“Isshehere?”heaskedthickly.
“No.”Numbnesssettledoverme.“Ithrewsomealmondsatthemandtheydroveaway.”
Henodded,thesorrowdeepeningacrosshisface,asifheknewexactlywhatthatmeant,anditwasn’tgood.
“Shit,”herasped,slumpingagainstthedoorframe.
Iswallowedaknotthatfeltlikebarbedwire.OrmaybeitwasatangleoftheVincentfamilypracticalityI’dinheritedfrommymother,thatoldfamiliarabilitytousethosenegativeemotionsasfueltoGet.Shit.Done.
“Miles,”Isaid.
Helookedup,hisexpressionwreckedbutwithabitofhopelurkingsomewherebetweenhiseyebrows.LikehethoughtImightannouncethiswholethingwasanextremelyfunandnotsociopathicprank.
“Howmanybedroomsdoesyourapartmenthave?”Iasked.3
SATURDAY,MAY18TH
91DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
Honestly,MilesNowakisagoodroommate.
Asidefromoccasionalinvitationstowatchamovie,ortextstoaskwhetherIneedanythingfromthemarket,heleavesmetomyowndevices.Aftermyrequestthatheonlysmokeoutside,hereallymusthavestoppedmerelystickinghisheadoutthewindow,becauseweekspasswithoutmesmellingweedinthehallway.There’snomoremournfulblastingofJamieO’Nealeither.Infact,heseemstotallyfine.Ineverwould’veguessedhewasamanfreshoffahorribleheartbreakifIhadn’tseenhisfacesixweeksago,onthedayithappened.
Withoutdiscussingit,weprettyeasilyfiguredoutabathroomschedulethatworks.He’sanightowl,andIusuallygetuparoundsixthirtyorseveninthemorning,regardlessofwhetherI’mworkingthelibrary’sopeningshiftornot.Andsincehe’srarelyhome,heneverleavesstacksofdirtydishes“soaking”inthesink.
Buttheapartmentitselfistiny.Mybedroomisaglorifiedcloset.
Infact,Petrauseditasone,whenshelivedhere.
Ayearago,themeagerdimensionswouldn’thavebeenaproblem.
AslongasIcouldremember,I’dbeenastaunchminimalist.Fromthetimemyparentsseparated,MomandIhadmovedaroundalot,chasingpromotionsatthebankwheresheworked,andthen,eventually,helpingopennewbranches.Weneverhadprofessionalmovers,justthehelpofwhicheverguywastryingandfailingtoscoreadatewithMomatthetime,soIlearnedtotravellight.
ImadeasportoffiguringouttheabsoluteleastamountofthingsIneeded.IthelpedthatIwassuchalibrarykidanddidn’thavemetrictonsofannotatedpaperbacks.BooksweretheonlythingIwasgluttonousabout,butIdidn’tcareaboutowningthemsomuchasabsorbingtheircontents.
Once,beforeamoveinhighschool,IconvincedMomtodoaceremonialburningofalltheA+testsandpapersshe’dbeenstockpilingonourfridge.Weturnedonthelittlegasfireplaceinthelivingroom—theonlythingwebothagreedwe’dmissaboutthatmildew-riddledapartment—andIstartedtossingthingsin.
ItwastheonlytimeI’dseenhercry.Shewasmybestfriendandfavoritepersonintheworld,butshewasn’tasoftwoman.I’dalwaysthoughtofherascompletelyinvulnerable.
Butthatnight,watchingmyoldphysicstestblackenandcurl,hereyeswelledandshesaidinathickvoice,“Oh,Daph.WhoamIgoingtobewhenyougoofftocollege?”
Isnuggledclosertoher,andshewrappedherarmsaroundmyshoulders.“You’restillgoingtobeyou,”Itoldher.“Thebestmomontheplanet.”
Shekissedmeonthehead,said,“SometimesIwishIheldontoalittlebitmore.”
“It’sjuststuff,”Iremindedher,herownconstantrefrain.
Life,I’dlearned,isarevolvingdoor.Mostthingsthatcomeintoitonlystayawhile.
Themenhell-bentonprovingtheirfeelingsforMomeventuallygaveupandmovedon.Thefriendsfromthelastschoolwhopromisedtowritefadedfromtherearviewinamonthortwo.TheboywhocalledyoueverydayafteronemagicalsummernightoutsidetheWhippyDipperwouldreturntoschoolinthefallholdingsomeoneelse’shand.
Therewasnopointclingingtosomethingthatwasn’treallyyours.Momwastheonlypermanentthinginmylife,theonlythingthatmattered.
Whensheputmeonaplanetosendmeofftoundergrad,neitherofuscried.Insteadwestoodhuggingeachothersolongandtightthatlater,Ifoundabruiseonmyshoulder.Myentirewardrobeofsolid-coloredbasicsfitintoonesuitcase,andwe’dshippedthejuterugwe’dfoundonclearance,alongwithamug,bowl,setofsilverware,andhotpot,whichMomjokedwouldallowmetomakeallofmymajorfoodgroups:tea,EasyMac,andTopRamen.
Thatwastwostatesandfiveapartmentsago.Inallthattime,I’dmanagedtoaccumulateverylittleclutter.
ThenPeterandImovedintotheWaningBayhouse,withitswraparoundporch.Thatday,hescoopedmeintohisarms,carriedmeoverthethreshold,andsaidthreemagicwordsthatchangedmylittleminimalistheartforever.
Welcomehome,Daphne
Justlikethat,somethinginmerelaxed,mygooiestpartsoozingoutbeyondmyheretoforecarefullymaintainedboundaries.
Untilthatmoment,I’dcarriedmylifelikeahandkerchiefknapsackattheendofabroomhandle,somethingsmallandcontainableIcouldpickupandmoveatthedropofahat.AndIneverknewwhatitwasIwasrunningfrom,orto,untilhesaidit.
Home.Thewordstokedanemberinmychest.HerewasthepermanenceI’dbeenwaitingfor.Aplacethatwouldbelongtous.Andyes,ourunevenfinancialsituationscomplicatedthatownership,butwhilehepaidthebills,Icouldfocusoncozyingtheplaceup.
Myminimalismwentoutthewindow.
Nowallthatstuff—furnitureintendedforathree-bedroomhouse—wasstuffedintoMiles’sguestroom.Furniturewalltowall,allofitbuttingrightupagainsteachother,throwpillowsutterlycoveringmybed,likeIwassomeunhingedStephenKingvillainwhomighthandcuffyoutotheheadboardandmotheryoutodeath.
Ishould’veleftallofthisshitbehind,butIfelttooguiltyaboutthemoneyI’dspent,outfittingahomethatwasn’tevenmine.
Thentherewastheweddingparaphernalia,shovedintoeveryclosettheapartmenthad,theoverpriceddresshangingontheothersideofathinlaminatesliderdoor—atelltaleheart,aDorianGrayportrait,adeepdarksecret.
Intheory,I’mgoingtosellthedressandtherestofitonline,butdoingsowouldrequirethinkingaboutthewedding,andI’mnotthereyet.
Infact,I’vespentthefirstsevenhoursofmySaturdaymorningshiftpushinganythoughtoftheWeddingThatNeverWasoutofmymind.
ThenmyphonebuzzesonmydeskwithatextfromMiles:urworking
Thisishowhetexts.Withabbreviations,verylittlecontext,andnopunctuation.
IsheaskingmeortellingmethatI’mworking?Neithermakessense.IhaveadetailedwhiteboardcalendarinthekitchenwherehecanclearlyseeexactlywhereI’mgoingtobeandwhen.Icheckitagainstmyphonecalendarnightly,andIinvitedhimtoaddhisownschedule,buthe’snevertakenmeuponit.
Yep,Isay.
Anothertext:UwantThai
I’mguessingthat’sanotherimpliedquestionmark,thoughit’sunclearwhetherhe’saskingaboutorderingdinnerorifit’smoreofanexistentialquestion.
I’mgood,thanks,Iwrite.Everydayonmylunchbreak,Igotooneofthethreefoodtrucksatthepublicbeachacrossthestreet.Saturdaysareaburritoday,soI’llbestuffedforhours.
K,Mileswrites.
Thenhetypessomemoreandstops.Iwonderifhe’sfishingforanoffertopickuptheaforementionedThaionmywayhome.
Anythingelse?Iwriteback.
Hereplies,I’lljustcuwhenugethome.
Strange.OnSaturdays,he’susuallyinhisroomoroutforthenightbythetimeIgetback.Myphonevibratesagain,butit’sjustmyten-minutewarningforStoryHour.Igathermysuppliesandheadtothesunken-living-room-styleStoryNookatthebackofthelibrary.Kidsandtheirkeepersarealreadygatheringinthelittlepit,claimingcarpetsquaresorheavilyLysoledgymnasticmats.Someoftheoldercaretakers,grandparentsandgreat-grandparents,easethemselvesintothescoopchairsarrangedaroundtheouterringofthenook,theregularsgreetingeachother.
Thelibrary’sbackwallofwindowsbathesthenookinsunlight,andIcanalreadytellwhowillbenoddingoffbybooktwo.
Still,achorusofridiculouslittlevoicesrisesasIapproach,criesof“MissDaffy!”andotheradorablemispronunciationsofmyname.Inmyheart,itfeelslikelittlekernelsareburstingintofluffyblossomsofpopcorn.
Onelittlegirlannounces,asIwalkpast,“I’mthree!”andItellherthat’sawesome,andaskhowoldshethinksIam.
Afterbriefconsideration,shetellsmeI’mateenager.
LastweekshesaidIwasonehundred,soI’mtakingthisasawin.BeforeIcanrespond,afour-year-oldnamedArhamI’veliterallyneverseennotinaSpider-Mancostumeflingshimselfatme,huggingmyknees.
Nomatterhowfoulmymood,StoryHouralwayshelps.
“Sweetie,”Arham’smother,Huma,says,reachingtopeelhimawaybeforewetopple.
“Whoherelikesdragons?”Iask,tonear-unanimouscheering.
Therearealotofsweetfamilieswho’vebecomeregularssinceIstartedhereayearago,butHumaandArhamaretwoofmyfavorites.He’sendlesslyenergeticandimaginative,andsheridesthatmagicallineofkeepingfirmruleswithoutsquashinghislittleweirdospirit.Seeingthemtogetheralwaysmakesmyheartachealittlebit.
Makesmemissmyownmom.
MakesmemissthelifeIthoughtI’dhavewithPeter,andtherestoftheCollinses.
Ishakemyselfoutofthecloudofmelancholyandsettleintomychairwiththefirstoftoday’spicturebooksinmylap.“Whatabouttacos?”Iaskthekids.“Doesanyonelikethose?”
Somehow,thekidsmanageevenmoreenthusiasmfortacosthantheydidfordragons.WhenIaskiftheyalreadyknewthatdragonslovetacos,theirshrieksofdelightareearsplitting.Arhamjumpsup,theheelsofhissneakersflashingredasheshouts,“Dragonseatpeople!”
Itellhimthatsomemaybedo,butothersjusteattacos,andthat’sasgoodofasegueasI’mgoingtogetintoDragonsLoveTacosbyAdamRubin,illustratedbyDanielSalmieri.
NopartofmyweekgoesasfastasStoryHourdoes.IgetsosuckedintoitthatIusuallyonlyrememberI’matworkwhenIclosethelastbookoftheday.
JustasIpredicted,theenergythatgreetedmehasfizzled,thekidsmostlysettlingintopleasantsleepinessintimetopackitinandheadhome,exceptforoneoftheFontanatriplets,who’stiredenoughtodevolveintoaminormeltdownashermomistryingtogetherandhersiblingsoutthedoor.
Iwavegoodbyetothelaststragglers,thenstarttidyingthenook,sprayingthematsdown,gatheringtrash,returningabandonedbookstothefrontdesktobereshelved.
Ashleigh,thelibrarianresponsibleforouradultpatronsandprogramming,slipsoutfromthebackoffice,hergiganticquiltedpurseslungoveroneshoulderandherraventopknotjuttingslightlytotheright.
Despitebeingafive-foot-tallhourglassofawomanwithDisneyPrincesseyes,Ashleighistheembodimentofthescary-librarianstereotype.Hervoicehastheforceofabluntobject,andsheoncetoldmeshe“doesn’tmindconfrontation”inatonethatmademewonderifmaybewewerealreadyinone.She’sthepersonthatourseptuagenarianbranchmanager,Harvey,deployswheneveradifficultpatronneedsafirmhand.
Myfirstshiftworkingalongsideher,amiddle-agedguywithawadofdipinhischeekwalkedup,staredatherboobs,andsaid,“I’vealwayshadathingforexoticgirls.”
Withoutevenlookingupfromhercomputer,Ashleighreplied,“That’sinappropriate,andifyouspeaktomelikethatagain,we’llhavetobanyou.WoulditbehelpfulifIprintedyousomeliteratureaboutsexualharassment?”
Allthattosay,Iadmireandfearherinequalmeasure.
“Yougoodtolockup?”sheasksnow,whiletexting.AnotherthingaboutAshleigh:she’salwayslate,andusuallyleavesabitearly.“IhavetopickupMulderfromtaekwondo,”shesays.
Yes,hersonisnamedafterDavidDuchovny’scharacterfromTheX-Files
Yes,everytimeIrememberthis,Iinchclosertodeath.
I’mnowoldenoughtohavekidswithoutanyonebeingscandalizedbyit.
Hell,I’moldenoughtohaveadaughternamedRenesmeeononeofthoseU-5soccerteamswherethekidstaketurnskickingtheballthewrongway,thensittingdownmidfieldtotakeofftheirshoes.
Instead,I’msingleandunattachedinaplacewhereIonlyknowmycoworkersandmyex-fiancé’sinnercircle.
“Daphne?”Ashleighsays.“Yougood?”
“Yep,”Itellher.“Yougoahead.”
Shenodsinlieuofagoodbye.Icirclethelibraryonelasttime,flickingoffthefluorescentsasIgo.
Onthedrivehome,Icallmymomonspeakerphone.WithhowbusysheiswithCrossFit,herbookclub,andthestained-glassclassshe’sstartedtaking,we’vestartedoptingformore,quickercallsthesedays,ratherthantwice-a-monthhours-longcatch-ups.
Itellherabouthowthingsareshapingupwithplanningthelibrary’send-of-summerfundraiser(ninety-onedaystogo).Shetellsmeshecannowdeadliftonehundredandsixtypounds.Itellherabouttheseventy-year-oldpatronwhoaskedmetogosalsadancing,andshetellsmeaboutthetwenty-eight-year-oldtrainerwhokeepstryingtofindreasonstoexchangephonenumbers.
“Weleadsuchsimilarlives,”Imuse,parkingonthecurb.
“Iwish.Idon’tthinkKelvinhadsalsadancinginmindorImight’vesaidyes,”shesays.
“Well,I’mhappytopassalongthisguy’snumbertoyou,butyoushouldknowmycoworkerAshleighcallshimHandsyStanley.”
“Youknowwhat,I’mgood,”shesays.“AndI’malsosendingyoupepperspray.”
“Istillhavethecanyougotmeincollege,”Isay.“Unlessitexpires.”
“Probablyjustgetsbetterwithage,”shesays.“I’malmosttobookclub.Whataboutyou?”
Iopenmycardoor.“Justgothome.SametimeMonday?”
“Soundsgood,”shesays.
“Loveyou,”Itellher.
“Loveyoumore,”shesaysquickly,thenhangsupbeforeIcanargue,abitshe’sdoneaslongasIcanremember.
MileslivesonthethirdfloorofarenovatedbrickwarehouseattheedgeofWaningBay,inaneighborhoodcalledButcherTown.Iassumeitusedtobethecity’smeatpackingdistrict,butI’veneverGoogledit,soIdon’tknow,maybeit’snamedafteranold-timeyserialkiller.
BythetimeIclimbthestairsandreachthefrontdoor,I’mclammywithsweat,andinsideIdropmytoteandwrestleoutofmycardiganbeforetoeingoffmyloafers.ThenIcheckmyphonecalendaragainstthewhiteboard.Theonlythingthat’schangedsincelastnightis,IagreedtohosttheThrillsandKillsbookclubonThursdaywhileLandon,thepatronservicesassistantwhousuallyrunsit,recoversfromhisrootcanal.
Iscribblethebookclubontotheboard,thengrabaglassandfillitwithcoldwater.AsIchug,Iambletowardthelivingroom.Inthecornerofmyeye,asuddenmovementsurprisesmesobadlyIyelpandsloshhalfmyglassontotherug.
Butit’sjustMiles.Lyingfacedownonthecouch.Hegroanswithoutsomuchasliftinghisfaceoutofthesquashycushion.Hisfurnitureisallcomfort,nosexappeal.
“Youlookeddead,”Itellhim,movingcloser.
Hegrumblessomething.
“What?”Iask.
“IsaidIwish,”hemumbles.
Ieyethebottleofcoconutrumonthetableandtheemptymugbesideit.“Roughday?”
I’dbeencaughtoffguardbytheBridgetJonesincidentthreeweeksago,butnowit’salmostarelieftoseehimlookinghowI’vespentthelastmonthandahalffeeling.
Withoutliftinghisface,hefeelsaroundonthecoffeetabletograbapieceofpaper,thenholdsitaloft.
Iwalkoverandtakethedelicatesquareofoff-whiteparchmentfromhishand.Instantly,heletshisarmflopdowntohisside.Istartreadingtheelegantscriptslantingacrossit.
Jerome&MellyCollinsalongwithNicholas&AntoniaComerjoyfullyinviteyoutocelebratethemarriageoftheirchildren,Peter&P—
“NO.”Iflingtheinvitationawayfrommelikeit’salivesnake.
Alivesnakethatmustalsobeonfire,becausesuddenlyIamso,so,sohot.Itakeafewsteps,fanningmyselfwithmyhands.“No,”Isay.“Thiscan’tbereal.”
Milessitsup.“Oh,it’sreal.Yougotonetoo.”
“Whythehellwouldtheyinviteus?”Idemand.Ofhim,ofthem,oftheuniverse.
Heleansforwardandtipsmorecoconutrumintohismug,fillingittothebrim.Heholdsitoutinoffering.WhenIshakemyhead,hethrowsitbackandpourssomemore.
Igrabtheinvitationagain,halfexpectingtorealizemybrainhadmerelymalfunctionedwhileIwasreadingatake-outmenu.
Itdidnot.
“ThisisLaborDayweekend!”Ishriek,throwingitawayfrommeagain.
“Iknow,”Milessays.“Theycouldn’tstopatsimplyruiningourlives.Theyhadtoruinaperfectlygoodholidaytoo.Probablywon’tevendecoratethisyear.”
“Imean,thisLaborDay,”Isay.“Like,onlyamonthafterourwedding.”
Mileslooksupatme,genuineconcerncontortinghisface.“Daphne,”hesays.“Ithinkthatshipsailedwhenhefuckedmygirlfriend,thentookhertoItalyforaweeksohedidn’thavetohelpyoupack.”
I’mhyperventilatingnow.“Whywouldtheygetmarriedthisfast?Wehad,like,atwo-yearengagement.”
Milesshuddersasheswallowsmorerum.“Maybeshe’spregnant.”
Theapartmentbuildingsways.Isinkontothecouch,rightatopMiles’scalves.Hefillsthemugagain,andthistime,whenheholdsitoutforme,Idownitinonegulp.“Ohmygod,”Isay.“That’sgross.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“Butit’stheonlyhardliquorIhad.Shouldweswitchtowine?”
Ilookoverathim.“Ididn’thaveyoupeggedforawineguy.”
Hestaresatme.
“What?”
Histipsy-squintingeyesnarrowfurther.“Can’ttellifyou’rekidding.”
“No?”Isay.
“Iworkatawinery,Daphne,”hesays.
“Sincewhen?”Isay,disbelieving.
“Forthelastsevenyears,”hesays.“WhatdidyouthinkIdid?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.“Ithoughtyouwereadeliveryguy.”
“Why?”Heshakeshishead.“Basedonwhat?”
“Idon’tknow!”Isay.“CanIjusthavesomewine?”
Hepullshislegsoutfromundermeandstands,crossingtothekitchen.Throughthegapbetweentheislandandtheuppercabinets,IwatchhimdigthroughacupboardI’mrealizingI’veabsolutelyneveropened.ThesliceofitthatIcanseefromhereisfilledwithelegantglassbottles:whitewine,pink,orange,red.Hegrabstwo,thencomesbacktoflopdownbesideme,pullingacorkscrewkeychainoffhisbeltloop.
Thewindowsareopen,andit’sstartingtosprinkle,theday’shumiditybreakingashepopsthecorkfromonebottleandhandsthewholethingtome.
“Noglass?”Isay.
“Youthinkyou’llneedone?”heasks,workingtheotherbottle’scorkfree.
Myeyeswandertowardtheexpensivecard-stockinvitationstilllyingonMiles’sthreadbarekilimrug.“Guessnot.”
Heclinkshisbottletomineandtakesalongdrink.Idothesame,thenwipeadripofwinefrommychinwiththebackofmyhand.
“Youreallydidn’tknowIworkedatawinery?”hesays.
“Zeroidea,”Isay.“Petermadeitsoundlikeyoudoatonofoddjobs.”
“Idoafewdifferentthings,”hesaysnoncommittally.“Inadditiontoworkingatawinery.CherryHill.You’veneverbeen?”Helooksupatme.
Ishakemyheadandtakeanothersip.
Thecornersofhismouthtwitchdownward.“Heneverlikedme,didhe?”
“No,”Iadmit.“WhataboutPetra?Didshehatemyguts?”
Hefrownsathiswinebottle.“No.Petraprettymuchlikeseveryone,andeveryonelikesPetra.”
“Idon’t,”Isay.“Idon’tlikePetraevenonetinybit.”
Helooksupatmethroughahalf-formedsmile.“Fair.”
“Shenever…”Itwistmyfeetdowninbetweenthebottomseatcushionsandthebackones.“Idon’tknow,actedjealousofme?Didyouhaveanyideashewas…intohim?”
Anotherwry,not-quite-happysmileasheturnsintowardme.“Imean,yeah,sometimesIwondered.Ofcourse.Butthey’dbeenbestfriendssincetheywerekids.Icouldn’tcompetewiththat,soIleftitaloneandhopeditwouldn’tbeaproblem.”
Somehow,outofeverything,that’swhatdoesit:Istarttocry.
“Hey.”Milesmovescloser.“It’sokay.It’s…fuck.”Hepullsmeroughlyintohischest,hiswinebottlestillhangingfromhishand.Hekissesthetopofmyheadlikeit’sthemostnaturalthingintheworld.
Inactuality,it’sthefirsttimehe’stouchedme,period.I’veneverbeensuperphysicallyaffectionatewithevenmyclosefriends,butIhavetoadmitthatafterweeksofexactlynophysicalcontact,itfeelsnicetobeheldbyanear–perfectstranger.
“It’sridiculous,”hesays.“It’sunbelievablyfucked.”HesmoothsmyhairbackwithhisfreehandasIcryintohisT-shirt,whichsmellsonlyveryfaintlyofweed,andmuchmoreofsomethingspicyandwoodsy.
“I’msorry,”hesays.“Ishould’vethrowntheinvitationaway.Idon’tknowwhyIdidn’t.”
“No.”Idrawback,wipingmyeyes.“Igetit.Youdidn’twanttobealonewithit.”
Hisgazedropsguiltily.“Ishould’vekeptittomyself.”
“Iwould’vedonethesamething,”Isay.“Ipromise.”
“Still,”hemurmurs.“I’msorry.”
“Don’tbe,”Iinsist.“You’renottheonemarryingPetrainsteadofme.”
Hewincesalittle.
“Shit!NowI’msorry,”Isay.
Heshakeshisheadashesitsbackfromme.“Ijustneedaminute,”hesays,avoidingmygaze.Heturnshisheadtostareoutthewindow.
Oh,god.He’scryingnowtoo.Ortryingveryhardnotto.Shit,shit,shit.
“Miles!”I’minapanic.It’sbeenawhilesinceIcomfortedsomeone.
“Ijustneedasecond,”herepeats.“I’mfine.”
“Hey!”Icrawlacrossthecouchtowardhimandtakehisfaceinmyhands,proofthatthewinehashitmybloodstream.
Mileslooksupatme.
“They,”Isay,“suck.”
“She’stheloveofmylife,”hesays.
“Theloveofyourlifesucks,”Itellhim.
Hefightsasmile.There’ssomethingadorableaboutit,sopuppyishthatIfindmyselftemptedtorufflehisalreadymessyhair.WhenIdo,hissmilejustbarelyslantsup.Themovementmakeshisdarkeyesglimmer.
It’sbeensixweekssinceIlasthadsex—bynomeansapersonalrecord—butathisexpression,Ifeelasurprisingzingofawarenessbetweenmythighs.
Milesishandsome,ifnotthekindofmantomakeyourjawdropandhandssweatonsight.ThatwasPeter—TVhandsome,Momcalledit.Thekindthatknocksyouoffbalancefromthestart.
Milesistheotherkind.Thekindthat’sdisarmingenoughthatyoudon’tfeelnervoustalkingtohim,orlikeyouneedtoshowyourbestangle,until—wham!Suddenly,he’ssmilingatyouwithhismessyhairandimpishsmirk,andyourealizehishotnesshasbeenboilingaroundyousoslowlyyoumissedit.
Also,hesmellsbetterthanexpected.
Counterpoint:he’smyroommateandwasjustcryingovertheloveofhislife.
Therearesurelymorepragmaticwaystotakeourmindsoffthismess.“DoyouwanttowatchBridgetJones’sDiary?”Ioffer.
“No.”HeshakeshisheadandIreleasemyholdonhisface,surprisedhowmyheartflagsattherejection,ormaybejustthethoughtofshufflingtomybedroomtobealonewiththesefeelings.
“Weshouldn’tmope,”hegoeson,withanothershakeofhishead.
“ButI’mgettingsogoodatit,”Iwhine.
“Let’sgoout,”hesays.
“Out?”ItsoundslikeI’veneverevenheardthewordbefore.“Outwhere?”
Milesstands,stretchingahandouttome.“Iknowaplace.”4
Twohoursago,Ineverwould’veguessedI’dendthenightataneighborhoodbarcalledMEATLOCKER,buthereIam,takingshotswithmyroommateandanoldbikernamedGill.
GillhadthoroughlyapprovedwhenMilesstartedup“WitchyWoman”onthejukeboxinthecorner,andafterdrunkenlysidlinguptousandmakingconversation,he’dwantedtoknowhowwe’dmet,likelyassumingwewereacouple.Withoutanyhesitation,Milestoldhim,“Theloveofmyliferanoffwithherfiancé,”andthishadinspiredmuchalcohol-basedcharityonGill’spart.
Aswe’dplayedaroundofdarts,tworoundsofpool,andadrinkinggamewhoseruleswerecompletelyincomprehensibletome,IwatchedinaweasMilesexpertlyextractedGill’slifestoryfromhim.
BorninDetroittoanurseandamaintenancetechinjuredonthejobatanautomobilemanufacturer,GillhadfledtheMidwestatsixteenviamotorcycle.He’dfollowedabandontheroadforadecade,thenbrieflyjoinedacultinCalifornia,donesecurityforthestars,andwoundupbackhereaftersomemysterioustrouble,eitherwiththelaworpossiblythemob—theonlythingMilescouldn’tgetoutofhim.
Forsomeonewiththeinnatesocialcharmofamountedfish(me),watchingMilesbefriendthisstrangerfeltlikeseeingMichelangelopainttheSistineChapel:impressive,butalsodizzying.Likeanysecond,hemightfalloffhisladderandsplatteronthemarblebelow.
Gillkeptbuyingusdrinks,exceptforwhenthebartender,acuteredheadwithanoseringandaliteralMOMtattoo,boughtallthreeofusdrinks.
Now,whenlastcallrollsaround,Gillshovesatwenty-dollarbillatus.“Forthecabridehome.”
“No,no,no,”Milessays,pushingthebillbacktowardhim.“Keepyourmoney,Gill.HowelseareyougettingtoVegas?”
Vegas,we’dlearned,washisnextdestination.
ButGilltucksthebillinthepocketonMiles’sshirt,thenclapsoneleatheryhandoneachofourcheeks.“Staystrong,kids,”hesayssagely,thenturns,tosseshisbeat-upleatherjacketoveroneshoulder,andliterallywhistlesagoodbyetothebartender.
Bythetimewe’vefinishedourlastround,therainhasstopped,andthenightispleasantlycool,sowedecidetowalkhomeinadrunkenzigzag,Miles’sarmslungovermyshoulderandminearoundhiswaistlikewe’retwooldfriendsratherthanverydrunk,newlymintedallies.“Doesthatkindofthinghappentoyouoften?”Iask.
“Whatkindofthing?”Milessays.
“Gill,”Isay.
“Therearen’tmanyGillsintheworld,”Milesreplies.
“Thefreedrinks,”Iclarify.“Thehoursofstimulatingconversationaboutcrimeshemayormaynothavewitnessed.”
“Idon’tknow.”Heshrugs.“Sometimes.”
“Howoftendoyougetfreedrinks,Miles?”
Hecastsabemusedlookoveratme.“It’safriendlyplace.”
“MEATLOCKER?”Iask.
“ButcherTown,”hesays.
Ismackmyforeheadandhestopsshortinsurprise.“That’swhyit’scalledMEATLOCKER,”Isay.“Ispentthewholenighttryingtofigureoutifitwasafetishbarorsomething.”
Milestipshisheadback,laughing.“YouthoughtItookyoutoafetishbar?”Helooksdelighted.“DidPetertellyouIwasintoBDSM?”
“Wait,areyou?”Iask.
“NotthatIknowof,”hesays.“Why?Areyou?”
“Probablynot,”Isay.“IthinkI’mprettyboring.Inthatrealm.”
“Whatrealm?”
“SexRealm,”Isay.
“Doyouliethereandstareattheceilinginsilence?”heasks.
“Excuseyou,”Isay.“Thisisnoneofyourbusiness.”
“Youbroughtitup,Daphne,”heremindsme.
“Idon’tstareattheceiling,”Isay.We’vereachedourbuilding.Heopensthedoorforme,andwestartupthestairs.“Ijustmakeutterlyunblinkingeyecontactlikeanyrespectablewoman.”
“See?”hesays,gesturingformetotakethestairsaheadofhim.“Notboring.Haunting,maybe.Butnotboring.”
“Buthowdoesthathappen?”Iask,andMiles’seyeswiden,hismouthscrewingupintosomethingbetweenasmileandagrimace.
“Well,whentwopeoplefindeachotherattractive—”
“Thefreedrinks,”Iinterrupt.
Heshrugs.“Idon’tknow.It’snotlikeIsetoutforit.”
Imustbemakingadisbelievingface,becausehefrowns.“YouthinkI’msomekindofconartist?”
“Ithinkyou’reaverycharmingguy,”Isay.
“Asfarasinsultsgo,”hesays,pausinghalfwayupthestairs,“that’sanewoneforme.”
“I’mnotinsultingyou,”Isay,thoughtruthfully,I’venevertrustedpeoplewhoaretoocharming.Mydad’sacharmingguy.Doesn’tmeanheactuallymeansanythinghesays.“It’sjust—look,I’mterriblewithnewpeople.”
“Gilllovedyou,”heargues.
“Becauseofosmosis,”Isay.“Becauseyouwerethere.IlovetalkingtopeopleIalreadyknow,butwhenImeetsomeonenew,halfthetimemymindgoesblank,andtheotherhalfofthetime,Imakeajokethatabsolutelynoonerealizesisajoke,orIasksomethingwaytoopersonal.”
Heglancessidelongatmeaswestartclimbingagain.“Youdidn’tdothatwithme.”
“Youmayhavenoticed,”Isay,“I’vebarelyspokentoyoubeforetonight.”
“That’swhy?”hesays,anotherquickflickofhiseyesovertome.“AndhereIthoughtyoujusthatedme.”
Heatflaresthroughme,headtotoe.“OfcourseIdon’thateyou.You’reunhateable.”Andthen,becauseI’mwasted,Iadmit:“Maybethatmakesmemistrustyoualittlebit.”
Helooksaghastatthis.
“Ijustmean,”Ihurryon,mywordsslurringtogether,“I’vealwaysbeenmoreofafewclosefriendsperson.AndwhenImeetpeoplewholikeeveryone,arelikedbyeveryone,thisalarmgoesoffinmybrain.Like,Okay,thispersonisn’tgoingtostickaround,sodon’tgetattached.”
Nowhelooksmortified.“Thatis,”hesays,“sodepressinglycynical.”
“No,no,no,”Isay,searchingforabetterwaytoexplain.“It’sfine!Unlessyourfiancédumpsyou,andyouspentthelastyearworkingtobefriendhisfriends,andnowyou’rethirty-threeandtryingtorememberhowtoevenmakefriends.Butwhowouldeverfindherselfinthatsituation?”
“Makingfriendsisn’tthatcomplicated,”Milessays,whichmakesmescoff,whichinturnmakeshimsmirk.“I’mserious,Daphne.Ijustliketalkingtopeople.Andasfarasthefreedrinks,I’magoodtipper.SoifIgotoaplacemorethanacoupleoftimes,Itendtogetdiscounts,becausethestaffknowsI’llmakeituptothemintips.PlusI’mintheserviceindustry,andIthinkbartenderscansmellitonme.ThatI’moneofthem.”
“Doesitsmelllikegingersnaps?”Theslurinmyvoicehasworsenedasweclimbedthestairs.
Milesstopsoutsideourfrontdoor,laughtergurglingoutofhim.“Gingersnaps?”
That’swhathesmellslike.Sweetandalittlespicy.Anaturalearthysmellfoldedintoasugarybakedgood.Iwavehimoffratherthananswer,andtrytogetmykeyintoourdoor’slock.Unfortunately,itseemsthedoorhasgrownthreeextralocksandIcan’tseemtolinethekeyuptotherightone.
Throughlaughter,hebumpsmeaside,clumsilyswipingthekeyfrommyhandtomakehisownattempt.“Shit!”hesaysasitglancesoffthelock.
Wekeepfightingforcontrolofthedoorknob,knockingeachotheroutofthewayinincreasinglydramaticfashion,untilhealmostknocksmeoverandjustbarelymanagestocatchmebypinningmetothewallwithhiships.
We’rebothlaughingsohardwe’recryingwhenourelderlyneighborpopshisheadintothehallwaytohiss,“Someofusaretryingtosleeparoundhere!”
“Sorry,Mr.Dorner,”Milessayslikeachastenedschoolboy.
Mr.Dornerretreats.
Isquintafterhim,confused.“Doesn’theusuallyhavehair?”
Milesburstsintonot-at-all-quietlaughter.Ismushmyhandsoverhismouthtoshuthimup.“Youthoughtthathairwasreal?”heasks.“Youhavetobethemostgulliblepersonontheplanet.”
“Imean,”Isay,“despitemyinnatecynicism,Ithinkthelastsixweekshavealreadyproventhatbothofusareway,waytootrusting.”
Acoupleofhoursago,thismight’vetrippedthestartcryingASAPwireinmybrain.Insteadwe’rejustbacktocackling.
Mr.Dorner’slockrattlesagain.Milesspinsawaytogetourdoorunlocked,yankingmeinsidebeforewehavetofaceanotherscolding.
Weslamourselvesagainstthedoortoshutit,catchingourbreath.“Ifeellikewe’reinJurassicPark,”hesays,whichmakesmelaughharder.
“What,”Igasp.
“Likewejustslammedthedooragainstabunchofraptors,”heexplains.
“Idon’tthinkDorner’steethposethatkindofthreat,Miles,”Isay.“I’mfairlysurehewasn’tevenwearingthem.”
“YouknowwhatIthink?”hesays.
“What?”Iask.
“Ithinkweshouldjustfuckingdoit,”hesays.
Myheartspikesupward.Myskingoesveryhot,thenverycold.“What?”
“Let’sRSVP,”hesays.“Let’sgototheirwedding.Andgetwasted.Eatthecakebeforethey’veevencutit,andpukeonthedancefloor.”
Ilaugh.“Okay.”
“I’mserious,”hesays.“Let’sgo.”
“Noway,”Isay.
“Okay,fine,”hereplies.“Thenlet’sjustsaywe’regoing.”
“Miles,”Ireply,“why?”
“Tomakethemsweat,”hesays.“Andpayninetydollarsaplatefordried-outchickenthatnoone’sgoingtoeat.”
“Theirparentswillpayforthatchicken,”Isay.“AndIdon’tknowabouttheComers,buttheCollinsesarelovelypeople.”
Heflinches.I’mnotsureatwhichpart,butsomethingIsaiddefinitelyshiftedhismoodabit.“They’realsorich,”hesays.“Ninetydollarsisnothingtothem,andatleastthisway,theyhavetospendthenextfewmonthsworryingthatwe’llshowupandruintheirbigday.”
“Maybetheydon’tcare,”Isay.
Thesmirkseepsfromhisface.“Shit,”hesays.“You’reright.Iguessthat’swhytheyinvitedus.”
Isnort.“Youknowwhytheyinvitedus,Miles.Becausethey’rebothaddictedtobeinguniversallyloved.Andthey’regoodatit.Goodenoughthattheydon’trealizeyoudon’tgettobelovedbypeoplewhoseheartsyoucompletelyfuckingdestroy.Theythinkthey’rebeingthebiggerpeoplerightnow.Buttheydon’tgettobethebiggerpeople.Forthenextfewyears,theyhavetolivewithbeingtheassholes.”
Heseemsunconvinced,butnowI’msure.
“WeshouldRSVP,”Isay.“They’renotthebiggerpeople.Fuckthat!”
“Fuckthat!”heagrees.
“Fuckthat!”Ihalfshout.
Mr.Dornerpoundsonthewall.Milespressesapointerfingertomylips.“Fuckthat,”hewhispers.
“Fuckthat,”Iwhisperback.
Hewatchesmylipsmoveagainsthisfinger.Ifeelanotherpleasantzing.“Weshouldgotobed,”Isay.
Andthen,becauseitcameoutalittletoolow,Isay,“Imean,Ishouldgettobed.”
Heletshishandfallaway.“AfterweRSVP.”
?Iawaketobrightmiddaylightandawallopingheadache.Lastnightreturnstomeinbitsandpieces,innoparticularorder.
Adrunkenwalkhome.
Thetatteredfeltofapooltable.
Aroughfingeragainstmylips.
Laughinginthehallway.
AndthenMr.Dorner?Was?There?Forsomereason?Atsomepoint?
Beforethat,ormaybeafter,MilesandIdrankredwinestraightfromthebottle
Atsomepoint,wewereoutonthestreet,walkingwithourarmsaroundeachother,hishandcurledagainstmywaistwheremyshirthadriddenup.Myneckandfacegohot.
I’mtryingtofast-forwardthroughthememories,tobesureIonlydidanythingmildlyembarrassingandnothingirrevocablyhumiliating
Thefast-forwarddoesn’thelp.Irememberfallingintobed,exhausted,onlytorealizeIcouldn’tsleep,becauseIwasalsoalittlebitturnedon.
Ohmygod,didIcryatsomepoint?
Wait.DidMilescry?Surelynot.
Ifeelaroundformyphoneandfindittangledinmysheets.IguessIatleasthadthewherewithaltoturnoffmyalarm.It’salmostnoon.
Ineversleepthislate.
Iscrollthroughmytexts,searchingforincriminatingevidenceofmydrunkenness.ButIdidn’tsendasinglemessageafterwork.
Thereis,however,somethingelseworryingonmyhomescreen.
Anewicon.
Adatingapp.
Ihavenorecollectionofdownloadingit.Idon’treallyrememberanythingafterthebar.
Iclamberoutofbedandwaitforthepoundinginmyskulltosubsidebeforestaggeringoutintothelivingroom.IfeellikeI’mmadeofnuclearwaste.
Theapartmentisquiet,butnotclean.Ahalfdozenhalf-drunkwaterglasseslitterthecoffeetable,thecounter,andthetwo-personbreakfasttable.Thebottleofcoconutrumisempty,andbothwinebottlesaredowntodregs.
IfeellikeHerculePoirot,stumblingonamurdermysterywithoutanybodyorevenblood,justthebothersomesuspicionthatsomethinghappenedhere.Somethingimportant.
Andthenmyphonestartsringinginmyhand.
Iseehisnameonscreen.
Allatonce,Iremember.
AndIreally,reallywishIdidn’t.5
SUNDAY,MAY19TH
90DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
Itrytogathermyself,tocatchmybreathandclearmythroat,soIwon’thavetoanswerinadehydratedcroak.
Ofcourse,Idon’thavetoanswer.
ButthisisthefirsttimeI’veheardfromPeterinweeks,andthethoughtofnothearingwhathehastosay—ofsimplywondering,forever—makesmefeelsick.
Justkidding,Gill’sshotsaredoingthatjustfine.
ThenameGilljustoccurredtomeoutofthinair,theimageofhisbraidedgraybeardflashingacrossmymind.
Iclampmyphoneagainstmyearandbeelinetowardthewindowforfreshair.It’scoolout,morespringthansummertoday.
“Hello!”Isay,tooloud,tooforceful,andtoocheery.Araretrifecta.
“Daphne?”Peter’ssoftvoicefillsmyheadlikehelium.
“Yes?”Isay.
There’sapause.“Yousounddifferent.”
“Ifeeldifferent,”Ireply.Noideawhythat’swhatcomesout.
“Oh.”There’sasilenceontheotherend.
“So,”Isay.
Anotherpause.“So,IgotyourRSVP?”
Idigtheheelofmyhandintomyforeheadandpress,hard,againstthethrobbingthere.“Yeah.”
“AndIguessIjust…”Hetakesabreath.“Iwantedtomakesureeverythingwasokay.”
“Okay?”
IfeellikeI’mbackinhighschoolcalculus,randombitsofequationsandnumbersdriftingaroundmenonsensically:there’ssomekindofmeaningthere,butIdonothavetherightbraintointerpretit.
“Yeah,Imean…”Asoftbreath.“Youdon’thavetocome,youknow.”
Mylaughsoundsmorelikeacough.
“Imean,ofcoursewe’dlovetohaveyou,”hehurrieson.
ThesoundofwealoneisenoughtomakethecontentsofmystomachfliparoundlikeIchuggedclamchowder,thenhoppedonarollercoaster.Weusedtobethewehetalkedabout.
“Ijustwantedtomakesureyouknewtherewasnopressureonourend,”hesays.
Our.We
Let’sgetallthemostpainfulwordsoutonthetableandmakesureeachonepositivelydripswithcondescension.
Theworstpartis,evenafterallthis,I’mnotpositiveIdon’tlovehim.Imean,notthisversionofhim,butthepartthatrememberedeveryimportantdate,whobroughthomeflowersjustbecausehehappenedtobewalkingpastacartsellingthem,thePeterwhohadmyfavoritesoupdeliveredtomeeverytimeIgotsick.
Thepartsreservedforhernow.
“Weknowhowhardthismustbeforyou,”he’ssaying,andjustlikethat,hesnapsbackintotheotherPeter.TheoneIhate.“AndIjust…Ihatetothinkofyouthere,onyourown…”
Asifthiswholethingisn’thumiliatingenough,he’scalledmetomakesureIknowhefeelsbadforme.I’mseeingred.
“Iwon’tbealone,”Isay.
“Imean,withoutadate,”heclarifies,completelyunnecessarily.
“Iknow,”Isay.“I’mbringingmyboyfriend.”
EvenasI’msayingit,there’savoicescreechinginmybrain,WHATAREYOUDOING?
Ifacethewindowandpantomimeascream,onehanddraggingdownthesideofmyface.IwonderifthisexactscenarioinspiredEdvardMunch’sTheScream.
“Yourboyfriend?”Peter’svoiceemanatessheerdisbelief.
No,mybrainsays.
“Yes,”mymouthsays.
“But…youdidn’tRSVPforaplus-one.”
I’mnotusuallyaliar.Infact,IstillsometimeslieawakethinkingaboutatimeinthesixthgradewhenI’djustswitchedschoolsandagirlstruckupaconversationwithmeaboutmyhorsenecklace,andinmydesperationtomakefriends,somefouldemonpossessedmetotellthegirlIlovedhorsesandgrewupgoingtohorse-ridingcampeverysummer.
I’dbeenhorsebackridingtwice.Ifelloffthesecondtime,ifthatmatters.
Afterthatconversation,I’davoidedthatgirloutofguilt.Luckyforme,wemovedagainsixmonthslater.
Butapparentlythedemonhasfinallytrackedmedownagain,becausewithoutthinking,withoutplanning,alieemergesfrommymouth,fullyformed:“Ididn’tneedaplus-one.Hegothisowninvitation.”
TheweightysilencetellsmePeterisdoinginvisiblecalculusnow.Onlyhe’sgotthebrainforit.“Youcan’tmean…”Hisvoiceslidespastdisbeliefstraightintoincredulity.“You’rewithMiles?”
No,no,no,thevoiceinmyheadscreams.
“Yep!”mymouthchirps.
IaminstantlybacktosilentMunch-screamingoutthewindow.
Thenextsilenceextendstoolong.I’mincapableofbreakingit,becausetheonlythingIcanthinktosayis,Idon’tknowwhyIsaidthat—it’sanoutrightlie,butIalsocannot.Cannottellhimthat.
Peterclearshisthroat.“Well,thewedding’snotforafewmonths.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“LaborDay.”
“Alotcouldchangebeforethen,”hesays.
Myjawdrops.Ishereallyinsinuatingthatmyfakerelationshipwon’tsurvivethreemonthstohiswedding…whenhisrelationshipstartedjustoveramonthago?
“We’llbethere,”Isay.
NO,mybrainscreams.
“Okay,”Petersays.
IneedtogetoffthephonebeforeIinvoluntarilyspringafictionalpregnancyonhim.“I’vegottogo,Peter.Takecare.”
“Yeah,”hesays.“Yout—”
Ihangup.
Ipaceinfrontofthewindowforaboutfiveseconds,thengostraighttoMiles’sdoor,asinneronherwaytoconfession.
Iknock.Noanswer.
Ipound.“Miles?Areyouup?”
Irattletheknob.OrIexpectto,butit’sunlocked.Soinstead,Ibasicallyjustfallintohisroom,catchingmyselfagainsthisdresser.TheTVatopitwobbles,andasIsteadyit,avoicesaysfrombehindme,“AreyoustealingmyTV?”
Iturn,expectingtofindMilessprawledoutinhisbed.Instead,he’sstandinginthedoorway,fullydressedwithagrease-mottledpaperbaginhand.
IreleasetheTV.“Ialmostknockeditover,”Iexplain.
“Why?”heasks.
“ItoldPeterweweredating,”Isay.
Hestaresatmeforthreeseconds,thenlaughs.“WhatdoesthathavetodowiththeTV?”
“Nothing,”Isay.
Helaughsagainandturnsbacktothehallway.
“Whereareyougoing?”Icall.
“Togetsriracha,”hesays.
“Why,”Isay,trailinghimtothekitchen.
“Formybreakfastsandwich.”Hedropsthebagonthecounteronhiswaytothefridge.
“DidyouhearwhatIsaid?”Iask.
“YoutoldPeterweweredating,”heconfirms,riflingaroundthefridgeforthehotsauce.
“Aren’tyoumad?”Isay.
Hespinsbackwiththesrirachabottleandanunmarkedjarofsomethingdarkandgoopy.“WhywouldIbemad?”
“Becausewearen’tdating,”Isay.
“I’maware.”Hedumpsthebagoutontothecounter,andtwoyellow-paper-wrappedsandwichesfallout.Heslidesonetowardme,thenturnstothealreadyfullcoffeepot.
“Howlonghaveyoubeenup?”
“Idon’tknow.”Heshrugs.“Hourortwo.”Hecarriestwosteamingmugsbacktothecounter.HegivesmeamugwithGarfieldthecatwearingacowboyhatonit.“Cream?Sugar?”
Ishakemyhead.I’mnotmuchofacoffeedrinker.I’lljustsipenoughtotaketheedgeoffofthishangover.
Milesopensthejarandspoonsalittleprobably-maple-syrupintohiscoffee.“Isthatgood?”Iask,leaningforwardtowatch.
“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“Seemslikeitwouldbe,though.Didyoudrunk-dial?”
“What?”Isay.
“DidyoucallPeterdrunk?”hesays,unwrappinghissandwich,flippingitopen,andabsolutelyslatheringtheeggandavocadoinsidewithsriracha.
“No,hecalledme.”
Hepauseswiththesandwichhalfwaytohismouth.Heletsoutanotherlaughandlowersthesandwich.“Wait.DidweRSVPtotheirweddinglastnight?”
Hearingitsaidaloud,again,sendsafull-bodyshudderthroughme.Groaning,Idropmyfaceagainstmyforearmsonthecounter.
“Wait,wait.”Milespresseshispalmintomyforeheadandtipsmyfaceupsohecanmeetmyeyes.“That’swhyhecalled?BecausehegottheRSVP?”
Inod.“HecalledtotellmeIdon’thavetocome.Thatheknowshowharditwillbeformetobethere,allbymylonesome,soutterlyshatteredandaloneandlonelyandunloved.”
Milessnorts.“Smuglittleprick.”
“He’ssixfour,”Isay.
“Smuggiantdouche,”heamends.Then,afteraminute,“Or,Idon’tknow,maybehegenuinelythoughthewasbeingnice?”
“No,youwererightthefirsttime.”
Milesunwrapsmybreakfastsandwichpartwayandshovesittowardmyface.Itakeabite,andthenhesetsitdowninfrontofmychin.
“Wait!”Hebraceshishandsagainstthecounter,facebrightening.“Sohecalledtotrytomakeyoufeelsopatheticyouwouldn’tcomeruinhisspecialday,andyoutoldhimweweredating?”
“I’msorry,”Isayagain.
“Thatfuckingrules,”hesays.“How’dhetakeit?”
“Somesilence,somescoffsofdisbelief,”Isay.“Agentlereminderthatthewedding’snotforthreemonths,andthere’snowayyouandIwillstillbedatingbythen.Prettyperceptiveofhim,giventhatwe’renotdatingnow.”Idropmyface,groaninganewatthefreshroundofhammeringinsidemybrain.
“Eatsomething,”Milessays.“Itwillhelp.”
Ipitchmyselfontooneofthemismatchedwoodenstoolsatthecounterandslidethesandwichtowardme,takingaforcefulbite.
“Maybeweshoulddate,”Milessays.
Ichoke.Hewatchesmecoughing,animpishgrinformingonhisimpishmouth.“Yes,”Ifinallymanage.“Asharedcuckoldingisthemostfertilegroundfromwhichlovecouldeverspring.”
“Yeah,that,”hesays,“anditwouldpissthemoff.”
“Asyoupointedout,”Isay.“Theydon’tcare.They’regettingmarried,Miles.”
“Andsixweeksago,youweregettingmarried,”hesays.
“Hey,ifyou’rewillingtokeepremindingmeofthatdaily,IcangoaheadandrenamemymorningalarmsomethingotherthanWAKEUP,YOU’VEBEENJILTED,BITCH.”
“No,Imean,afewweeksago,youandPeterwereengaged.Andyet,hewasjealousofme,andyouwerejealousofPetra.”
“Excuseyou,”Isay.
“I’mquotingyou,”hesays.
“Fromwhen?”Isay.
“Halfwaythroughthethirdtimeyouputon‘WitchyWoman’lastnight.”
Inarrowmygaze.
“Youdon’trememberanythingthathappened,doyou?”Heseemstickledatthethought.
“IrememberGlenn,”Isay.
“Gill,”hesays.
“Right.”
“Mypointis,justbecausethey’reengaged,itdoesn’tmeanthey’reabovejealousy.”Hetakesanothersipofcoffee.Ireachfeeblytowardthemaplesyrupjar,andhenudgesitclosertome.
Ispoonsomeintomymugandtakeasip.
“Whatdoyouthink?”heasks,leaningforward.
“Prettygood,”Isay.“Where’ditcomefrom?”
“Oh,justoneofmycountlessoddjobs,”hesays.
Mycheeksheat.
Helaughsintoanotherhugebiteofhissandwich,whichremindsmetoeatmine.“We’renotgoingtotheirweddingasafakecouple,”Isay.
Heshrugs.“Okay.”
“You’renotgoingtoconvinceme.”
“Fine,”hesays.
“I’mserious,”Isay.
“Doeshestillfollowyouonsocialmediaordidyoublockhim?”heasks.
Isquirmonthestoolandbusymyselfwithanothersip.“Iunfollowedhim,butIdidn’tblockhim.”Someverypatheticpartofmedidn’twanttoclosethedoorentirely.Iwantedhimtomissme,evenatinyfractionoftheamountImissedhim.Iwantedhimtoregretlosingme.
Ihavenotmadeasinglepostsincewebrokeup.
Igoon:“Idon’tknowifhestillfollowsmeornot.”
“Yes,youdo,”Milessays.
“Okay,fine,asofyesterday,hedid.”
“CanIseeyourphone?”Milesasks.
“Idon’twanttoblockhim,”Isay.
“I’mnotgoingto,”hepromises.
Ihandmyphoneover,andhesetsdownhissandwich,chewingashetapsaroundonthescreen.Thenheroundsthecountertostandbehindme,holdingthephoneoutinfrontofus,theselfiecameraon.Hehunchesover,hookinghisfreearmaroundmycollarbonesandflashingadimpledgrin.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask,turningtowardhim,mynosegrazinghischeekbone
“Gotit,”hesays,straighteningupandpushingmyphonebackintomyhand.
Thepicturehetookisstillonscreen.I’mmidword,mylipspracticallyonhisface,andhe’ssmiling,aslewofhisdisjointedsailor-styleforearmtattoosdrapedacrossmychestinaneasyyetvaguelysuggestiveway.
Welookverymuchlikeacouple,ifyouignorethefactthatwealsolookliketwopeoplewho’dhaveexactlynothingincommon.Thenagain,Iguessthat’showstraitlacedPeterandfree-spiritedPetralooksidebyside.
It’sjustthatPetrawearstheaestheticlikeanedgypopstarlet,andMileslookskindofliketheguyfromhighschoolwhointentionallyfailedhissenioryeartostickaroundforawhile,thenstartedsellingbootlegcologneoutofthetrunkofhiscarinthemallparkinglot.
NotthatIlookmuchbetter.There’sasmearofavocadoonmychin.
“WhatamIsupposedtodowiththis,”Isay.
“Whateveryouwant.”Milescrumplesthepapersandwichsheathandtossesitintothetrash.
“Meaning?”
“Daphne.”Heslumpsforwardonhiselbows,rakingahandupthroughhishair.Itstaysput,defyinggravity.Hisbeardislikewisestickingoutindarktuftslikehe’sabedraggledandhungoveryoungWolverine.“YouknowwhatI’mgettingat.”
“Youwantmetopostthissohe’llthinkwe’redating,”Isay.
“No,”hesays,bemused.“IpersonallywantyoutopostitsoPetrathinkswe’redating.”
“Whycan’tyoupostit,”Isay.
“BecauseIdon’thaveanysocialmedia,”hesays.
“Right.”IrememberPetertellingmethis.I’dbeenscrollingthroughPetra’s—frankly,professional-gradeinfluencer—feedandnotonlywasMilesnottaggedinanypictures,buthisfacewasn’teveninany.WhenIaskedPeteraboutit,herolledhiseyesandsaidsomethingcrankyaboutMilesbeingtoogoodforsocialmedia.
Justthethoughtofitnowisenoughtotipmeovertheedge.
Idon’twriteacaption.Ijustpostthepicture.
Milesgrinsandhigh-fivesme.
“Areweevilorjustimmature?”hesays.
“Ithinkmaybejustbitter,”Ireply.“Hey,thanksforthebreakfastsandwich,bytheway.”
“Thanksforthepeptalklastnight,”hesays.
“Whendidthathappen?”Iask.
“Halfwaythroughthefourthtimeweplayed‘WitchyWoman,’?”hesays.
Afuzzymemorysurfaces,justforasecond,beforesubmergingintothewine-and-liquorhazeagain:standingonastickyfloor,intheglowofaneonsign,holdingontoeithersideofMiles’sfaceasIenunciatedasclearlyasIcouldmanage:It’sgoingtogeteasier.Thistimenextyear,youwon’tevenrememberhername.
Ifwekeepdrinkinglikethis,hereplied,I’mnotsureI’llevenremembermyname.
Milesgrabsthesriracha,andtwiststhelidbackontothesyrupjar.“I’vegotstufftodo,butifyouhearfromyourex,tellhimIsaid…”Heholdsuphismiddlefinger.
“Ifyouhearfromyours,tellherthanksforthenewboyfriend.”
“Gladly,”hesays,andturnstogo.6
FRIDAY,MAY24TH
85DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
ThefollowingFriday,I’mplayingmyleastfavoritekindofTetrisatthereferencedesk:choosingwhichfallreleasestobuyforourbranch.Rearrangingandreprioritizingthem,cuttingtitleaftertitleuntilthemomentthecostdipsintoourbudget.
EverytimeIgotoremoveabook,adifferentfaceflashesinmymind,thekidorkidsIspecificallypickedthebookfor.
AsuperheropicturebookforArham.Anearlyreaderaboutmermaidsforeight-year-oldGabbyEsteves.Adenseupper-YAfantasythatremindedmeofthefirsttimeIreadPhilipPullman,forMaya,thebraces-wearingpreteenwithaSmithspatchonherbackpackandareadinglevelsofaraboveheragethatshe’sstartedgivingmerecommendations.She’sshyenoughthatittookmonthstogethertoreallyrespondtomyattemptsatbook-relatedsmalltalk(theonlykindIcando).Butnowshe’llhappilychatforfortyminutesatatimeaboutbookswe’vebothreadandloved,aninformaltwo-personbookclub.I’vebeenworkingonconvincinghertojoinoneoftheteenreadersgroups,butshe’sverypolitelyinformedmethatshedoesn’tlike“groupactivities”andis“moreofanindependenttype.”
Basically,she’smeattwelveyearsold,ifI’dbeenninehundredtimescooler.RightdowntothefactofbeingtheonlychildofanoverworkedbutlovelysinglemotherwithapenchantforeightiesBritishgothrock.Duringtheschoolyear,Mayawalkstheshortdistancefromthejuniorhightothelibrary,andhermompicksherupwhenshefinishesherparalegalshift.
ThenewhardcoverfantasyIhandpickedforheristhemostexpensivebookonthelist,butIcan’tbeartocutit.Ordinarily,ItalkthiskindofthingoverwithHarvey,thebranchmanager,butheleftearlyforhisyoungestdaughter’smedschoolgraduation(theothertwoarealreadydoctors;he’sapparentlycreatedanarmyofhighachievers).
Backintheofficeweallshare,theadultlibrarian,AshleighRahimi,isonthephone,theshutdoorreducingherwordstoaflatrumble.
Onthedesk,myownphonebuzzeswithanotificationfromSadie.Mygutrisesexpectantly,onlytoplummetwhenIseethat,insteadofamessageorevenacomment,she’ssimplyLikedmymostrecentpicture.
TheoneinwhichIappeartobemillisecondsawayfromlickingthesideofMiles’sfaceashehangsoverme,armlatchedacrossmychest.
ItapovertoSadie’saccountandinstantlyregretit.SheusessocialmediaasinfrequentlyasIdo,whichmeansthere,rightinthetoprowofimages,threeshotsback,isapictureofherandCooperwithmeandPeteratChillCoastBrewingontheirlastvisit—beerbeingtheonethingPeterbreakshislow-carbdietfor.
Ipersonallyhatebeer.ObviouslyPetralovesit.She’sawalkingfantasy,andI’malibrarianwhoactuallydoeswearalotofbuttonsandtweed.
Frombehindtheofficedoorcomesafrustratedshriek-groan.Notanoutrightscream,butasoundloudenoughtocausekidsgamingatthecomputerbaytospintowardthedeskinunison.
“It’sfine,everything’sfine!”Itellthemwithawave.
Behindme,thedoorflingsopenandAshleigh,fivefootnothingwithatopknotthesizeofamelon,stormsout.“Nevermakefriendswithmoms,”shetellsmebeforestompingovertoherrollingchair.
“You’reamom,”Ipointout.
Shewhipstowardme.“Iknow!”shecries.“AndthatmeansIhavebasicallyonenight,everytwoweeks,whenIcandosomethingfunwithotheradults,exceptallthoseotheradultsIusedtocallarealsoparents,andinmanycasespartners.Sohalfthetime,theplansfallthroughbecausesomeone’spukingorfelloffatrampolineorforgottheyhavetobuildafuckingvolcanoforscienceclassbytomorrow!”
“Ashleigh!”Ihiss,jerkingmyheadtowardtherowofteenagegamers.
Shefollowsmygazeandgreetstheirstareswithablunt,“What?”
Theyspinbacktowardtheirscreens.
“Iwanttogetout,”shesays.“IwanttolookhotinpublicanddrinkalcoholandtalkaboutsomethingotherthanDungeons&Dragons.”
Andasshe’ssayingit,I’mpicturingmyselfathome,alone,watchinghappycouplesshopfororrenovatethehomesoftheirdreamsonHGTV,justlikeIdidlastFridaynight,andtheFridaynightbeforethat,andbasicallyeverynightsincethebreakup,barringmydrunkenMEATLOCKERescapadewithMiles.
Meanwhile,Peter’sandPetra’ssocialmediafeedsareanin-real-timedocumentationofherandPeterkissing,hugging,andselfie-ingtheirwaythroughouroldhaunts,withouroldfriendsinArborPark.
Hishaunts,Icorrectmyself.Hisfriends.JustlikeArborParkishisneighborhood.
I’dthoughtwewerebuildingsomethingpermanenttogether.NowIrealizeI’djustbeenslottingmyselfintohislife,leavingmewithoutmyown.
Ifeelthewordsrushingupmythroat,andthenthey’resplattingoutbetweenus:“I’mfreetonight.”
Ashleighstares,wide-eyed.LikeIjustthrewuponhershoes.OrlikeIthrewupawholeshoe.
Isearchforagracefulwaytotakeitback.
I’velandedonsomethingalongthelinesof,Oh,shoot,Iforgot!Ihaveplanstoorganizemye-reader,whenshegivesanabruptshrugandsays,“Whynot?Textmeyouraddress,andI’llpickyouuponthewaytoChillCoast.”
“ChillCoast?”I’msuremyfacejustwentfromtomatoredtomilkywhite.
LuckilyAshleighislookingatherphone.“It’sabrewery,”shesays,typing.“InArborPark?Myfriendwhojustbailedsaidit’ssupercute,hasabigpatio.”
ThereisabsolutelynowayIcangotoChillCoast.WaningBayissmallenoughwithoutmewanderingdirectlyintotheheartofthePeterverse.
“Unless…”Ashleighreadsmyhesitancy.“Youhadsomewhereelseinmind?”
OfcourseIdon’thavesomewhereelseinmind.Idon’tforeseeAshleighlovingMEATLOCKER.
ButIhavetosaysomething,soIblurtthefirstplace—theonlyplace—thatspringstomind:“CherryHill.”
Herdarkbrowliftsappraisingly.
“It’sawinery.”
“Isthattheonewiththehotdrug-dealerbartender,ortheonedowntheroadfromthatone,wheretheyonlyplayTomPetty?”
“Um,”Isay.“Ireallyonlyknow…aboutthewine.”
InthatIknowtheyhavewine.
Afteraprotractedpause,shesays,“Okay.CherryHill.”
“Great!”Isay.
Shegoesbacktoscanningbooksin.“Areyougoingtodresslikethat?”
Ilookdownatmybrownhigh-neckedbutton-up.“No?”
?“AcoworkerandIaregoingtostopbyCherryHilltonight,”ItellMilesfromthedoorwayashe’sbrushinghisteethinourtiny,pink-tiledbathroom.
Hemeetsmyeyesinthemirror,toothpastefoamspillingoutofhismouth.“Whydidyousayitlikethat?”heasks.
“Likewhat?”
“Menacingly.”Hespitsintothesinkandknocksthefauceton.“Like,Meandmyfriendaregonnapayyoualittlevisit,andwemighthaveabaseballbatwithus.”
“Becausemeandmyfriendaregoingtopayyouavisit,”Isay,“andwemighthaveabaseballbatwithus.”
Hethrustshisheadintothesink,undertherunningwater,torinse.Whenhestraightensup,hegrabshistowelfromtherackandburieshiswholefaceinit.
“Ijustthoughtitmightbeweirdformetoshowupwithoutmentioningit,”Isay.
Hefacesme,onehandandhipproppedagainstthesink.“I’mflatteredyourememberwhereIwork.”
“Ineededsomewherecool,toimpressAshleigh,anditleaptoutofmysubconscious,”Iadmit.
“Wassheimpressed?”heasks.“Doesshelikeourwine?”
“Noidea,”Isay.“Butshethinksoneofyourbartendersisadrugdealer.OrplaysalotofTomPetty.”
Hefrowns.“Shemustnothavetriedthepinot.”
Ilaughinsurprise.“Areyouoffended?”
“Alittle,”headmits,shrugging.“It’sadoublegoldwinner.Makesureshetriesittonight.”
“I’lldomybest,”Isay.
Forasecond,wejuststandthere.
Hewavestowardthedoorway,whichI’mblocking.
“Right!”Istepaside,andhebreezespast,hiswarm,vaguelyspicyscenthittingme.“I’llseeyoulater,”Icallovermyshoulder,shuttingmyselfinmyroomtocontinuemy—sofarunproductive—outfitselection.
Wool,tweed,satinposingassilk,everypieceofiteasilymatchedtoeveryotherpiece,andallofitabitstodgyprofessor,evenmycasualsummerclothes.SadieusedtosaymylooksatattheintersectionofPersonalStyleasaStatementAboutPersonalityandDon’tLookatMyBody,whichisessentiallyaccurate.
AquickGooglesearchof“whattoweartoawinery”revealsaplethoraofthekindofbrightandairyclothesthatcouldbepluckedfromanElinHilderbrandnovel.Myownwardrobeismostlycreams,tans,camels,browns.IcouldjustgowithapairofjeansandaT-shirt,butIsuspectthatbetweenshowingupoverdressedandunderdressed,thelatterwouldbethegreatersintoAshleigh,andIwanttomakeagoodimpression.
SoIswallowmypride,andputontheslinkybacklessblackdressIboughtforPeter’sandmyengagementparty.
Ihaven’twornitsince,whichisstupid,becauseitcostwaymorethanIwouldordinarilyspend(Peterboughtit)andit’sextremelyflattering.
Fifteenminutesafterseven,someoneknocksonthedoor.I’mnotsurprisedshe’slate.Iamsurprisedshecametothedoor.IthoughtI’dhavethreeflightsofstairstogetovermyhangingoutwithsomeonenewnervesbeforeIwasface-to-facewithher.
It’sbeenyearssinceImadeanewfriend.Imean,actuallymadeanewfriend,notjustinheritedonefromPeter,orfromSadie,who’salwaysbeenmoreofasocialbutterflythanme.
Ismooththefrontofmydress,anervoussixteen-year-oldabouttofindoutwhethershereallyscoredadatetotheprom,oriftheotherkidsareabouttodumppig’sbloodonher.
WhenIopenthedoor,Ashleighjumpsalittle,becauseshe’dbeenlookingatherphone.
“Youdidn’thavetocomeup,”Isay.“Youcould’vetextedmefromthecar.”
“IdrankaPedialyteonthewayoverhere,andmybladder’sbursting,”shesays.“PlusIknowbasicallynothingaboutyou,sothiswasagoodchancetofindoutifyourhouseisfullofsurveillanceequipment.”
Iblink.“Surveillanceequipment?”
“LandonandIhavebeentakingbetsonwhetheryou’reintheFBI,”sheprovideshelpfully.
Isquintather.“AndyouthinkI’mintheFBIbecause…?”
“Idon’t,”shesays.“Landondoes.Myguessiswitnessprotection.”
There’sbeingbadatsmalltalk,andthenthere’sbeingsoreticentthatyourcoworkersassumeyou’verecentlytestifiedagainstamobboss,andIneverknewhowthinthelinebetweenthetwowas.
Inmydefense,LandonisnineteenyearsoldandnearlyalwayslisteningtoshoegazeinhisAirPodsatthedecibelofalaunchingrocket,soit’snotliketherehavebeenloadsofopportunitiestobond.
“Bathroom’sthisway,”Isay,leadingherinside.
Shegawksasshefollows,apparentlyunbotheredbythelackofsurveillanceequipment.
Wepauseinfrontoftheentrancetothehallway,whereMiles’sroom,thebathroom,andmyroomaretuckedoffofthelivingroom.“Cuteplace,”shesays.
“Thanks,”Isay,thoughhonestly,thisisallprettymuchMiles,afunkymixofthrift-storepiecesfromthefiftiestoseventies,LaurelCanyonchic.
Sheshutsherselfinthebathroom—quitepossibly,Ithink,todigthroughmymedicinecabinet—andIgobacktothekitchenforanotherglassofwater.Incollege,Ireallytookthepostersthatlitteredourdormroomstoheart:ONETOONE,IFATALL,theyread,withanillustratedbeerbottlebesideanillustratedglassofwater.Thehabitstuck.
FromthekitchenIhearthebathroomdoorwhineopen,andIpadbackintothelivingroom,butAshleighisn’tthere.
“Doyousnowboard?”shecallsfromaroundthecorner,downthehallway.
“What?”Ipassthroughthedoorwayandseehernotontheright,inmyroom,buttotheleft,inMiles’s.She’swanderingthroughitlikeit’samuseum,movingfromthesnowboardandbatteredhockeysticksinthecornertotheplantsandincenseholdersinthewindowsill.
“Thisismyroommate’sroom,”Itellher.
She’sreadingthetinytextaroundtheedgeofaframedshowposter,butI’mfixatedontheframedphotographofMilesandPetraonhisdresser.Theystandinfrontofthelake,herarmsslungaroundhiswaist,alessscruffyversionofhimlookingdownatheradoringly.She’swaifishandcute,andhe’srangyandwinsome,andit’simpossibletohatethisversionofher,theonewhomadehimsohappy.Untilitoccurstomethatnowshe’smakingPeterthishappy.
I’dalwaysthoughtheandIweresogoodtogether.Hewasstableandreliableanddriven.Hehadafive-yearplan,andnotinaboringway.WeweregoingtogoseethecherryblossomsinJapantogether,visitDubai,seetheEiffelTower.Butwewerealsogoingtoputmoneyintoretirementandhavemonthlydinnerswithhisfamily.
Inshort,Peterwastheexactoppositeofmydad,whowasoccasionallyadotingfatherbutrarelyapresentone.
Ithadtakenalotoftherapyformetostopgravitatingtowardemotionallyunavailablemen,thekindwho’dgetamatchingtattoowithyouoneweek,andbedatingyourupstairsneighborthenext.I’dbeensorelievedwhenIfinallyfellinlovewithsomeonewhoactuallywantedtolovemeback.
ARelationshipGuy,whocravedthebondhisparentshad.Wholikedroutine,andtextedbackinareasonableamountoftimeandsharedhiscalendarwithme.
Maybeifwe’dnevermovedbackhere,we’dstillbetogether.
Thenagain,maybeinfiveyears,hestillwould’veleftmeforPetra.Maybethey’reeverybitasdestinedashe’sconvinced.I’mnauseatedbythethoughtthatmaybeshebelongsthere,inthathomeI’dthoughtwasmine,whileIbelongnowhere.
AshleighpointstothetwoandonehalfpairsofCrocs(yes,that’sfiveindividualCrocs)halfwayinthecloset.“Excuseme,”shesays.“HowmanyCrocsdoesthismanhave?”
“Well,”Isay.“AtleastthoseandtheonesIassumeareonhisfeetatthisverymoment.”
Shestaresattheclogs.“Serviceindustry,nurse,orrun-of-the-millweirdo?”
“Serviceindustry,”Iconfirm;then,withatickleofaffection,“Butalsoaweirdo.Whichremindsme,we’resupposedtotrythepinottonight.”
“Howdidthatremindyouofpinot,”shesays,butasIturntoleave,Iforgetsheasked.
MystomachflipsatthesightofthewallbehindMiles’sheadboard.
I’venevernoticeditbefore,becauseI’veonlybeeninhereoneothertime.
DozensofPolaroidsaretackedintidycolumns.Tidier,Isuspect,thanMileswouldhavebeen.Likelythey’reaholdoverfromhisPetraera.
Whichmakessense,giventhattheyveryclearlytellthestoryoftheirrelationship.Threeyears’worthofbirthdaycakes.Threeyears’worthoftinytinselChristmastrees.Threeyears’worthofstand-uppaddle-boarding,cliffjumping,sippingwineinfrontofasunset,ridingasharemopedinfrontofwhatIassumetobetheMediterraneanSea.Threeyears’grinningintoeachother’smouthswiththeirhandsineachother’shair.
Theylooksohappy.
Itfeelsintrusivetoseethemlikethis,letalonetoletmycoworkergawkattheevidenceofhisfailedrelationship.“Weshouldgo,”Isay,quicklysteeringAshleighbackintothehallwayandclosingthedoorbehindus.
Wouldhetakeherback?Ifindmyselfwondering,beforeseamlesslytransitioningintoWouldItakePeterback?
“Definitelynot,”Isayaloud.
“What?”Ashleighsays.
“Nothing!”Isay.“Let’sgogetwine.”
Ashleighfollowsmebacktothefrontdoor,herheadonaswivel.“Doyouseeghostsorsomething?”
“Orsomething,”Isay.
“Well,Vince,”shesays.“YoumaynotbeFBI,butyou’redefinitelymoreinterestingthanallthattweedletson.”
“MylastnameisVincent,”Itellher.
“See?”shesays.“AwholesyllableIknewnothingabout.You’refullofsurprises.”
“Ihatesurprises,”Itellher.
?CherryHill,likemostlocalwineries,isonapeninsulathatjutsintothevastexpanseofLakeMichigan’snorthernmostcurve.Thevineyardssprawlacrossgentlyrollinghillsoneithersideofthelonggravelroadthatbringsustothewineryitself,allsleekglass,balsawood,andcorrugatedmetal.Theparkinglotisjammed,thegardensthatencircleitburstingwithcolorfulblooms,alltintedpinkishbythesettingsun.
Outbeyondtheflowersandhedges,whitewashedtablesdotagrassystretch,customersmillingfromtheboccecourtononeendtoaduckpondattheother,delicatelystemmedglassesinhand.Globelightshangovertheseatingarea,justwaitingforthefallingnighttogivethemthecuetolightup.
“Thisplaceisgorgeous,”Isay,climbingoutofAshleigh’sbeat-uphatchback.It’scooleddownandI’mregrettingnotgrabbingajacket.
Shelooksatmesidelong.“Haven’tyoubeenhere?”
Iguessmyblatantawegavemeaway.“Peterwasn’tawineguy.”
“Peter?”shesays.“That’syourex,right?”
Imanagea“mm-hmm.”
Ashleighswingsheroversizebagontohershoulderandtugsthehemofherminiskirttowardthetopsofhersuedeknee-highbootsasshestartstowardthefrontdoors.“Whataboutyourfriends?Noneofthemwineguyseither?”
WhatIdon’tsayis,wehadallthesamefriends.
WhatIdon’tsayis,technically,thismeansIhadnofriends.EvenafterallthoseFrankHerbertnovelsIreadjustsoI’dhavesomethingtobondwithScottover.
“Guessnot,”Isay.“Whataboutyou?You’vebeenherebefore,right?”
“Onlytwice,”shesays.“Dukewasn’tawineguyeither.”
“AndDukeis…?”Ipullthedooropen.
“Alargehorse,”shesays.“Whatdoyouthink,Daphne?He’smyex-husband.”
“IsupposeIcouldhaveguessedthat,”Iadmit,andfollowherinside.
Asmelllikeburningcedarwaftstowardusasweenterthedimlylitroom.Asleekmodernbarrunsalongtheleftwall,thewallbehinditentirelysmokedglass,massivewinecasksstackedbehinditandsoftlyglowingingoldenlight.Theotherthreewallsarelikewiseglass,buttheselookoutoverthevineyards,anarrowwoodencountermountedalongthemsopeoplecanwatchthesunsetwhiletheysip.High-topsarearrangedinthemiddleoftheroom,andinthewindowedwalloppositethebar,ahugeslatefireplacereachestowardthevaultedceiling,flamescracklingandleapingwithinit.
Ashleighgrabsmyarm.“Comeon—lookslikethosepeopleareleaving.”Shesteersmetothefarcornerofthebar,whichtakessomemaneuvering,because,despitethetemperateweather,theinsideofthisplaceisevenbusierthanthelawn.Sheslidesbetweentwomiddle-agedmeningolfshirtstoclaimoneofthenewlyvacatedstools,slammingherpurseontotheotheroneandwavingmeover.Shedoesn’tmoveherbaguntilI’mpracticallysittingonit.
Underneaththehumofconversation,sexymusicplays,alow,raspyvoicethatperfectlyblendswiththeclatterofforksanddelicateclinkofglass.
Therearetwopeopleworkingthebar,butthenadoorswingsopentotheroomhiddenbythewallofcasks,andMilesducksthrough,carryingawoodentraylinedwithglasses.
It’shypnotic,theintricatedancebetweenhimandtheotherbartenders,orsommeliers,orwhatevertheyare.Theycommunicateinquickphrasesandsubtletouches,movingasidesohecanreplenishtheirsupply.Onebartenderswapsplaceswithhim,and,afteraquickexchange,shenodsanddisappearsthroughthesamedoorMilesjustemergedfrom.
Despitehissomewhatthreadbareandhole-riddenT-shirtandworkpants,helookscompletelyathomehere,thewarmglowbehindthebarcastinghiminmoreofanartisanallightthanaburned-outone.
Heleansacrossthecountertohearwhataprettyredheadissaying,thenlaughsandgrabsanopenwhitewinefromanicebucket,twirlingitalittleashepoursheranotherglass.
“See?”Ashleighsays,leaningintobeheard.“Hotdrugdealer.”
Mygazejuddersovertoher,followshersstraightbacktothefarsideofthebar.“Milesdealsdrugs?”Icry.
Hisgazesnapssidewaysatthesoundofhisname.Heliftshischiningreeting,asmilepullingatonesideofhismouth.
“Wait,youknowhim?”Ashleighasks.
Hedropsthebottlebackintotheicebucketandcrossestowardus.
“Orderthepinot,”IquicklytellAshleigh.
“I’mreallyconfusedrightnow,Daphne.Haveyoubeenhereor—”
Milesslideshisforearmsacrosstheglossywoodenbar.“Well,well,well,”hesays,justloudenoughtobeheardovertheroom’sambientnoise.“Ifitisn’tmyadoringgirlfriend.”7
“Girlfriend?”Ashleighkicksmeunderneaththebar.
Iyelpandscootawayfromher.“It’sajoke.Thisismyroommate.Miles.Miles,Ashleigh.”
Hestickshishandouttoshakehers.“Nicetomeetyou.”
“Charmed,”shesays,suddenlyaGildedAgeheiress.
“WhatcanIgetyou?”heasks.
Ashleighpropsherchininherhandandleansforwardtobeheard:“Whatdoyourecommend?”
Hedragsapapermenuoutofanearbycupandpushesittowardus.“Kitchen’soutofabunchofstuff,butwestillhavethese.”Hemarksthreeofthesixsmall-plateoptions,thenflipsthemenuandcirclesthewineflights,drawingscrappylittlestarsbesidetheoneherecommends.
Helookstomeforapproval.IlooktoAshleigh.Shenodsandhalfshouts,“WhateverMilessays!”
“I’llberightback,”hepromises,disappearingwiththemarkedmenu,stoppingtomurmursomethingtoabartenderwithcurtainbangsbeforeslippingthroughthedoor.
Ashleighswivelstowardme.“Sowhat’sthishilarious‘joke’aboutyoubeinghisgirlfriend?”
“What’sthisaboutmyroommatebeingadrugdealer?”
Shewavesahand.“That’sjustwhatIcallhiminmymind,becauseofhisaesthetic.”
“Hisselling-prescription-bottles-under-the-bleachersaesthetic?”
“Morelikeeight-plants-and-grow-light-in-his-apartment.ButthatwasbeforeIunknowinglywanderedintohisbedroomthirtyminutesago.NowIhavetorevisehiswholeimageinmybraincastle.”
“Doyoumean‘memorypalace’?”Iask.
“Myturntoaskthequestions.”Hereyesdancedevilishly.Ihaven’tseenthismischievoussideofAshleighbefore.It’sintimidating,feelinglikeIcan’tescapehercuriosity,butitalsoremindsmealittlebitofSadie,whichsendsapangthroughmystomach.“Tellmeaboutthisjoke,whereyou’reHotMiles’sgirlfriend.”
“Hello,ladies!”thecurtain-fringedbartendersays,makingusbothjump.
“Hi!”AshleighandIcheepinunison.
“Mileswillberightbackwithyourflight,butcanIgetyouanythinginthemeantime?”Sheflipstwowaterglassesontothebarandfillsthemfromapitcher.
Weshakeourheads.
“Well,I’mKatya,ifyouneedanything.Justshout.”Shepatsthebarandsauntersoff.
“So?”Ashleighprods.“Thejoke?”
“Itwasjustaboutthispicture.”
Shearchesabrow,waiting.Igivein,pullmyphoneout,andtaptothepictureofMilesandme,avocadosmearedonmyface,ourmouthssuspiciouslyclose.It’smorelasciviousthanIremembered.Mystomachfluttersuncomfortably.
Ashleighstaresatit,adivotforminginherchin.“What,becauseyoulooksomuchlikeacoupleinthis?That’sthewholejoke?”
Igrimace,debatinghowmuchmoretodivulge.Thisismyproblem.Idon’tknowhowtotalkalongthesurfaceofthings,butIalsodon’twanttounearththeuglystuff,overandoveragain,forpeoplewhoarejustpassingthroughmylife.It’sdepleting.LikeeverytimeIdoleoutakernelofmyhistorytosomeonewho’snotgoingtobecomeafixtureinmylife,apieceofmegetscarriedaway,somewhereIcannevergetitback.
Youcan’tuntellsomeoneyoursecrets.Youcan’tunsaythosedelicatetruthsonceyoulearnyoucan’ttrustthepersonyouhandedthemto.
Ashleighsetsmyphoneaside.“Look.Ifyoudon’twanttobefriends,I’mnotgoingtomakeyou.We’veworkedtogetherforoverayear,andI’vemanagedtolearnstartlinglylittleaboutyouinthattime,andIhaven’tpressed,becauseIcantellwhensomeone’saclosedbook—”
“I’mnotaclosedbook,”Iprotest.
“—butwhatIcan’tfigureout,”shesays,“iswhyaskmetohangoutnow?IfthisisjustsomeGoodSamaritanshtick,Iwould’veratherstayedhomethangoonapityouting.”
“It’snotapityouting!”Isay.“Atleastnotonmyend.AndI’msorryIdidn’tmakemoreofanefforttogettoknowyouupfront.Itwasn’tyou.”
Shegivesmeapointedlook.
“Okay,maybeitwasalittlebityou,”Iadmit.
Sheletsoutaguffawofgenuinelaughterthatmakesmecrackasmile.“What,youthinkI’mscary?”
“Well,yes,”Isay.“Butinagoodway!It’smorethatyou’realwayslate.”
Anotherguffaw.“God,you’renotfromMichigan,areyou?”
“No,why?”Isay.
“Thishonestything,”shesays.“It’srefreshing.Soyoudidn’twanttobefriendswithmebecauseI’malwayslatetowork.”
“Andyoudidn’twanttobefriendswithmebecauseofthegiganticstickupmyass?”Iguess.
Shechortles.“No,itactuallywasn’tthat.Itwasmorethatyouweresohappilycoupled.Thedivorceisstilltoofreshformetobearoundsomeonewho’sgotcartoonheartsintheireyesandbabybirdscarryingalonglaceveilbehindthem.”
Ididn’ttellanyoneatworkaboutthebreakup,perse.Butwhenyouhavethreeweeksscheduledoffworkforahoneymoon,thenunceremoniouslycanceltherequest,peopletalk
“Well,evenbeforemybreakup,”Itellher,“Ididn’thaveeitherofthosethings.”
“Becauseofthestick?”shejokes.
Myownsmilewidens.“Becausebabybirdsareneverontime,anditmayseemtrite,butwhenpeoplearealwayslate,Idon’texpectthemtobereliable,andIdefinitelydon’tassumethey’reinterestedinbeingclosewithme.”
Shenodsthoughtfully.“Fair.Butforwhatit’sworth,I’malwayslatebecauseIhaveakid.SoI’dliketothinkmyfriendscanrelyonme,butifitcomesdowntoit,yeah,IchooseMuldereverytime.”
IfI’maclosedbook,boundinchainsandkeptunderapadlock,AshleighRahimimight’vesaidtheonethingthatcouldfunctionasthekey.
“Alsofair,”Isay.
“So,”shesays.“HaveIearnedtheoriginstoryofthis‘joke’?”
“There’ssomethingIhaven’ttoldeveryoneatthelibrary,”Isay,buyingmyselftime.“Aboutmybreakup.Something…humiliating.”
Herjawdrops.“YoucheatedwithMiles.”
“What?God!No!”Ilookaroundforeavesdroppers.IfI’mgoingtoutterthisaloudonemoretime,I’dlikeittostayinthisroom.“HowdoIknowthisstorywon’tracethroughthestacksatworklikewildfire?”
Shehasthegracetonotlookoffended.Insteadshepursesherlips,considering.“Letmeaskyouthis:HaveIevertoldyouanythingaboutLandon?”
“OtherthanthatyoutwohaveabettingpoolaboutwhatafreakIam?”
“Let’sjustsay,”shereplies,“whenyougethimtopausehisMyBloodyValentinealbum,you’llfindhoweasyitwouldbetomakeafullTheCrown–styletelevisionseriesabouthisfamily.Andyetyouknownothing.I’mgoodwithsecrets.”
“Youcouldbecompletelymakingthisup,”Ipointout.
“Sure,”shesays.“ButI’mnot.I’marecentdivorcéewhospendsmostofhertimewithaneleven-year-old.I’mnotoutheretellingpeople’ssecrets.Ijustenjoyhearingaboutdrama!Sueme!”
“IfyoudivulgewhatI’mabouttotellyou,”Isay,“Imight.”
“I’vegotit!”shecries,slappingbothhandsdownonthebar.Sheswingsherhugepurseatopitanddigsforherphone.“Icurrentlyhaveahorriblerashonmyback.I’llsendyouapicture.”
“Pleasedon’t,”Isay.
“Itcanbeyourcollateral,”shesays.
“Whatif—andstaywithmehere—youjust,like,tellmesomethingaboutyourself?”Isay.
“Hm.”Shenarrowshergaze.“Kindofanold-fashioned‘actuallygettingtoknoweachother’approach.”
“Precisely,”Isay.
“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Whateveryouwanttotellme,”Isay.
“Well.”Shesighs,lookingupattheexposedbeamsacrosstheceilingasshethinks.“MykidwasconceivedinaparkedcarbehindaYMCA.Doesthatdothetrick?”
Asnortoflaughterescapesme.
“Oh!”Shescootsforward,moreanimatednowthanI’veyetseenher.“Insixthgrade,thetissueI’dstuffedinmybrafelloutofmyshirtwhileIwasatthewhiteboard.”
“Ohmygod,”Isay.“Soyou’reDante.YouwentallthewaytotheninthcircleoftheInferno.”
“Whatelse?”Hereyestiptowardtheceilingagain.“Oh!WhenIfirsthadMulder,IhadnoideawhattodowithhimninetypercentofthetimewhileDukewasatwork.SoI’dbringhimtothelibrarytothismoms’group,andI’dfindthecalmestparentinthebunchandaskiftheycouldwatchhimwhileIwenttothebathroom.ThenI’dgolockmyselfinside,setatimer,andsobashardasIcouldforfiveminutes.”
“Ashleigh!That’sheartbreaking!”Icry,butshe’slaughingnowtoo.
“Itwasterrible!”sheagrees.“EverydayI’dwakeupandhave,like,onesecondofpeace.ThenI’dremember,Oh,shit,I’msomeone’smom.Iwasawreck,forlikesixmonths.Butitdidconvincemetogobacktoschooltobecomealibrarian,andMulder’sprettymuchmybestfriend,soallworthit.”
Myheartkeensatthethoughtofmyownmother.How,evenwiththelonghoursshepulledatwork,shemadetimetohand-sewHalloweencostumesandchaperonefieldtripsandstumbleherwaythroughhelpingmewithalgebra.Sheworkedsohardtogivemethebestlifeshecould,andIdon’ttakeanyofitforgranted.
Ijustalwaysthoughtourfamilyoftwowouldgrow,andsomedayI’dhaveahousefulloflittlevoices,deeplaughter,endlesslove.IthoughttheBestMomEverwouldgraduatetotheWorld’sBestGrandma,andI’dgivesomeonenewtheloveshegaveme,butwithadifferentkindoflife.Afullhouse,wheretheydidn’tspendmostnightsalone,waitingfortheiroverworkedmomtogethomeoramostlyabsentfathertodeigntostopby.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Ashleighbatshereyelashes.“HaveIearnedsomeintel?”
IholdupafingerwhileItakealongsipofwater.
“Oooh,sheneedstohydrate,”shesays.“Mustbejuicy.”
Isettheglassdown.“I’mgoingtosaythisfast,andI’dprefernottodwellonittoolong.”
“Gotit,”shesays.
“Peterdumpedmeforhischildhoodbestfriend,whohappenedtobeMiles’sgirlfriend,andthat’showweendeduplivingtogether,”Isayallinonebreath.
Herjawdrops.
Itakeanothersip.“AndthenIaccidentallytoldPeterthatMilesandIaredatingnow,sowetookthatpicturetomaketheliemoreconvincing.”
Ashleigh’smouthformsaperfectcircle.“You’rekidding.”
Ihidemyfacebehindmyhands.“I’mnot.”
“Iloveit,”shecries.Volume,I’mrealizing,isAshleigh’sprimaryindicatorofemotion.Thatandthesurprisingbark-laughthatoccasionallyjumpsoutofherbeforeshe’sevencrackedasmile.
“Whatdowelove?”
IopenmyeyestofindMilesarrangingwineglassesinfrontofus.
“Yourfakerelationship,”Ashleighsays.
“Well,Idon’t,”Isay.“Nowthere’snogoodwaytogetoutofit.Imean,whenwe‘breakup,’Peterwillgettofeelsmugandsuperioraboutthat.”
“That’snoproblem,”Milessays,pouringatasteofwhitewineforeachofus.“Allwehavetodoisgetmarried,andthenstaytogetheruntiltheysplitup.Andiftheyhavekids,justhaveonemorethanthem.Iftheygetadog,wegetacuterdog.Iftheybuyanewhouse,wegetamansion.”
“Aperfectplan,”Isay.“Whydidn’tIthinkofit?”
Hepushesthewineglassestowardus.“Pinotblanc.It’scrispandcitrusy,withalittlebitofpear,anditgoeswellwithpoultryandseafood.I’mkiddingaboutthemarriage,bytheway.”
“Youdon’tsay,”Ireply,takingasip.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Heleansforward,eager,focused.
Iletthetasterollacrossmytonguebeforeswallowingit.“Ittasteslikespringtime.”
Hesmiles.“Exactly.”
“Ithinkthere’ssomethingwrongwithmine,”Ashleighsays.“Ittasteslikewine.”
“Here.”Milespoursmore.“Tryagain.”
Ashleighsips,thensmacksherlips.“Oh,yeah.Bigspringvibe.”
Katya,withthecurtainfringe,callsforMilesthen.Heglancesoverhisshoulder.Amiddle-agedguywithslicked-backhair,eyesdisappearingintohisface,isdrunkenlyleaningacrossthebardemandingsomethingofthebartenders.
Milespushesoffthebar.“I’llberightback.”
Hebeelinestowardthedrunkguy,acalmandpolitesmilefixedtohisfacethoughsomethingabouthiseyeshasflattenedout,changed.Likehe’speeringoutfromheavilytintedwindows.
Ashleighanglestowardme.“DoyouthinkifIkeepbeingignorant,he’llkeeppouringmore,orwasthataonetimething?”
Iwatchhimexchangeafewwordswiththeman.Milesnods,thenbendshisheadtowardKatya’s,thetwoofthemquietlyconferring,herhandsbracedlightlyagainsthisshouldersasshepushesupontohertiptoestoreachhisear.
Theybothglanceourwayatthesametime,andIspinbacktoAshleigh,downingmydrink.“Ithinkyoucanjustaskformore,”Isay,“andhe’llprobablygiveittoyou.”
“Ifeellikeaceleb,”shesays.“I’veneverhadthiskindofinbefore.”
“Well,ifhavingmyheartshatteredinthesinglemosthumiliatingwayimaginablecanbeofservicetosomeone,I’lltakeit.”
“I’msorry,sweetie,”Ashleighsays,swirlingherglass,“butifPeterwasgoingtobreakyourheartnow,hewould’vedoneiteventually.”
“So,what?”Isay.“PeterandPetraaresoulmates,anditwasgoingtohappensoonerorlater?”
“Soulmates?”Shelaughs.“No.I’msayingyourexisthelittleboylookingoversomeoneelse’sshoulder,tryingtofigureoutifthekidnexttohimhasabetterlunch.Only,thelunchboxisshut,soeventhoughheknowswhathisparentspackedforhimisprettygood,he’dstilltradeitjusttoopenupthatrustylittleBatmanlunchbox.”
“Whatisthismetaphor,Ashleigh,”Isay.
“Itmakesperfectsense,”shesays.“He’salunchswapper,andwhetheritwastherustymetalBatmanlunchboxoraCars2zip-uponethat’sfilledwithmold,atsomepoint,hewasgoingtotradeinthesacklunch.”
“Justtobeclear,I’mthesacklunchhere?”Isay.
“Itain’taboutthebag,babe,”shesays.“It’swhat’sinside.”
“SoI’mapapersackwithaheartofgold.”
“Youcouldbeathree-coursebalancedmealwithacutelittleHostessdessert,anditwouldn’tmatter.Heknowsyou,andthelunchhedoesn’tknowisgoingtocatchhiseye.I’msorry,IjustrealizedI’mreallyhungry,sothatprobablyexplainssomeofthe—oh,thankgod.”
Milesisback,unloadingourorderinfrontofus:aboardwiththreelocalcheeses,avarietyofpickledvegetables,andsomeWaningBaypreserves,alongwithabasketofbreadfromabakeryintown.
“So,”hesays,“abitofasnag.”
“What,youranoutofgrapes?”Isay.
Hiseyesflickdownasheliftsthenextbottlefrombeneaththebar.“Katya,mycoworker…”Heclearshisthroatashepoursournexttaste.“SheheardfromPetra.Aboutmynewgirlfriend.”
“Ohno,”Isay.
Hegrimaces.“Iam…reallysorry,Daphne.”
“Shejustaskedifitwasme,didn’tshe,”Isay.“IfI’mthenewgirlfriend.”
Henods,thetealightssprinklingthebarcatchingtheflushcreepinguphisneck.
“Andyousaidyes,”Isay.
Theflushdeepens.“Idon’tknowwhatcameoverme.”
Ashleightipsherheadbackandlaughs.Themantoherleftturnsatthesoundandgivesheraflirtatiousbody-scan,whichshe,inherdelight,entirelymisses.“Ilovethissomuch.”Sheclapstoemphasizeeachword.
“I’mneverlyingagain,”Isay.
“ExceptifKatyawalksuptoyouandsays,Hey,you’resleepingwithMiles,right?”hejokes.“Becauseifyoutellthetruth,thiswillallbeveryembarrassing.”
“Youtoldherwe’resleepingtogether?”Isay.
“Yeah,shesaid,Isthatyourgirlfriend,andIwaslike,Wehavesex,andwe’reinlove.Someday,whenwehaveababy,we’regoingtonameherSueEllenaftermymom.No,Daphne.Ididn’ttellherwe’resleepingtogether.PetratoldherI’mlivingwithmynewgirlfriend.I’mjustguessingKatyamightdosomehigh-leveldeductionhere.Butifyouwantmetogoaskwhethershethinkswe’rehavingsex,Ican.”
“HowsoonuntileveryoneinWaningBayhearsthislie,”Igroan.
“I’msurethepaparazziaregatheringaswespeak,”hereplies.“Thisisthe2020Chardonnay,bytheway.PeoplethinktheyhateChardonnaybecausethey’vemostlyhadshittyChardonnay.It’samisunderstoodwine.”
“Aw,”Ashleighcoos,clutchingherheart.“Misunderstoodlittlewine.”
“Don’tfeeltoobadforit,”Imumble.“Soundslikeitgetslaidalot.”
Milesgivesmeateasinglyadmonishinglookandgoeson:“Oursisprettyrestrained.”
“Okay,Itakemylastcommentback,”Isay.
“See,Daphne,”hesays,meetingmyhecklingwithover-the-topsobriety,“theChardonnaygrapesthemselvesareprettyneutral.That’swhytheycantakeontoomuchoakforalotofwinedrinkers’tastes.Butourshasanicepeachnose,andthispinchoflemonzest,andafaint,warmoakiness,butnotsomuchthatthewine’soverpowered.”
“Itreallyisalovelynose,”Ashleighsays.
“Thanks,Ithinksotoo.”Milesangleshimselfbacktome,clearlywaitingformetotryit.
Imakeabigshowofswirlingitaroundandstudyingitfromvariousangles,thenvery,veryslowlyliftittomylipsandtakeonetinysip.
Still,thatonesipmakestheinsideofmymouthfeelsunlit.LikeI’vejusttastedadayontheMichigancoast.
“Wow,”Isay.
Milesstraightens,grinning.“It’sgood?”
“It’sgood,”Ianswer.
AbrightflashpopstoourleftandIglanceoveratAshleigh,littlecolorfulcirclesstilldancingthroughmyvision.“Aw,”shesays,lookingdownatherphone.“Yourfirstcouples’candid.”
Themanbehindhertapshershoulder.“Ifyouwantoneofallthreeofyou,”heshoutsoverthemusic,whichhasgottenlouderasfullnighthasfallen,“I’dbehappytotakeit.”
“That’sokay,”Itrytoshoutback,butAshleighisnoddingenthusiastically.
“I’mvettingmyfriend’snewboyfriend,”shetellshim.“Aren’ttheycute?”
“Ifanything,”IsaytoMiles,“we’restillvettingher.”
Helooksover,smiledeepening.“Isaywekeepher.”
“Who’sgoingtofeedandwalkher?”Isay.
“Iwill,”heinsists.“Everyday.Ipromise.”
Ashleighdragsherstoolaroundmineandpopsbackontoit,leaninginagainstmysideashersuitorlinesupherphonefortheshot.Milesslidesoneelbowfurtheroverthebar,leaninginonmyotherside,hischinrestingonmyshoulder.
“Everyonesaywine,”themansayswithawink.Underherbreath,Ashleighmumbles,“Icanlookpastthat.”8
Inthecorner,AshleighandGreg-Craig(can’tbesurewhichoneheintroducedhimselfas)arefullymakingout.Theywentovertheretoexchangenumbers,roughlysixminutesago.
Everyoneelseinthatcornerofthetastingroomhassincefled.InAshleighandGreg-Craig’sdefense,thatmighthavemoretodowiththefactthatit’sninefifty-seven,andCherryHillclosesatten.
Sure,it’saFridaynight,butthisisawineryinNorthernMichigan,notaraveinIbiza,andallthecustomersprobablyneedtobeupbrightandearlyforyoga,boating,ordoingyogaonaboat.
“Sheokaytodrive?”
IturntofindMilesslippingthroughaportionofthebarthatliftsup,withhiswallet,phone,andanapronclutchedinonehand.“Oh,she’snotdrunk,”Iassurehim.“Shedidn’thaveasipofthelasttwopours.She’sjusthorny.”
Henodssomberly.“Beingsingleinthewoodsisrough.”
Atthatmoment,AshleighextricateshertonguefromGreg-Craig’smouthandflouncesourway.“So.”Withafurtiveglanceoverhershoulder,shedropshervoice.“WhataretheoddsyoucanridehomewithMiles?”
Ilooktohim.
Heflipshiskeys.“Finewithme.”
“Thankgod.”Ashleighgivesmeabrief,firm,yetvanilla-scentedhug.“Don’tmakethisweirdatwork,okay?”
“What,thefactthatI’venowseensomeonelickyourtonsils?”Isay.
“Itwasboundtohappeneventually!Gethomesafe,lovebirds.”She’salreadyonherwaybacktoGreg-Craig.Heslipsahandthroughhersandwavesasshesteershimoutside.
“So,”Milessays,“Craig’sfriendwasn’tuptoyourstandards?”
I’membarrassedtorealizeMileswitnessedmypainfulattemptatconversationwithCraig’swingman,aguyinaV-necksodeepIcaughtaflashofbellybutton
“Iwasn’tuptohisstandards,”Isay.“Hegotaprettyurgentwork-relatedtextandexcusedhimself.ThenIwenttothebathroom,andwhenIpassedhim,hewasplayingsolitaireonhisphoneatthefarsideofthebar.”
“Whatthefuck,”Milessays.
“Inhisdefense,”Isay,“I’mabsolutelyhorribleatsmalltalkwithnewpeople.”
“Idon’tbelieveyou,atall,”hesays.
“Withinthreeminutes,”Isay,“Icaughtmyselflistingmyfoodsensitivities.Ithinkit’slikeaself-sabotagingself-protectivething,whereItrytoborenewpeopleaway.”
Mileslookshorrified.“YoushouldhavetoldmeyouhadfoodsensitivitiesbeforeIorderedforyou.”
“It’snot,like,EpiPenserious,”Isay,followinghimtothedoor.
“Still,”hesays.“AndifI’dknownyouneededhelpwiththeSolitaireKingofNorthernMichigan,Icould’verustledupapackofcardsfromthebreakroom.You’dhavebeenunstoppable.”
“I’mnotsureI’minthemoodtobeunstoppable,anyway.”
Heholdsthedooropenforme.“Whataboutmilkshakes?”
“Whataboutthem?”Isay.
“Areyouinthemoodforone,”hesays.“BecauseI’vebeenthinkingaboutBigLouie’sallnight.”
“Who’sBigLouise,”Isay,steppingoutintothestillnight,“anddoessheknowhowmuchyouthinkabouther?”
“BigLouie’sDrive-In?”Thestringlightsringingthegravellotsoftlyilluminatehislookofsurprise.“You’veneverbeentoBigLouie’s?”
“No?”Isay.
Hestopsshort,lookingatmewithoutrightshock.
“Isitaburgerplace?”Iask.
Hescoffs.“Isitaburgerplace?”Heveerslefttowardhisrust-edgedtruck.
“Idon’tevenknowifthat’sayesorano,Miles,”Isay.
Hemanuallyunlocksthepassengerdoor.“That’saGetinthecar,Daphne;I’mnotgoingtodignifythatwithananswer.”
Ihoistmyselfintotheseat,leaningovertounlockthedriver’s-sidedoorasMilesroundsthehood.
Assoonashestartsthecar,“TheTracksofMyTears”bySmokeyRobinsonandtheMiraclescomesonfullblast.
Adeceptivelyhappy-soundingsongaboutbeingincrediblydepressed.
Itryandfailtoswallowalaugh.
Milesgivesasheepishsmile.“Noideahowthatgoton.”
“Thistruckisprobablyhaunted,”Iagree.
“Exactly.”Hepullsoutalongthegraveldrive.“AndifthesoundtracktoAStarIsBornstartsplaying,justdon’tbealarmed.Becausetheghostlikesthatonetoo.”
“Thisghostgetsmoretragicbythesecond,”Isay.
“He’sperfectlyfine,thankyou,”Milessays.
“Thriving?”Iask.
“Thriving,”heagrees.
“Well,ifhe’sgotanytipsfortherestofus,”Isay,“havehimhitmeup.”
“Daphne,”hesays.“ThefirstpieceofadviceanyoneisgoingtogiveyouforimprovingyoursituationisgoingtoBigLouie’s.Howisitpossibleyou’velivedherefor…”
“Thirteenmonths,”Isupply.
“Thirteenentiremonths,”hesays,“andhaven’thadtheirPetoskeyfries.”
“WhatarePetoskeyfries?”Iask.
Hetuts.“Nowonderyou’resodepressed.”
“IsthisplaceinPetoskey?Arewedrivinganhourandahalfforfries?”
“No,they’renamedafterPetoskeystones.”
“Whichare…?”
Thecountryroadhasreachedafour-waystop,andheessentiallypullsovertolookatme.“Daphne.”
“Suchanairofdisappointment.Everytimeyousaymyname.”
“WasPeterkeepingyoulockedinsideabunker?”hesays.
“Justtellmeabouttheserocks,Miles.”
“They’refossilizedcoral,”hesays,likethisshouldbeobvious.Heeasesoffthebrakeandwerollthroughtheemptyintersection.
Isay,“Andthisisconnectedtofrenchfries…?”
“Tenuously,”Milesanswers.“Butthey’reamazing.Thefries,Imean.They’reslatheredincheeseandjalape?os.”
“Well,thatexplainswhyI’veneverhadthem,”Isay.“Peterisn’tabigslatherer.He’smoreofawheatgrass-shot-and-lean-meat-after-leg-daykindofguy.”
“What?”Milessays,faintlyamused.“Youweren’tallowedtoeatwithoutPeter?”
Irollmyeyes.“Itwasn’tabout‘beingallowed.’Idon’tknowhowtocook.Hedoes.”
Onourseconddate,he’dmademedinner.Salmonandasparagusandaketo-friendlypastasalad.Iwould’vebeenlessimpressedtolearnhewasanOlympian.CookingwastheonethingMomdidn’tdowhileIwasgrowingup.Welivedontakeout,andweeklynachonights.ButPeterstartedeverydaywithagreensmoothie,andmadedinnerfromscratchmostnights.Peakdomesticity,asfarasIwasconcerned.
Acouplemonthsintolivingtogether,he’dtriedteachingmethebasics,butIalwaysslowedthingsdowntoomuch,soI’dmovedbacktodishesduty.
“Wheatgrass.”Milesshakeshishead.“Youwereagymcoupletoo,right?”
“Imean,”Isay,“wewereacouplewithgymmemberships.”
“Andyouwenttogether,”hesays.“Onaregularschedule.”
Wedid.ItwasoneofveryfewsilverliningstoourrelationshipendingthatInolongerfeltanyguiltaboutnotgoing.Peterwasintoprettymucheveryformofphysicalexercise,butIwasslowerandlesscoordinatedthanhim,sothefewtimeswe’dtriedhikingorbiking,itwasmorefrustratingthanrewarding.Atthegym,wecoulddoourownthings,butstillspendtimetogether.Withhowbusyhisjobkepthim,thattimewasvaluable.
“We’rebothreallyorganized,”Isay.“Wedideverythingonaregularschedule.”
Hegivesmealook.Thebackofmyneckprickles.“Fine,yes,wedidthatonascheduletoo,”Isay.
“Nothingwrongwiththat,”hesays.“Lifecangetbusy.”
Istareathim,tryingtoworkoutifheactuallybelievesthis,orifhethinksI’mhilariouslyboring.MaybePeterthoughtitwasboringtoo.
Misreadingmyexpression,Milessays,“No,wedidn’thaveaschedule.Butitcould’vebeenhelpful.Sometimes,sheandIfellintosortoflivingourownlives.ButI’mnotanti-schedule.Justanti-wheatgrass.”
Iaccidentallysnort,alittledisbelievingpony.
Miles’seyesnarrowonagrin.“I’veneverhadwheatgrassinmylife.Withaknifetomythroat,I’mnotsureIcouldsaywhatwheatgrassevenis.”
“Noonecould,”Isay.“ButI’mtalkingaboutthecalendar.”
“Thecalendar?”
“Yes,thecalendar.”
Heaffectsalookofinnocentconfusion.“Couldyoubychancebereferringtothewall-sizedwhiteboardwhereyoutrackyourpaychecks,yourphonecallstoyourmom,andyourmenstrualcycle?”
“No,”Isay,“I’mtalkingabouttheonewhereItrackyourcompleteunwillingnesstoplanaheadandsticktoaschedule.Thusindicatingyouareanti-schedule.”
“Ijustdidn’trealizehowimportantitwastoyoutoknowwhereIwas,”heteases.“ShouldIsharemyphonelocationwithyou?”
“No,it’sfine.Iwouldn’twanttoclipyourwings,tetheryourspirit,allthat.”
“I’llputmystuffonthecalendar,”hesays.“Ifitreallymatters.”
Ishrug.“It’sfine.Justdon’tgetmadifIcomehomewhileyou’reinthemiddleofentertainingaladyfr—ohmygod.ThissongactuallyisfromAStarIsBorn!”
“Isit?”hesaysblandly.“Strange.”
“Soyouhaven’tmovedontotheangerphaseyet,”Isay.
Heshrugs.“Idon’tknowifIhavethatphaseinme.”
“Really?”Isay,surprised.“I’vebeencampedoutinmineforweeks…”
“Gettingmadneverfixesanything,”hesays.
“Neitherdoesmoping.”
“I’mnotmoping.Ijustlikesadmusic.”
Lookingathim,Ihavetobelieveit.MinusafewroughdaysandonetensephonecallIoverheardthroughhisbedroomdoor,Mileshasseemedmoreorlesstotallyfine,evencheerysincethebreakup.WhereasI’vebeenlivinginalow-gradestateofconstantmisery.
Heturnsofftheroad,towardthefluorescentglowofadrive-inburgerjoint.
Oneithersideofthesquatbuilding,arowofparkingslotsnoseupagainstmenusmountedtospeakers.Betweenthetworows,ahandfulofbluemetalpicnictablesarearrangedinthecementcourtyard.Theplaceishoppingwithsuntanned,beach-wavedteenagers,sittingatoptablesandqueuingattheoptionalwalk-upwindow.
Noneofthefoodrunnerscarryingtheredplastictrayslooksadayolderthanseventeen.IwonderifPeterandScottandPetrahungouthereinhighschool.Theplacehasadistinctlyfiftieslook,everythingfadedtosuggestit’salwaysbeenhere,themeetingpointforthehungry,drunk,andhornysincetimeimmemorial.
Milescrankshiswindowdown.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“I’matouristhere,”Isay.“Whatdoyourecommend?”
“Chocolate-cherrymilkshakeandPetoskeyfries,”hesays.
Inodapproval,andwhentheverycracklyvoicecomesoverthespeaker,heordersthesamethingforeachofus.
“Sowhathappenedwiththedrunkguyatthebar,”Iaskhim.
Hestudiesmeforafewseconds.“Oh.Him,”hesayswhenitclicks.“Hewasjusttryingtoorderanotherflight,despitenolongerbeingabletostand.Happensallthetime.Justneededtodefuseit.”
“Andhowdidyoudothat?”Iask.
“Toldhimifhegotintothecabwe’dcalledforhim,we’dcomphislasttwodrinks,andnotbanhimfromthepremises.”
“Wooow,”Isay.
“Wowwhat?”
“Youlaiddownthelaw,”Isay,“withoutyoursmileevercracking.”
“Thingsgosmootherifyoudon’tletpeoplegetariseoutofyou,”hesays.“Ifyougivethemcontroloverhowyoufeel,they’llalwaysuseit.”
“Finally,Iseeyourcynicalside,”Isay.
Hesmiles,buthisjawistight,andthesmiledoesn’treachhiseyes.“It’snotcynical.Ifyoudon’tgiveotherpeopleresponsibilityforyourfeelings,youcanhaveadecentrelationshipwithmostofthem.”
Honestly,that’snotfarofffromthoughtsI’vehad.Onlyforme,it’sneverbeenaboutcontrollingthefeelingsthemselves.Iwouldn’tknowwheretobeginwiththat.It’smore,controllingtheexpectationsyouhaveforcertainpeople.
Ifapersonletsyoudown,it’stimetoreconsiderwhatyou’reaskingofthem.
Inthediningcourtyard,therowdyteenagersstartgatheringtheirthings,shakingtheirtraysintothetrashbeforepilingtoomanypeopleintoacoupleofjunkersparkedsidebyside.Aminutelater,agirlindenimcutoffsandanEATATBIGLOUIE’Sshirtcomesoutoftheburgershackwithapaperbagandtwopapercups,littletealoutlinesofMichiganprintedinapatternedrowaroundthem.
Mileswatchesmyreactiontothefirstsip.Aftertheinitialhitofbrainfreeze,thetasteregistersandIletoutalittlemoan.OnlythendoesMilestakehisownsipandstuffhismilkshakeintothecupholder.“Youknowwhatweshoulddo?”
“Idon’twanttosobtoBridgetJonestogether,”Isay.
“Atmost,itwasaslowtrickleoftears,”heobjects.“Andthat’snotwhatIwasgoingtosay,butifyou’regoingtojustshutmedownlikethat—”
“No,no!”Igrabhiselbow.“I’msorry.Let’shearit.Whatshouldwedo?”
“Weshouldgotothebeach,”hesays.
“Isn’tthebeachclosedafterdark?”Isay.
Hesquints.“Whichbeacheshaveyoubeengoingto?”
Ishrug.“Theoneacrossfromthelibrary?Withthefoodtrucksandtheicecreampavilionandthesandvolleyballcourts.”
“Thattinylittlebeachallthefudgiesgoto?”hesays.“WiththetealAdirondackchairs?Thatsand’sprobablynotevenlocal.Betit’struckedinfromFlorida.”
“What’safudgie?”Iask.
“Daphne,”hetuts.“Daphne,Daphne,Daphne.”
“Letmeguess:I’macluelessfool,”Isay.
Hestartsthecar.“No,justasweet,naive,beautifullittleinnocent,raisedincaptivitybyamanwholoveswheatgrass.”
“Sothebeachdoesn’tcloseafterdark?”Isay.
Hebacksoutofthecraggyparkingspace.“Notanyofthegoodones.”9
Afudgie,apparently,isanout-of-towner.Apersonwhocruisesnorthinthesummertobuyfudgeandusesubparbeaches,thenfleesbeforeautumn.ItseemsstrangethatPeterneverintroducedmetotheterm,butMilespointsoutthattheCollinsesareformerfudgiesthemselves,havingmovedtotheirfavoritevacationspotwhenPeterwasinsecondgrade.
WedrivetwentyminutesthroughthedarkbeforeMilespullstothedustyshoulderofacountrylane,behindtwoparkedSUVs.There’snosignofalot,asign,oratrailhead,justthecarsandthewoods.
“Isthisprivateproperty?”Iask,hoppingouttofollowhimintothemoonlitforest,bagoffriesinonehandandmymilkshakeintheother.
“It’snationallakeshore,”hereplies.“Preservedfederalland.Therearebetter-knownstretchesofbeacharoundherethatgetcrowded,butthebestspotsaretheonesyouhavetobetoldabouttofind.”
“Oh,soit’sexclusive,”Ijoke.
“NorthernMichigan’shottestclub.”Heoffersmehishandashestepsoveratreethat’sfallenacrossthemakeshiftpath.
“CherryHillmustbeclosebehindit.”IreleasemygriponhimasIhoptothefarsideofthelog.“Thatplacewaspacked.”
“Wedoprettywellallsummer,”hesays.“We’restillfiguringthewintersout.”Hecastsameaningfulsidelonglookatme.“SoItakealotofsidejobsintheoffseason.”
Ifeelmyselfblush,stopshortinapuddleofmoonlight.
Hestillstoo.
“Thatwassnobby,”Isay.“Thecommentabouttheoddjobs.”
Heshrugs.“Youdidn’tmeananythingbyit.”
Ididn’t.ButPeter,Icannowadmit,definitelyhad.
Westartwalkingagaininsilence.
“Youdon’tneedtojustifywhatyoudoforwork,”Iclarify,afterabeat.“IguessIjustwantedtobelievePeterhadgoodreasonstothinkyouweren’tgoodforPetra.Becauseifyouwere,like,somefreeloadingjerk,thenPeterprobablywasjustlookingoutforafriend.Insteadof,youknow…”
“Inlovewithher?”Milessaysevenly.
“Yeah.”Myownvoicewobbles.It’scoolerhere,intheshadowedwoodssoclosetoshore.Forsomereason,itmakesmefeelallthemoredelicatetalkingaboutthis,tooexposednowthatit’sjustthetwoofus.
“Hey.”Hebumpsintome.“Goodriddance,right?”
“Ijust,”Isay,“feelreallystupid.”
Milesstopswalking.“You’renotstupid.”
Ilookatmyfeet,andhisfreehandclosesovermyelbow,slidingupanddownmyarm,rubbingwarmthintoit.
“Hetoldyoutotrusthim,andthat’swhatyoudid,”heinsists.“That’swhatyou’resupposedtobeabletodowithpeopleyoulove.Theyjustdon’talwaysliveuptoit.”
Milesduckshisheadtopeerintomyeyes,afunnygrinquirkinghismouth.“DoyouwanttogetintothecarandlistentoAdele?”
Ilaugh,wipemydampeyeswiththebackofmyforearm.“No,wealreadyagreed:thatwon’tdoanygood.Mightaswelljustseethisbeach.Assumingthereisabeach,andyou’renotjustwalkingmeoffacliff.”
“Wouldyouwantmetotellyou,”heasksdryly,“orwouldthatruinthesurprise?”
“Ihatesurprises.”
Hecracksasmile.“There’sabeach.”
Wefallbackintostep.Theearthgoessandyasweclimb.Thetreesthin,untilsuddenlywereachthecrestandwe’reoverlookingthesteepslopeofadune.Atitsfoot,thedarklakerollsinonthesand,andacrosstheexpanseofbeach,severalbonfiresblazeinthedark,severaltentsringedaroundthemostdistant
Thewhooshandscrapeofthetideagainsttheshoredullsthevoicesandlaughteroftheothernighttimebeachgoers,andit’seasytoimaginethatthisrandomgroupofpeoplemightbethelastonearth.StationEleven–stylenomads.Ormaybethatwe’reonadifferentplanetentirely,strangersinastrangeland.
“Wow,”Iwhisper.
“Second-bestbeachintown,”hemurmurs.
“Secondbest?”Iturn.“Youbroughtmetoyourrunner-upbeach?”
“Nooneknowsabouttheotherone,”hejokes.“Ican’tjustopenthefloodgates.”
“WhoamIgoingtotell?”Iwavemyarmsouttomysides.“EveryoneIknowiseitherhere,mymortalenemy,oraclosefriendorrelativeofamortalenemy.”
“Yeah,butyourmortalenemyjustcutyouloose.”Hegentlypushesmyshoulder.“Who’stosayItakeyoutoSecretBeachtoday,andyoudon’tbringthatwheatgrass-lovingassholetherenextweek?”
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’tgetbackwithexes.Whensomeoneproveswhotheyare,that’sit.”
Hestudiesme,headcockedtooneside.
“What?”Isay.“Youdisagree?”
“I’veonlyhadoneotherex,”hesays.“Wedidn’tgetbacktogether,butI’mnotsurethat’sapersonalstance.”
“Oneex?”Ilookbackathim.“Howoldareyou?”
“I’mnotahugerelationshipguy,”hesays,alittlebashful.“Petrawastheexception,nottherule,forme.Soifshewantedtogetbacktogether?Idon’tknow.Butit’snotworththinkingabout,sinceshe’sengagedtoyourex-boyfriend.”
Mystomachtightens.Iturnandfocusonthemoonlightplayingacrossthewaves,listentothecrashandroar.“Seemslouderthanitdoesduringtheday.”
“I’vealwayslovedthat.”Hetipshisheadformetofollowhim,andwemakeourwaydowntheduneandtotheleft,outofthepathofanyfoottrafficthatmaycomeupbehindus.Thenwesitandtwistourcupsintothesand.Milespullsthecheckeredpaperfrytraysoutandsetsthematoptheflattenedbag.
IcatchhimwatchingmeasItakemyfirstbite.“What,”Isay,mouthfull.
Oneshoulderliftsintandemwiththecornerofhismouth.“Justwaitingtoseeifyoumoanagain.”
MyfaceheatsasIbiteintoajalape?o.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Thesoundyoumadewhenyoutriedthemilkshake,”hesays.“Iwanttoknowifthefriesliveuptothat.”
“Honestly,”Isay,“mymouthisonfirerightnow.”
Hegrabsmymilkshakeandliftsittowardme.Ileanoverthestrawandtakeaslurp.“Better?”heasks.
Myteethstartchattering.
Helaughsandunzipshissweatshirt,takingitoffandtossingitinmydirection.Lesstomethanatme.
“Thanks,”Isay,pullingitoffmyfaceandthenwrappingitaroundmyshouldersandbareback.Thesmellofthewoodsmokefromthewinery’sfireplaceengulfsme.“NowIknowwhereyoursmellcomesfrom.”
Hebalks.“Ismell?”
“No,”Isay.“Imean,Ithoughtyousmelledkindoflikegingersnaps.Butyoujustsmelllikethewinery.It’snice.”
Heleansintometoinhaleagainstthefabriconmyshoulder.“GuessI’mtoousedtoittonotice.”
“Imean,alotoftimes,it’shidingunderthesmellofweed,”Isay.
Helooksatmeaskance,teasing.“Isthatjudgment,Daphne?”
“Merelyanobservation,”Isay.
Heleansbackagainstthesand,proppeduponhisforearms.“I’vebeengoingalittleharderthanusual.”Heeyesmethroughhislashes.“Notsureifyou’veheard,butIgotdumped.”
“Soundsvaguelyfamiliar,”Iconcede.
“I’mcuttingback,”hesays.
Atthatprecisemoment,Iburymyhandsinthesweatshirtpocketsandammetwithaprerolledjoint.Ipullitoutwithalaugh.
“I’vebeenlookingforthat.”Milesplucksthejointfrommyfingersandpopsitbetweenhislips.“Yougottalight.”
“Sadly,no,”Isay.
“No,Imean,you’vegotalight,”hesays.“Otherpocket.”
“Ah.”Iwithdrawtheneon-orangeplasticlighterandsnapitopen,blockingthewinduntiltheflamecatches.HeleansinsoIcanlighttheendofthetinyjoint.Hetakesapuff,thenholdsitouttome.
Ihesitate,andhismouthsplitsintoawidesmile.“WhateverthoseD.A.R.E.officersmighthavetoldyou,I’mnotgoingtoforceyou.It’sjustanoffer.”
Asadevotedfanofcontrol,Ineverhadabigweedphase,butannoyinglythevoiceinmyheadremindingmeofthatisn’tmyown;it’sPeter’s.AndIdon’twantitthere.Ithasnorighttokeepechoingthroughmyskull.
ForthreeyearsI’vebeeneatinglikehim,exercisinglikehim,workingtirelesslytobefriendhisfriendsandimpresshisfamily,goingtohisfavoritebreweries,andallalongIthoughtitwasmyidea,mylife.Onlynow,withouthiminthepicture,absolutelynoneoftherestofthepicturemakessense.
I’mnotsurewhatpartsofmearehimandwhichpartsaregenuinelymyown.AndIwanttoknow.Iwanttoknowmyself,totestmyedgesandseewhereIstopandtherestoftheworldbegins.
SoIpluckthejointfrombetweenMiles’sfingerandthumb,andtakeaheftypullonit,feelingthesensationspiralthroughme.WhenIpassitbacktohim,hetakesonemorehit,thenstubsitout.
“Doesthisplacehaveaname?”Iask.
Downbythenearestbonfire,agroupintheirlateteensorearlytwentiesareclinkingtheirbeerbottlesandcansofhardseltzertogether,howlingupatthemoon.
“Idon’tknow,”hesays,“I’veonlyeverheardpeoplecallitthespot.”
“Thespot,”Isay,“soundsexactlylikewherehighschoolerscometosmokeweed.”
“True,”hesays,“butIhaven’thadanyluckyettrackingdownthestretchofbeachwherethirtysomethingsgotosmokeweed.”
“Oh,they’realljustvapingfromtheirbedswhilewatchingHGTV.”
“Notus,”hesays.
“No,we’readventurous,”Isay.
“Okay,tellmesomething,Daphne.”Hetipshisfacetowardthestars.
Ileanbackonmyforearms.“What?”
Helooksover,thelefthalfofhisfaceshadowed.“Wheredoyougowhenyou’renotathome?”
“Like,otherthanwork?”
“Otherthanwork.”Henods.“Becausedespiteyourimpressivecommitmenttothecalendar,thereactuallyareslotsoftimewhenyou’reunaccountedfor,butIneverseeyouout.Andyou’dneverbeentoCherryHill,orMEATLOCKER,orhere.Sowheredoyougo?”
“Nowhere,”Isay.“I’mboring.”
“You’renotboring,”hesays.“You’rekeepingsecrets.”
WhatAshleighsaidcomesbacktome:aclosedbook
TherewasatimewhenIwasokayatmakingfriends.Butthatwasprobablyfourorfiverelocationsback.Eventually,itdidn’tseemworthitanymore,crackingmyselfopentoletsomeonein,onlytohavethemviolentlyextractedmonthslaterwhenMomgottransferredagain.
“Honestly,”Isay,“ifI’mnotathomeorwork,I’musuallyjustreadingsomewhereelse.Thebeach—thepublicbeach—ortheLoneHorseCaféonMortimerAvenue.AndifI’mnotreading,I’mprobablyworkingonsomeprogramoranother.LotsoftripstoMeijerandDollarTree.”
Hiseyesshrinktoaccommodatehisspreadingsmile.
“You’rethinkingthatallsoundsprettyboring,aren’tyou?”Isay.
Helaughs.“No,”hesays,alittletoovehemently.AtthefaceImake,herelents.“Okay,alittlebit.Butjustbecausethatsoundsboringtomedoesn’tmeanIthinkyou’reboring.”
“Yeah,butyoualsoheldupyourendofafifteen-minuteconversationwithCraigaboutpropertytaxes,soIthinkyoursocialstandardsareexceptionallylow.”
“Hewasaniceguy,”Milessays.
“Irestmycase.”
“Ilikemostpeople.Isthatsobad?”
“It’snotbadatall,”Isay.“It’sdecidedlyworkinginmyfavor.ItjustmakesithardformetorealisticallygaugehowbigofaloserIam.”
“You’renotaloseratall,”hesays,emphatic.
Irollmyeyes.Hesitsuphigher,hisfaceearnestdespitehisvisiblyhighpupils.“I’mserious.Thatassholealreadytookyourhouse.Don’tlethimtakeyourself-esteem.”
“Itwasn’treallymyhouse,”Isay.“Itwasinhisname.”
“Itwasstillyourhome,”hesays.
Thatworddoesn’tgutmequitesobadasusual.
Theweedisfilteringpleasantlythroughme,andthenightskyisgorgeous,andtheairsmellslikefirsandsmokeandfreshwater,withthatlittlesnapofginger.Thetruthfeelsmoremanageable.Iwanttomanageit.
“That’swhatI’mrealizing,though,”Itellhim,wrappingthesweatshirtmoretightlyaroundme.“Itwasn’tevermyhome.WhenyoutakePeterofftheschedule,thereisn’treallymuchleft.WaningBaydoesn’tbelongtome,likeitdoestohim.”
“I’llgivehimthehouse,”Milessays.“Buthe’snottakingthistown.”
Icastasidelongglancehisway.“You’rejustfinewithknowingyoucouldrunintothematanypoint?Doesn’titbotheryouthatyoucouldbebuyingtoiletpaperandAlka-Seltzerandcomeface-to-facewithPetra’sparents?”
Heshrugs.“That’dbefine.”Hesitsup.“Wait—areyouthinkingaboutleaving?”
“Morelikedreamingaboutit.”IchecktheAmericanLibraryAssociationjobportaldaily.
“WouldyougobacktoRichmond?”Milesasks.
There’sthatlittlestabofpainthathomedidn’tsummon.
Itwasmyveryfirstthought,whenthedustsettled.Icouldgoback.Tomyoldtown,myoldjob,myoldfriendships.
Then,afewdaysafterthebigshowdown,IfinallypulledmyselffromthepitofdespairlongenoughtoansweroneofSadie’sphonecalls.
I’msoangrywithPeterIcouldhonestlypunchhimintheface,shetoldme.
Shewasapologetic,comforting.Butthentheunspokenbecamespoken:Youbothmattertoussomuch.We’renotchoosingsides
Likeitwasabasketballgame,andsheandCooperhaddecidednottomakepostersorsitinaspecificsectionofbleachers.Likethingsneededtoplayout,andthensomeonewouldsimplyhavewonandsomeoneelsewouldhavelost.
ItoldherI’dneverwanthertochoosesides.
Buthonestly,Ididn’twantittoevenfeellikeachoice.Iwantedhertoknowwhereshestood.Theproblemwas,shewasn’tmybestfriendanymore.SheandCooperwereourbestfriends
Theywereaunit,andwewereanother,andthatwashowwe’dfit.
Icouldn’trememberthelasttimewe’ddonesomethingjustthetwoofus.
AndinthosedayswhenIwasmourninginapuddle,Peterwasdoingdamagecontrol.Soifourbreakupwasn’tabasketballgame,maybeitwasarace,andIwastooslow.
SadieandIhavebarelyspokensincethatcall,andIgrievedthatlossasmuchasormorethantheendofmyromanticrelationship.
“NotRichmond,”ItellMiles.Thatmightfeelevenworsethanbeinghere,whichwassayingsomething.“Maryland,hopefully.”
MilesdoesthatLabradoresqueheadtiltofhis.“What’sinMaryland?”
“Mymom,”Isay.
“You’rereallyclose,”hesays,halfobservation,halfquestion.
Ipullmykneesintomychestandloopmyarmsaroundthem.“SheandmydadsplitupwhenIwasreallyyoung,soit’salwaysbeenthetwoofus.Notinasadway.She’sthebest.Whataboutyou?Areyouclosewithyourfamily?”
Hescratchesthebackofhisheadandgazesoutacrossthewater.“Mylittlesister,yeah.Wetextbasicallyeveryday.ShelivesinChicago.”
“Andyourparents?”Iask.
“AnhouroutsideofChicago.”Heoffersnomore.It’sthefirsttimeI’vefeltlikethere’ssomethinghe’drathernottalkabout.
Ifeelthetiniestbitdisappointed.Hemakesitsoeasytoopenup.IwishIknewhowtodothesame.
“Anyway,”hesays,“Idon’tthinkyoushouldmovetoMaryland.”
“Iwon’tgountilyoufindanotherroommate,”Isay.
“It’snotaboutthat,”hesays.“YoumovedherebecauseofPeter.Don’tlethimmakeyoumoveawaytoo.”
“Soyou’resayingIshouldstay,outofspite,”Isay.
“Ijustthinkitwouldbeshittytouprootyourwholelifeforthisguytwice,”hesays.
“Miles,”Isay.“Ijustrecountedwhatmywholelifelookslike,andIwatchedapieceofyoursouldiebehindyoureyes.”
“That’snotwhathappened,”hesays.
“Itis,”Isay.
“Whataboutyourjob?”
Theemberinmychestflares.“Whataboutit?”
“You’reconstantly,like,teachingkidstomakebirdfeedersandrunningcostumecontests.Itclearlymeansalottoyou.”
“Itdoesmeanalottome,”Iallow.“SometimeswhenI’mrunningStoryHour,IliterallyrememberpartwaythroughthatI’mgettingpaidtodosomethingIlove,anditfeelslikeI’mdreaming.LikeImightwakeupandrealizeI’mlateformyshiftattheDressbarn.
“Andthere’sthisgirlMaya,whocomesinonceaweek.Twelveorthirteen.Perfectlittleweirdo.Shereadseverything—goesthroughlikefivebooksaweek.Andwehaveaninformalbookclub,whereIpicksomethingoutIthinkshe’lllike,anditgoesinthestack,andthenshecomesbackaweeklaterandwejusttalkaboutitforanhourwhileI’mdoingadminstuff.She’ssupersmart.Hasahardtimeatschool,butyoucanjusttellshe’sgoingtobesomegreatnovelistor,like,filmdirectorsomeday.”
“Youloveit,”Milessays.
“Iloveit,”Iadmit.It’sthepieceofmylifethatstillfeelsright,evenwithPeterexcisedfromthepicture.
“Thendon’tgiveitup,”Milessays.“Notforhim.”
“Ofcourse,therearealsodayswhenIhavetospendanhouronthephonewithoneofourregularsbecausehewantsmetolookupalovepoemandspelleverysinglewordofitforhim,”Isay.
“Why?”Milessays.
“Sometimesthejobofalibrarianistosimplynotask.Anyway,I’mkeepinganeyeoutforjobpostingsinothercities,butIcan’tleaveforeighty-fivedays.”
“Thatis…extremelyspecific,”hesays.
“It’swhentheRead-a-thonhappens,”Iexplain.
“Ah.”Heflashesateasinggrin.“Read-a-thonPrepMeeting:Tuesdaysfromtwotothreep.m.”
“Doyouhaveaphotographicmemory?”Iask.
“Sure,”hesays.“Also,it’sbeenastandingappointmentonyourcalendarsinceyoumovedin.”
“You’vebeenreadingit,”Isay,unabletohidemyglee.
“OfcourseIhave.What’saRead-a-thon,anyway?”
“Afundraiser,”Isay.“Anall-nightreadingthingforthekids,withcontestsandprizesandthatkindofthing.Basicallyaneventtofundotherevents,becausewedon’thaveanymoney.WaningBay’sneverdoneone,butIwenttooneasakid,anditwasalotoffun.I’vebasicallybeenworkingonthissinceIgothere.”
Hisbrowlifts.“Andit’sattheendofsummer?”
“Mid-August,”Iconfirm.
Afteramoment,hesays,“Okay,here’swhatwe’regoingtodo.I’mgoingtobeyourtourguide.”
“I’mnotdoingacidwithyou,Miles,”Isay.
“Goodtoknow,”hereplies,“butnotthekindoftourguideI’mtalkingabout.I’mgoingtoshowyouaroundWaningBay.WecangooutonSundays,whenwebothhaveworkoff.Startingnextweek.Andthenif,bytheendofJuly,youstillwanttogoplayGoldenGirlswithyourmom—”
“DoyouevenrealizehowcozyGoldenGirlsis?”Iinterject,reachingthegigglyphaseofbeinghigh.“IfIcouldmovetothesetofGoldenGirls,Iwould.”
“That’swhatyousaynow,”Milessays,“butbytheendofthesummer,you’regoingtobeheadoverfuckingheelsforthisplace,Daphne.Justwaitandsee.”
“Yeah,yeah,yeah,”Isay.
“I’mserious,”hesays.
“Oh,you’reserious?”Isay.“You’reseriousthatyou’regoingtospendallsummerferryinganear–perfectstrangeraroundsothatshewon’tmoveaway?”
“You’renotastranger.”Heknockshislegintomine.“You’remyserious,monogamousgirlfriend,remember?”
Ichortle,thehighseemingtoexplodethroughmyveinsfromtheforceofit.
Hisfaceremainsdeeply,painfullyearnest.“Idon’twantyoutomoveaway.Ilikeyou.”
“Youlikeeveryone,”Iremindhim.“I’mhighlyreplaceable.”
Herollshiseyes.“Youreallythinkyouhavemefiguredout,don’tyou?”
“AmIwrong?”Iask.
Heholdsmygaze,notquitesmiling.Webothflinchwhenhisphonechimesinhispocket.Heslidesitout,hisfacelitashereadsthemessageonscreen,adivotetchedbetweenhisbrows.
“Everythingokay?”Iask.
Histeethworryathislowerlip.“Petra.”
“Seriously?”Isay.“Youtwostilltalk?”
“Notoften.”Hescratcheshisjaw.
IthinkaboutthetensecallIoverheardbehindhisbedroomdoor,wonderifit’spossiblehewastalkingtoher,andwhatPeterwouldmakeofthat.
“ApparentlyKatyatoldherthatweweretogetheratCherryHill,”hesays.
Ishiftuncomfortably.“Andshemessagedyouaboutthat?”
“She’shappyforus,”hesays,voicequietandflat.
“Well,that’sgood,”Isay.“Petra’shappinesshasalwaysbeenmyutmostconcern.”
Helooksoveratme,slowlystartstolaugh.
Theweedhasmyheartfeelinglikesoftenedbutterevenwhilemystomachboilsoverwithanger.AtPetraandPeterboth,notjustonmybehalfthistime,butonMiles’stoo.Thisridiculouslynicemanwholetmemoveintohisplace,noquestionsasked—didn’tevenchargerentmyfirstmonth—andcompedmyfoodtonightandboughtmeamilkshakeandbroughtmetoabeachI’dneverbeentoandlentmehisjacket.
Offeredtoparademearoundallsummer,justsoIwon’tmoveaway.
Afterhangingouttwice
Ingeneral,Idon’tputtoomuchstockintoaperson’scharm,butIthinkhemightbetherarerealdeal.AgenuinelykindpersonwholikeseveryoneanddeservedbetterthananoteonthecounterandPetra’sroom-sizedclosetclearedout
Iholdmyhandoutforhisphone.Heconsidersforasecond,thenplopsitintomypalm.
“Comehere,”Isay,openingthecamera.
Hiseyebrowspinchinabemusedexpression.“Comewhere?”
Imovetheremnantsofourfriestomyfarsideandpatthespacebetweenus.
“Oh,there?”hesays.“Onefoottomyleft?”
Hedoesn’taskwhy,justholdsmygazeandscootsuntilhisside’srightupagainstme.“Here?”
Mystomachflipsattheclosenessofhisvoice.“That’sgood.”
Iholdhisphoneinfrontofus,thecamera’sflashturnedon,andleanintohim.Heputsanarmaroundmeandsmilessortofruefully,unabletomustertruejoy.Atthelastsecond,onawhim,Iturnandkisshischeekasthepicturefinallysnaps.
Hisfaceturnstowardmine,ournosesalmosttouching,piecesofhischinandcheekshiddenbehindtheflash’safterglow.
“JustthoughtwecouldmakePetrareallyhappy,”Isay.
“Reallythoughtfulofyou,”hesays,thecornersofhismouthcurving.
“Yeah,well,”Isay,“Ithoughtabouttakingavideoofmyselfgivingyoualapdance,butIdon’thaveanythingtomountyourphoneon,sothiswasthenextbestthing.”
“Iwillhappilygobackintothewoods,findsomesticks,andbuildyouatripod,Daphne,”hesays.
Ilaugh,busymyselfwithanothersipofmilkshake,immediatelyshiveringfromtheicycold.
“Here.”Hedrawsmeinagainsthischest,sothatwe’realmostfittedtogetherlikewe’reonasled,himinback,meinfront,andhisarmsfoldedaroundmine,blockingtheworstofthewind.
IshiveragainasInestlebackagainsthim,snappingafewmorepictures.
Honestly,myheadisswimmingfromalltheseunfamiliarsensations,andI’mnotsurewhetherI’mstilltakingpicturesforanyreasonotherthannotquitewantingtoacknowledgehowgooditfeelstobecurledupagainsthim.It’sbeensolongsinceI’vebeencurledupagainstanyone
“Youdon’thavetodothis,youknow,”hesays.
Ilowerthephoneinfrontofme,andglanceovermyshoulderathim.“Iknowthat.”
“Youwereprobablyright,”hesays.“They’reprobablynotevenjealous.Andevenifshewas,sowhat?Asitturnsout,itdoesn’tmakemefeelanylesslikeshit.”
“Itmakesmefeellesslikeshit,”Isay.
Hisbrowliftsskeptically.“Doesit?”
“Okay,notexactly,”Iadmit.“Butitmakesmemadthatshe,like,thinksyouneedherapprovaltomoveon,orsomething.IfshewassoinlovewithPeter,shenevershould’vestrungyoualonglikethat,butshedid,andshedumpedyouintheworstpossibleway,andthenforhertojustinsistthatyouviewherkindly—totrytomakeyounotmad,insteadofjustlettingyoumoveon…it’sselfish.
“Somaybeit’simmatureandstupid.Butitdoesmakemefeelalittlebetter,tothinkthatmaybeshe’llseethesepicturesandrememberthat,evenifshe’snotoverallanasshole,shewastheassholeinthisscenario,andshedidn’tappreciateyou,andsheshouldhave.Evenifallthatmeantwaslettingyougobeforetellingmyboyfriendshewasinlovewithhim,insteadofkeepingyouonthebackburnerincasePeterturnedherdown.
“Itmakesmefeelateensy,tinybitbettertothinkshecouldseeapictureofmesittinginyourlapandstaringadoringlyatyouandrememberthatyoudeservedthatallalong.”
Hissmileunzipsslowly,fromonesideofhismouth.Afteralongmoment,heleansforwardandpressesakisstomytemple.“Thankyou,”hesays,armstighteningaroundme.
MybodywarmsasifI’dcannonballedintoaheatedpool.“It’sjustthetruth.”Iturnmyeyestothewater,mybloodhummingwithnervousenergy.
We’redonetakingpictures,butneitherofusmoves.Itfeelstoogood,tobewrappedinsomeone’sarms,protectedfromthewindandlisteningtothelake’seasyrhythm,feelingMiles’sbreathmovethroughhimuntilminesyncsupwithouteventrying.
“Thisisnice,”Isay,sortofdreamilyandentirelyunintentionally.ThefewtimesI’vesmokedweed,thishasalwaysbeentheprimaryeffect:afeelingthatthecordbetweenmybrainandmouthhasbeensnipped,andIhavenocontroloverwhatI’msaying.
Milesnodsagainstthesideofmyhead.“Itis,”heagrees.
“Miles,”Isay.
“Hm?”
I—andtheweed—tellhim,“IthinkyoumightbethenicestpersonI’veevermet.”
“I’mnotbeingnicewhenItellyounottomoveaway,”hesays.“Ilikehangingoutwithyou.Andyou’rethebestroommateI’veeverhadbyalandslide.”
“YoumeanI’mclean,”Isay.
“Learntotakeacompliment,”hesays.
“See?”Isay.
“Seewhat?”heasks.
Iturntolookathim.“Evenwhenyoutrytobemean,you’renice.”
Hiseyesseemtosparkwhenhesmiles.“I’lltryharder.”
Wegobacktosittingthere,touching,watchingbonfiresdanceandthewaterroll.10
SATURDAY,JUNE1ST
77DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
MilesandIpassthenextweekwithoutsomuchasbrushingshouldersinthekitchen.
Idon’tthinkeitherofusisactivelyavoidingtheother—it’smorelike,webothsuddenlyrememberwedon’tknoweachotherandhavenothingincommonbeyondourhilariouslybadbreakups.We’rebackintheterritoryofpolitenods,separatedinners,andconversationmadeviamonosyllable.
Whenwegothome,hemadeabigshowofscribblingWANINGBAYTOURISMonthecalendar,drawinganarrowdowntheSundaycolumn,butsincethen,hehasn’taddedanythingelse.
BythetimemySaturdaymorningshiftrollsaround,I’mconvincedthathisadamancyaboutshowingmearoundwasaby-productofthejointweshared.
I’moutthedoorbeforehe’sevenup,thesunandbirdsoutfullforce,thoughtheairremainscrisp.I’mearly,asusual,soIdecidetowalktoworkandevenstopinatawhitewashedcoffeeshopoverflowingwithhangingplantstograbahotchai.
It’sstrange;I’vedriventhiswaydozensoftimes,butonfoot,Inoticenewthings:
ATudorhousewithalushflowergardenandawoodensignadvertisingitasaMontessorischool.AhobbyshopcalledHighFlyers,whosethemeseemstobeamixofkitesandTHC.ThenIturndownaresidentialstreet,readingtheyardsignsasIgo:oneaboutBigfoot,anotherpromotinganupcomingartsfair,thenacrookedForSalesignintheshaggy,overgrownlawnofataffy-greenbungalow.
Itswhitepicketfenceisindisrepair,someslatsentirelymissing,anditsdiamond-panedwindowsarecrawlingwithivy.Itlookslikesomethingfromastorybook:magicalandcozy,yetsomehowwild,mysteriousinthatirresistiblewayoffairy-talehouses.
Atwork,IhelpHarveyswapouttheprogrammingcorkboardfortheweek.WaningBayPublicLibraryisasmallenoughoperationthatit’susuallyallhandsondeck.Youdowhateverneedsdoing,regardlessofjobtitle.
WhilepinningaflyerforBuildYourOwnTerrariumNight,Harveysays,“You’vebeeninbrighterspiritsthisweek.”
HebearsmorethanapassingresemblancetoMorganFreeman,andhisvoice,althoughraspierandnotquitesolow,hasthesamekindofgravitas.It’savoicethatmakesyouwanttodohimproud.
“Sorry,”Isayquickly.“I’llbebetter.Aboutnotbringingallofthatintowork.”
Harveyharrumphs,pusheshisgoldwire-frameglassesuphisnose.“It’salibrary,Daphne.Ifyoucan’tbeahumanhere,wherecanyou?”
Athiskindness,Ifeelastingofguiltaboutmyjobsearch.Aboutknowingthere’satechnicalserviceslibrarianpositionopeninOklahoma,aplaceIknownothingaboutthatcan’tbelearnedfromthemusicalOklahoma!
“We’reluckytohaveyou,”Harveygoeson,hangingthesign-upsheetforFriday’sDungeons&Dragonstournament.“Justkeepbringingyourwholeheartinforthosekids.That’sall.”
Thestingredoubles.
Harveypatsthewall,thenamblesbacktotheoffice,whileImoveontodismantlingtheorigamiDinosaurDaydisplaytomakeroomforthePrideMonthdisplay.Afterward,IhelpAshleighfinishtheJuneteenthandLovingDaydisplays,whileshefillsmeinonherfirstrealdatewithCraig,deliveringeachstartlingtidbitofinformationinaperfectmonotonewhileItrynottopeemyselffromlaughing.
(Whentheygottohishouseafterdinner,hemadehersitwithhiminthecarfortwentyunspeakingminuteswhilethePhishalbumhe’dputonfinishedplaying,thendidtheexactsamethingafterhedroveherhome.)
“I’mgladsomeone’senjoyingthis,”shesays,butIcantellshe’senjoyingtellingittoo.It’sfunandalittlethrilling,feelinglikewe’rekindof,sortofrealfriendsnow.
WhenIgetbacktomydesk,Ifieldafewcalls,afterwhichIteachroughlyfivehundredkidshowtosignintoanonlinegameforthefivehundredthtime.
Bythenit’sthepeakofmyworkweek:SaturdayStoryHour.
Bonus:it’sawarm,cloudlessday,sowecantakethisactivityoutside.
Whenwe’resettledinaringinthegrassoutfront,Iask,“Who’sreadytohearastory?”
Handsgouparoundthecircle.Shamelessexcitement.Openexpressionsoffeelings.
It’sfunny:Asakid,Ihadnoideahowtointeractwithotherkids.IfeltmostathomewithMomandherfriends.Butasanadult,Ifindkidssomucheasiertounderstand.
Theysayhowtheyfeel,andtheyshowittoo.Therearefewerulteriormotivesandunwrittenrules.Silencesaren’tunbearablyawkward,andabruptseguestodifferentsubjectsarethenorm.Ifyouwanttobefriendswithsomeone,youjustask,andiftheydon’twantto,they’llprobablyjusttellyou.
IclearmythroatandopenSnappsytheAlligatortogetusstarted,scanningmyraptaudienceasIbegintoread.
Arham,ofcourse,wearshistrademarkSpider-Mancostume.Athree-year-old,Lyla,hasspaghettisaucealloverherfaceanddungarees.She’salsosuckingonalemonwedgelikeit’sapacifier.
Basically,allisrightwiththeworld.
Halfwaythroughoursecondstory,Inoticesomeoneapproachingfromtheparkinglot,seeminglycarriedonaburstofsummerairandsunshine.He’sgazingatthecoveredbreezewaytothefrontdoorslikehe’sneverseenanythinglikeit,possiblyneverseenalibrary,period.
Hiseyesslicesidewaystowardus,andIlosemyplaceinthesentence.Miles’sfacelightswithagrin.Heliftshischiningreetinganddrawstoastopjustbeyondourlittlering.
Iclearmythroatandglancedownatthepicturebookinmyhand,findingmyplaceinthesentencetobeginreadingaloudagain.
WhenInextlookup,he’sstillthere,lookingenraptured.
Bythisstory.Aboutanthropomorphicmice.Learningtodogymnastics.
IwishIhadn’tbeenquitesocommittedtodoingvoicesforallofthecharactersbeforeheshowedup,becausenowI’mobligedtokeepatit.
SoIusemyhigh-pitchedsqueakforthelittlestmouse’sdialogue,andmylowgrumblefortheportlyoldermousewiththedistinguishedmustache.EverytimeIscanthecrowd,Miles’ssmileisalittlebigger,goofier.Hekeepslookingaroundatthekids,parents,andnannies,like,Canyoubelievethisshit?Wild!
WhenIreachTheEnd,thetoddlers’caregiversgivethemildapplauseappropriateforalate-afternoonlibrarytrip,whereasMilesstickshisfingersinhismouthandwhistles,whichsomehowinstantlyturnsallfifteenkidsfromsleepyangelsintorowdybuccaneers,drunkondistilled-belowdecksrum.Acoupleofmomseyemyscrubby,wolfishroommatecuriously.
Heisblissfullyunaware,amblingtowardmethroughthecrowdastheotherpatronsgathertheirdiaperbagsandsticky-handedchildrentopullthemtowardtheparkinglot.
“Ihadnoideayoucoulddothat,”hesays.
“Oh,yeah,”Isay,startingbacktowardthefrontdoors.Theywhooshopenandweenterthecool,mustyquiet.“I’vebeenreadingsinceIwassix.I’mgettingprettygood.”
“Imeanthevoices,”heclarifies.“Youweresuchaconvincingelderlymagicianmouse.”
“Ifthatimpressedyou,youshouldseemedotheoldwomanwholivesinashoe,”Isay.
“I’llclearmySaturdays,”hesays.
“Iwaskidding,”Isay.
Hegrins.“Notme.”
Igesturetowardthestacks.“CanIhelpyoufindsomething?”
“Iwashopingyoucouldspellouteverywordofalovepoemtome,”hedeadpans.
“Thatguyalreadycalledtoday,”Ashleighpipesupfromthereferencedesk.
“Yeah,I’vehitmylimitondailyX-ratedflowermetaphors,sothat’stheonethingIcan’thelpyouwith,”Itellhim.
Heshrugs.“I’lltryagainonMonday.Actually,IwasonmywayintoCherryHillandIjustwantedtodouble-checkwe’restillonfortomorrow.Would’vetexted,butIforgotmyphoneathome.”
“Tomorrow?”Ashleighlooksupfromthegelmanicureshe’sgivingherself,completewithalittlelight-updevicepluggedinbetweenhercomputerandtheprinter.Harveyleftalreadyforhisdaughter’sfortiethbirthdayandthefrontdeskquicklydescendedintolawlessness.“What’stomorrow?”
“Iwasn’tplanningtoholdyoutothat,”ItellMiles.
Hescoffs.“It’sonthecalendar.Itmightaswellbeetchedintotheannalsofhistory.”
“It’spronouncedanals,”Ashleighsays.
Mileslookstome,browlifting.
Ishakemyhead.“It’sdefinitelynot.Andyoureallydon’thavetoferrymearound.Icanjust,like,buyamap.”
Herollshiseyes,slumpsforwardonhisforearmsatthedesk.“Justbereadyatonep.m.,okay?”
“Okay,”Isay.
HelooksbetweenmeandAshleigh.“ShouldIexpectyouatCherryHilltonight?”
“I’vegotRead-a-thonstuffIneedtoworkon,”Isay.
“Andmykid’shavingfriendsovertoplayvideogames,”Ashleighsays.“SoI’llbeshovelingpizzarollsinandoutoftheovenuntildawn.Buthe’sathisdad’sagainnextSundaynight,ifyouguyswanttodosomethingthen.”
“ShouldweexpectCraigtoo,”Milesteases,leaningacrossthedesk,vaguelyflirtatiously.
Ashleighshudders.“No,no,weshouldnot.Daphnecanfillyouinonthat.Ican’tbringmyselftoutteritaloudagain.”
“HehadtoomuchPhish,”Iexplain.
“Likeanaquarium?”Milessays.
“LikepostersuponpostersofPhish.Theband,”Isay.
“What’swrongwithPhish?”hewantstoknow.
“Nothing,inmoderation,”Ashleighvolunteers.
“Buthealsohadcommemorativemugsandactionfiguresandcardboardcutouts.And…Iwanttosaysheets?”
“Handtowels,”shecorrectsme.“Idon’tbegrudgeamanahobby,butifyou’refortyandyourapartmenthasatheme,Ijustdon’tseeitworkingoutforus.”
“Well,shit,”Milessays.“ThatrulesoutprettymucheveryoneIknow.”
“I’veseenyourplace,”Ashleighsays.“Ididn’tseeacohesivetheme.Unlessitwasmajordepressiveepisode.”
“Whendidyouseemyroom?”Milesasks.
“IpickedDaphneupthere,”shesays,apparentlyhappytoadmittohersnooping.
“Actually,thethemeis,you’reneverinvitedoveragain,”ItellAshleigh.Then,toMiles:“Whattimedoyouneedtogetintowork?”
“Shit!”Hepitcheshimselfforwardoverthedesktocheckthetimeonmycomputer.Hiseyesflashbacktomine,andhepointsforgoodmeasure,whichreallyaccentuatesthePopeye-styleanchortattooonhisbicep.“Tomorrow.Oneo’clock.Don’tbelate.”
“Ineveram,”Isay.
?Milesisfifteenminuteslate.
Itellhimthiswhenheenterstheapartment.
“Iknow,”hesays.“Sorry.Iwenttogetcoffee,andthelinewasreallylong.”Heholdsoutapapercuptome.IrecognizethestamponitasbeingfromFika,theshopIstoppedintoonmywaytoworkyesterday.
“Thankyou,”Isay.
Hedoesn’tanswer,justwaitsexpectantlyformetotakeasip,Iguess.
“Idon’treallydrinkcoffee,”Isay.“UnlessI’msupertired,itmakesmetoojittery.”
Hisbrowfurrows,hislipsknittingtogether.“Youhadoneoftheircupsonyourdeskyesterday,soIassumed…”
“Chai,”Isay.
Hetapshistemple,likehe’snailingtheinformationtohishead.
“Shouldwego?”Iask.
Outsideourbuilding,thesuddendaylightbrieflyscaldsmyretinas.Iloseallsenseofdirection,somehowrunningdirectlyintoMileswhenhewasjustbesideme.
Hecatchesmyupperarmsandturnsmetowardhistruck,halfablockupthestreet.
“Sowherearewegoing,”Iask.
“Shopping.”
“Really?”Iturntowardhim,thewindwhippingmyhairacrossmyface.Icatchafistfulandpushitoutofmyeyes,pinningittomyforehead.“Arewedoingamakeovermontage?”
Helooksdownathimself.“Areyoutryingtotellmesomethinghere?”
“Imean,whenyoushowedupatStoryHouryesterday,IcaughtMrs.DekuyperlookingbetweenyouandaBigBadWolfpicturebook,likeshewastryingtospotthedifference.”
“Yeah,right,”hesays,“shethoughtIwashot.”
“Youdon’tevenknowwhichoneMrs.Dekuyperwas,”Ipointout.
“TheyallthoughtIwashot,”hesays.“Womenofacertainageloveme.”
“Youmustremindthemofwhentheywereyoung,”Isay,“andAbrahamLincolnwasPeople’sSexiestManAlive.”
Heunlocksthepassengerdoorofhistruckandhaulsitopenwithonehand,whilehescratcheshisbeardedjawwiththeother.“YouthinkIshouldshaveit?”
“Ithinkyoushoulddowhateveryouwant.”Iclimbontotherippedseat.
“Butyouthinkthebeardisbad.”Heclosesthedoor,thewindowrolleddownbetweenus.
“Ithinkthebeardissheerchaos,”Isay.“Butnotinherentlybad.It’syourface,Miles.Allthatmattersishowyoufeelaboutit.”
Hesetshisforearmsatopthedoor.“Well,Daphne,I’mlesssurehowIfeelaboutitsincethatsnarkyBigBadWolfcomment.”
“Don’ttakemyopiniontooseriously,”Isay.“YoualreadyknowIhaveterribletasteinmen.”Andhonestly,thebeard’sgrowingonme.Chaossuitshim.“Wherearewegoingshopping?FamilyFare?”
“Better.”Hepushesthelockdown,thenroundsthetruckandgetsin.
“Tom’sFoodMarket?”Isay.
“Better,”herepeats.
“Oh,Iknow!”Icry.“Meijer.”
Helooksover,theenginestartingwithasputteringcough.“Domeafavor,”hesayslightly,“andunlockyourdoor.”
“Why?”
“SoIcanpushyououtasIpeeloutofthisparkinglot,”hesays.
“Youwouldnever,”Isay.
“Iwouldnever,”headmits,andpullsontotheroad.Heturnsusawayfromtownandthewater,towardthecountryside.
Hisheartbreakplaylistisstillinfulleffect.
Ormaybehe’sjustputitbackontoamuseme,becausehedoesseemalittlemoresmirkythanusual.
Thetrafficthinsaswedriveinland,awayfromthequaintdowntownandthecotton-candy-coloredVictorian-andColonialRevival–styleresortsthatlinethebeach.
It’seasytoforgethowsecludedWaningBayreallyis,whenyou’reinsideofit,butwithinminutes,we’rewindingintogloriouslysunlitfarmland.
Then,outofnowhere,we’repullingtothesideoftheroad.Throughthedustywindshield,Ispotagreen-paintedfarmstandontheshoulder,behindwhichtwoolderladiesinworkpants,floraltanktops,andmatchingvisorsarehawkingasparagus.
“Sotobeclear,”Isay,“whenyousaidshopping,youmeantforasparagus.”
Milesgivesmeamildlyoffendedlook.“This,”hesays,“isjustphaseone.”
Ihopout,dirtkickingupundermysandals,andfollowhimtothestand.
“Well,hellothere!”oneoftheladiescalls.“Backalready?”
“Ofcourse,”Milessays.“Barb,Lenore,thisismyfriendDaphneVincent.Daphne,thisisBarbSatōandLenorePappas.”
“Nicetomeetyou,”Isay.
“Daphne’snewishtotown,”Milesgoeson,“andshe’sneverhadyourasparagusbefore.”
“Isthatso?”Thesmallerofthetwowomen,Barb,perksup.Shestartsrustlingthroughthecrates.“Letmefindyouthebestofthebest.”
“I’msurethere’snobadstalktobehad,”Isay.
“No,no,ofcoursenot,”theotherwoman,aheadtallerthanthefirst,says,“butBarbdoeshaveaknackforpickingthebest,andwewantourfirst-timerstocomeback,soletherworkhermagic.”
“Iappreciateit,”Isay.
Lenoreleansacrossthetable.“How’veyoubeenholdingup,honey?”
“Good,”Milessays.“I’mgood.”
Shesqueezeshisforearm.“You’reagoodboy,andyoudeservetobehappy.Don’tyouforgetthat.”
“Thesearetheonesforyou.”Barbliftsabundleofasparagusthatmustcontainatleasttwenty-sevenstalks.
“Oh,yeah,thoselookgood,”Milesagrees,holdingopenthetotebaghebroughtfromthetruck.Shedropstheasparagusin,andheslideshiswalletfromhispocket.
“No,no,no,”Barbsays.“Yourmoney’snogoodhere.”
Heshovestheteninhishandintotheirtipjartomuchprotestation.“Itwouldbeacrimenottopayforthis.”
“Theft,technically,”Iputin.
“Youtakecareofourboy,”Lenoretellsmesternly,butwithawink.“He’soneofthegoodones.”
“I’vebeenpickinguponthat,”Isay.
Theycooandfawnoverhimaswewaveourfarewellsandtrekbacktothedirt-smearedtruck,mycheeksachingfromsubconsciouslymatchingtheirsunnysmiles.Assoonaswe’reinthecar,andoutofearshot,Idropmyvoicetoamurmur.“Youweren’tkiddingaboutthatbeard’seffectonourhonoredelders.”
Helaughs.“No,theyhatethebeard.TheyjustlikemebecauseIspendafuck-tonontheirasparagus.Andtheircorn,laterintheseason.”
Aguffawrisesoutofmeasweglidebackontotheroad.“Miles,I’mprettysuretheywould’vegivenyoutheirentiresurplus,andeverythinginthetipjar.Howmuchcorncanonemanpossiblyeattoearnthatkindofadoration?”
“It’snotoneman,”hesays.
“Damn,”Isay.“AmodernWaltWhitman.”
“No,Imean,wesourcefromthem.”
“We?”Iask.
“CherryHill,”hesays.Atmyblankresponse,hiseyesdarttotheroad,thentomyfaceandbackacouplemoretimes.“I’mtheirbuyer.”
“Whatdoesthatmean,”Isay.
“Itmeansourchef,Martín,makesafewdifferentmenuseveryseason,andIgetthebeststuffIcanfindforhim.SoIgotothebutcher,andthefarmstands,andtheoliveoilstore,andthecheesemonger—”
“Cheesemonger!”Isay.“Youhaveacheesemongeronspeeddial?”
“Sinceit’snot1998,”hesays,“no,Idon’thaveheronspeeddial.Butwetextwhenevershe’sgotsomethingspecialin.”
“Wow,”Isay.“WhoknewIwasmovinginwiththemostwell-connectedmanthissideofLakeMichigan?”
“ProbablyeveryonethatI’mconnectedto,”hereplies.“So,like,halfofWaningBay?”
“SoifIwasinneedof,like…strawberrypreserves.”
“ReddyFamilyFarm,”hesays.“Butiftheyarelow,Drakeisgoodtoo.”
“AndifIwantedbutternutsquash,”Isay.
“FaithHillSustainableFarms,”hesays.Iopenmymouthandheadds,“Noconnectiontothecountrysinger,sadly.”
Ifrown.“Toobad.”
“Iknow,”hesays.
“WhataboutifIneededgreenbeans?”Iask.
“TedGangesGreenBeanFarm,”hesays.
“AndifIneededtotakeoutahitonsomeone,”Isay.
“GillfromMEATLOCKER,”heanswers,notmissingabeat.
Atthelookonmyface,alaughrocketsoutofhim.“It’sajoke,Daphne.ButGilldidmentionhewaslookingforhomesforalitterofkittens.”
“I’mnotsuretheCherryHillclienteleisquitethatculinarilyadventurous,”Isay.
“Andluckyforthem,ChefMartínisn’teither.Ihavebeenthinkingaboutgettingacat,though,”hesays.
“OnemorereasonIshouldmovetoMaryland,”Isay.“I’mallergic.”
“Thecat’sout,”hesays.
“Don’tgiveupyourhypotheticalcatforme,Miles,”Isay.“BarbandLenorewillactuallykillmeifIrobyouofthatjoy.”
“Thecatwasjustapipedream,”hesays.“AfteraninfancywithGill,there’snowayI’llbeabletogiveoneofthosekittensthelifeit’saccustomedto.”
“True.Youdon’townenoughleatherorhaveamotorcyclewithatinysidecarandhelmet.”
“Ohmygod,thatwouldbesofuckingcute,”hesays,delightlightinguphisdeepbrowneyes.
Heputsonhisblinkerasweapproachacherrystand.
It’sessentiallyarepeatofourstopattheasparagusstand,exceptthatBarbandLenorearereplacedbyRobertSr.,aportlyguyinhisforties,andRobJr.,aganglykidwho’sanywherebetweenelevenandtwenty-two.Thistime,Iinsistonpayingforthetwobagsofcherries,andwhenweclimbbackintothecabofthetruck,Mileslooksatmeexpectantly,hisseatbeltstillundoneandtheengineoff.
“Aren’tyougoingtotryone?”
“Isthissomekindofkinkforyou?”Isay.
Ablushhitsthetopsofhischeekbones,theonlypartnothiddenbyhiswerewolfbeard.“Ijustwanttoknowifyouthinkthey’reasgoodasIdo.”
“Okay,okay.”Idigaroundfortwoplump,long-stemmedcherriesandhandhimone.Asifthere’ssomeinvisiblecountdown,weholdeyecontactandpopthecherriesinourmouthsatthesamesecond.
It’ssweetwithoutbeingoverpowering.Tartwithoutgivingthatbiting-down-on-metalsensation.Andjuicy.JuicierthananycherryI’veeverboughtinastore.SojuicythatwhenIbiteintoit,stickypinksluicesoutbetweenmylipsanddripsdownmychin.
AndeventhoughnottwosecondsagoIhadbeendeterminednottomakeasound,anenthusiasticmm-mmrollsthroughme,followedbya“wow.”
Grinning,MilesgrabsaBigLouie’s–brandednapkinfromthecenterconsoleandmopsupmychinbeforeIcangetcherryjuiceeverywhere.Hecrumplesthenapkinintoanemptypapercupinthecupholder,thenspitsoutthepitfromhischerryandholdsthecupupformetodothesame,astrangelyintimategesturethatmakesmyinsidesfeellikethey’vebeenbakinginthesunjustafewminutestoolongandwillcharifthey’renotturnedoversoon.
“Bestcherryyou’veeverhad,”Milesguesses.
“Honestly,Ididn’tevenknowIlikedcherriesuntilrightnow,”Isay.
Hesays,“Theyweren’tmythingeitheruntilImovedhere.”
“Whereareyoufromagain?”Iask.“Sorry,Iforget.”
Hiseyesflashawayfrommine.“No,that’sokay.”Hestartsthecar.“I’mfromIllinois.”
“Andhow’dyouendupouthere?”Iask.
Helooksoverhisshoulderbeforemergingontotheroad.“Followedagirl.”
“Petra?”Isay.
Heshakeshishead.
“Ooooh,theothergirlfriend,”Isay.
“Numberone,oftwo,”heconfirms.“Dani.She’sactuallyChefMartín’scousin.HeandhishusbandstartedCherryHill,andheofferedDaniajobinthetastingroom.Soshegotmeonetoo,andwemovedfromChicago.Brokeupafewmonthslater.Bythen,Ididn’twanttoleave,andshedid,soshemovedbacktothecity.”
“Sothat’swhyyoudon’tthinkIshouldleave?”Iguess.“BecauseoftheonepercentchancethatPetraandPeterwilldecidetogofirst?”
“Itoldyou,”hesays.“Idon’tthinkyoushouldleavebecauseIdon’twantyoutoleave.Andmyhappinessisveryimportant.YouheardBarbandLenore.”
“Idid,”Isay.“Irememberthatlyricfromthesecondstanzaoftheballadtheysangaboutyou.”
“Thatwasnothing,”hesays.“WaituntilyoumeetClarencefromthelavenderfarm.”
“Youareeitherthefriendliestmanontheplanet,”Isay,“oraworld-classserialkiller.”
“Whynotboth?”
Clarencecan’tbemorethanfiveyearsolderthaneitherofus,soft-spokenwithcurlyredhair.Heisn’tafarmerhimself,justtheattendantforthelittleshopinthewhitewashedcottagebeyondtherowsofvibrantpurpleflowersheavilypopulatedbybumblebees.
Theyselllavendereverything
Lavenderroomsprayandlemon-lavenderbarsofhandsoap.Teatowelswithdaintylavenderprintonthem,madebyalocalartisan,andaplushrobewithlavenderembroideredonitspockets,madebyadifferentlocalartisan.
Buttherealreason,Isuspect,Milesbroughtmehereisforthelavendershortbreadandblueberry-lavenderlemonade.Milesbuysonecookieforeachofus;Clarencedepositssixintothebag.
“MaybeIshouldgetsomethingforAshleigh,”Isay.“Wait,maybeIshouldgeteverythingforher,soshe’sforcedtohavealavender-themedhome.”
“Idon’tknowwhyshewassofreakedoutbyCraig’sPhishlove,”hesays,grabbingthepastrybagandhiscupoflemonadeandleadingthewayouttothepatiooverlookingthelavenderfields.“Themanclearlyknowshowtocommit.That’sagoodthing.”Hestopsandpullsapieceofshortbreadoutforme,thentakesoneforhimself.
HelooksawayasIbiteintotheshortbread,andIwonderifIactuallymanagedtoembarrasshimwiththekinkcomment.Aweekago,Iwould’vethoughthimunembarrassable.
“Heavenly,”Isay.HeissoobviouslypleasedthatIcan’thelpbutfeelacrushofaffectionforhim.
It’squicklysnuffedoutbyamuchbiggercrushingsensation.Because,intheparkinglot,atallandlithelymuscledmanisemergingfromafamiliarBMW,thesuncatchinghisneatlycoiffedgoldenhairandsparklingemeraldeyes.
Theywanderrightpastustotheshopashetrudgestowardit,thenbacktrackabruptlyrighttome.
Ourgazeslatch.
Theflutterywarmthinmystomachcurdles.
Petermissesastep.Forasecond,itlookslikehe’sgoingtotripandskidacrossthesun-bleachedgravel,face-first.
Buthe’sPeter.Nothingsoordinaryasgravitycouldtakehimdown.
Milestracksmygaze,rightasPeterstartsacrossthelotagain.
Underhisbreath,Milessays,“Shit.”
It’sbadenoughthatI’mrunningintoPetersosoon,buttorunintohimhere,inthisplacehenevertoldmeabout,letalonebroughtmeto,justfeelslikeaweirdlyspecificslapintheface.
LikeareminderthathewasneverthatinvestedinwhetherIwashappyhere,whetherIfellinlovewiththisplace.LikeIshouldhavebeencontentwithhimandhimalone,thoughIcouldneverbeenoughforhim
He’speelingofffromthepathnow.Stridingpurposefullytowardusinstead.
Shit,indeed.11
SUNDAY,JUNE2ND
76DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
WhenPeterreachesus,therearetwofullsecondsofsilence,asifallthreeofusexpectsomeoneelsetospeakfirst.
“Hi,”Petersaysfinally.
“Hello,”Isay.
Milesstayssilent.Probablyforthebest.Ithinkhe’stooinnatelyfriendlytogivePeterthechillyreceptionhedeserves.
Afterabeat,Peterglancestowardthepropped-openshopdoors,likehe’shopingsomeonemightcalloutforhim,orthebuildingmightspontaneouslyburstintoflamesandgivehimsomethingotherthantheweathertoremarkon.
Wesoeasilycould’veavoidedeachother,anditirritatesmethatheinsteaddecidedtomarchuptous.
Butofcoursehewouldn’twanttoseemrude.
“Gooddayforpickingsomelavender,”heoffers.
Milespipesupwith:“Yeah.”
Peterignoreshim.“Iwaswonderingifwecouldtalkforasecond,Daphne.”
Milesleansintomeprotectively,areminderthatIdon’thavetosayyes;wecanjustbookittothetruckandpretendthisneverhappened.Gobacktoourapartmentandweep-drinktosomeCelineDion.
“I’llmeetyouatthecar?”Imurmurtohim.
Milesholdsmygazeforamomentbeforenodding.Hedoesn’tsayanythingelsetoPeter,justsauntersbacktothetruck.
Anotherawkwardbeatofsilence.Ipinchtheinsideofmypalmtokeepmyselffrombreakingit.
“So,”Petersays.“Howareyou?”
Iwonderifmyjawishangingtomycollarbones.“Seriously?”
Petersniffs,glancesoverhisshouldertowardtherustytruckandthemanleanedagainstit.“Look,”hesays,voicegentlingashefacesme.“IknowhowbadlyIhurtyou.IknowwhatIdidwasterrible—”
Alaughjumpsoutofme.“Wow,whatanimmensecomforttome.”
Iexpecthimtogohaughty,superior,likehedidduringthebreakup.Tohiscredit,hedoesn’t.
Hisbrowcreases,thecornersofhisfulllipstwistingdownward.“Ideservethat,andwhateverelseyou’renotsaying.Igetthat.Butitdoesn’tchangethefactthatIcareaboutyou.”
IwishIcouldlaughagain,butitfeelslikeasheetoficeisspreadingovermyorgans,makinganymovementimpossible.
“AndIknowhowmuchthisallmustsuckforyou,”hesays.“Beinghere,alone.”
“I’mnotalone,”Isay.
“Iknow,”hesays.“That’swhatI’msaying.Itmightseemeasiertojust…bewithsomeone.Butyoudeservebetterthanthat.”
I’mbacktogawping.
“Look,allI’msayingis,becareful,”hesays.“Thatguy’samess,andIdon’twanttoseehimdragyoudown.”
Asifthere’ssomuchlowerformetogo.
“Doyouknowwhyhemovedhere?”hesays.“Doyouknowhiswholefamilydoesn’teventalktohim?Thatguyissuchaloser,Daphne.Youcandowaybetter.”
I’mcaughtoffguardbythat.Atinybitofdoubtsneaksin.Followedquicklybyawaveofangryprotectiveness.
Ofcoursethere’satonIdon’tknowaboutMiles.We’veonlybeenroommatesfortwomonths,friendsforlessthanthat.Hedoesn’towemehislifestoryorunfilteredtruth.
ButPeter—Peteraskedmetomarryhim.
Askedmetogiveupmywholelifeandglomontohis.
Askedmetoaccepthisbeautiful,straight,femalebestfriendatfacevaluebecausetherewasunequivocallynothinggoingonthere,andIalwayssaidyestoeverythingheasked,becauseItrustedhim.Idecidedtotrusthim.Promisedto.Apersonalvow,takenlongbeforeourwedding.
Andnowhe’slookingatme,inthistorturedmixofworryandhope,likehe’sthinking,Ididit!I’vegottenthroughtoher!I’vesavedherfromruin!
“Youknowwhat,Peter,”Isay,“thankyouforpullingmeasidetoday.”
Hisfacebrightens,relieffloodinghisfeatures.
“It’salwaysnicetoberemindedthatyourexreallywasasbigofanasshatasyourememberhimbeing.”
Withthat,Iturnandpowerwalkacrossthebrilliantlysunlitparkinglottotheguyslouchedagainstthetruck,thedriver’s-sidedoorhangingopen,waitingforhim.
“Youokay?”Milesasks,rightasIpitchmyselfintohisarms,wrappingminearoundhisneck.Hisbrowsshootupinamusedsurprise.
“Ishelooking?”Iwhisper.
Milesnods.
“CanIkissyou?”
Ahalf-amused,half-scandalizedsmileovertakeshisface.“Okay.”
SoIleanintohimandliftmychin,andheduckshisforehead,andwehaveoneofthetopfiveworstkissesofmylife,juniorhighincluded.
Theproblemis,Igoinwaytoohot,whereashe’saimingforachasteteenage-actors-doing-a-high-school-playkindofthing,sobasicallyIendupbitinghisentiremouth,whichmakeshimlaughintomine,whichinturnmakesmelaugh,onlybythen,he’sadjustedhisapproachtomatchmine,andthelaughdiesinthebackofmythroatashegripsmyhipinonehand,myjawintheother,andkissesmeforreal
Rough,impatient,butnotclumsy
Hismouthisstillcoolfromthelemonade,hisbreathtingedwithhintsoflavender,andhishandslidesaroundtothesmallofmyback,fistingintomyshirt.Hisothermovesintomyhairashepullsmetightagainsthim,myspinecurvingupuntilwe’reflushwitheachother.
Histongueslipsintomymouth,experimentally,andthenalittledeeper,tanglingwithmine.Athrillshootsdownthefrontofmyribcageasheturnsusonehundredandeightydegrees,backingmeintothesideofthedriver’sseat,settlinghishipsinagainstmine.
I’vereadinterviewswithactors,abouthowfilmingsexscenesisn’tsexy,howtheperformanceofitismechanical.Alittleawkward,butoverallprofessional
Butthat’snotwhat’shappeningtome.What’shappeningisbiological,notcursory.
Mynipplesaretighteningagainsthischest,andheatissinkinglowerinmystomachuntilitdropsbetweenmythighs,andwhenIfeelhimhardeningagainstme,theshockofitalmostinstantlygiveswaytoafrazzled,confusingwant.
Idon’tremembermovingmyhandsintohishair,butIfeelitslipbetweenmyfingers,hearasmall,needysoundinmythroatatthebrushofhistongueovermybottomlip.
Hedrawsbackslowly,thekisssettlinglikethetailendofafast-movingstorm,ataperingoffratherthananabruptstop.
Mybreathisshallow,andIcanfeelhisheartracing.
“Howwasthat?”heasksquietly.
“Yeah,”Imanage.“Good.”
“Ishestilllooking?”Milesasks.
Right.Peter.
SinceMilesturnedusaround,I’mtheonefacingtheshopanditsadjoiningpatio.
Peter’snotwatching.I’mnotsurePeter’sevenstillhere
He’seithergoneinsidethestoreorgotteninhiscaranddrivenaway.Withoutcraningmynecktoscantheparkinglotconspicuously,Ican’tbesurewhich.
Heatblazesupmythroattomyforehead.“No.”
Miles’sfingersgrazeclearofmyjaw,hisotherhandrelaxingagainstmyback.“Shouldweheadout?”heasks.
“Yep!”Isqueak,andsqueezeoutfrombetweenhimandthetruck.It’sagoodthingwetookhiscar:I’minnoconditiontodrive.
?Werinsethecherriesandeatthemwhilewegrilltheasparagustomixintoamassivesaladfordinner.
Neitherofusbroachesthekiss,andIgenuinelycan’ttellwhetherhe’shadasinglethoughtaboutitsinceweleftthelavenderfarm.EverytimeIzoneout,though,asnippetreplaysinmymind,myskinwarmingfromthememory.
Ontheonehand,itfeelslikemaybeIjusthadaveryvividsexdreamabouthimandneedtoactnormaluntilasalaciousdreamabout,like,SantaClausovershadowsit.
Ontheotherhand,I’mpositiveitreallyhappened,becauseifI’dhadtoimaginewhatkissingMileswouldbelike,itwould’vebeensweetandplayfulandfun—maybejustalittlebitsloppy.Becausehe’ssweet,playful,fun,andalittlebitsloppy.
Butthat’snotatallwhatitwaslike.
Ofcourse,maybeifthekisshadhappenedunderlessvengefulcircumstances,itwould’vebeendifferent.Maybethat’sjusthowhekisseswhenhe’srecentlybeenconfrontedbythemanhisgirlfriendlefthimfor.Withavengeance.
“Youokay?”heasks.
IlookupfromthecucumberandtomatoI’vebeenchoppingonautopilot.“Yep!”
Hefrowns,hishipssinkingbackagainstthecounter.“Youwanttotalkaboutit?”
Myheadsnapsbackup.
“Whateverhesaidtoupsetyou,”Milesclarifies.
Icarrythecuttingboardtothesaladbowlandswipethecontentsintoit.“Hewasjustbeingshitty.”
Milesturnsbacktothecountertopgrillandtongstheasparagusontotheirothersides.“It’sfineifyoudon’twanttotellme.”
Afterseveralseconds,Isay,“Youwererightthathe’sstilljealous.Hereallycan’tstandthefactthatanyonemightlikeyou.Thinksit’s,like,adirectcondemnationofhischaracter.Andyouknowwhat?Maybeitis.”
Miles’sheadcocksonaknowingsmirk.“It’snotaboutme.It’syou.Hewantsyouboth.He’swithPetra,buthestillwantsyoutobeinlovewithhim.”
“Right,becauseifI’mintosomeonewho’stotallydifferentthanhim,it’sablowtohisego.”Ibacktrackimmediately.“Youknow,ifhethinksI’mdatingsomeonewho’ssuperdifferentfromhim.”
Milesshakeshishead.“Idon’tthinkthat’sit.Hetookabigleap,andnowthattheinitialhighiswearingoff,he’swonderingifhedidtherightthing.Andthenseeingyouwithsomeoneelseremindshimwhatitwasliketobewithyou.”
Icatchmyselfworryingatmylowerlip.Whenhisgazedropstowardthemotion,Istop.“Hesaidsomethingaboutyou,”Iblurt.
InstantlywishIcouldtakeitback.
Miles’sbrowrises.
“Hewasjustbeingshitty,”Irepeat.“Anditmadememad.Andthat’swhy…”
Hefoldshisarms,hisfacegoingneutral.Hisfaceisveryrarelyneutral.“What’dhesay?”
There’salumpinmythroat.“Firstofall,keepinmindyoudon’towemeanykindofexplanation.”
“Daphne,”hesays,like,Cuttothechase
“Hesaidyourfamilydoesn’ttalktoyou.”
Thereactionisinstantaneousandunsubtle.Aflareofshock.Hurt.
Heturns,messeswiththeasparagusagain.
“Hewasactinglikeanasshole,”Isay.
Henodswithoutfacingme,hisshoulderstight,sounlikehisusuallaxandlanguidself.
Iforgeon:“LikeIsaid,youdon’towemeanyexplanation.Hejustbroughtituptobeajerk,andit’snoneofmybusiness.”
Henods,stilltense.
Shit.IplayedrightintoPeter’shands.HefoundawaytohurtMilesfromafar,forhavingtheaudacitytolovePeter’sbestfriend,andthen,allegedly,hisex.
IstepupbehindMilesandsetmyhandsonhisshoulders,gentlyeasingthemdown.Heletsoutadeep,tiredexhale.Iresistanurgetopushmyfaceintothegapbetweenhisshoulderblades.
“Miles?”Isay.
Helooksoverhisshoulderatme,thelightcatchingthestreaksofdarkbrowninhiseyes,lighteningthemtoamaple-syrupamber.
“I’msorryforsayinganything,”Isay.
“Nah,it’sfine.”
Heturnstowardme,myhandsskatingoverhisback,comingtorestonhisshoulders.Hecatchesmywristsinlight,loosecircles,hisgazefalling.“Sorry,I’m…”Hetakesabreath.“IguessI’msurprisedPetratoldhimthat.Ijust…Ibarelyeventalkedaboutthatstuffwithher.”
Ipressmypalmsagainsthistrapeziusmuscles,tryingtoreleasethetensionfromthem.Histhumbsmovebackandforthonthesidesofmywrists,restless.Igetthesensehe’stryingtosootheanddistracthimself.It’sdoingtheoppositetome.
“I’msorry,”Isayagain.
Hisheadjerksslightlytooneside.“It’strue.Idon’treallyhavearelationshipwithmyparents.Itiswhatitis,andIcan’tchangeit.Butsomuchoflife’sgood.What’sthepointofdwellingontheshitthat’snot?”
“Wow.Icouldn’trelateless,”Iteasegently.“I’maborncomplainer.”
Hesmiles,justabit.“Youarenot.”
“Areyoukidding?”Isay.“MymomandIusedtoplaythisgamewecalledWhinyBabies.We’djusttaketurnscomplainingaboutsmallerandstupiderthingsuntilweranout.Like,thegirlIsatnexttoinEnglishlitchewedherpencilreallyloudly.Whoeverhadthesmallestcomplaintgottochoosedinner.”
Thecornerofhismouthcurls.“Soundslikeablast.”
“Itwas,actually,”Isay.“Sometimescomplainingaboutstuff,justhavingsomeonetoempathizewithyou,takesthestingoutofit.”
“There’snosting,”Milessays.“It’sfine.I’vegotmysister.That’smyfamily.”
“Iguessallfamiliesarecomplicated,onewayoranother.”Ithinkofmyemptydriveway,ofstandingbarefootonthefloorvent,lettingtheheatbillowthroughmypajamasasIwatchedthewindowandwaited.Tobeworthit,tobechosen.
ThecornerofMiles’smouthhitches.“Petra’swasbasicallyaNormanRockwellpainting.”
Isigh.“Yeah,Peter’stoo.”
Mileslooksupatmefromunderaslightlyfurrowedbrow,histhumbsstillglidingbackandforthalongmywrists.“Wereyouclose?”heasks.“WithPeter’sparents.”
Mychestpinches.“Sortof.Imean,maybenotclose.Buttheywerealwaysreallynice.Hismomcameweddingdressshoppingwithmeandmymom.AndshegotamonogrammedChristmasstockingmadeformetomatchhisandhisbrother’s.They’rethekindoffamilywithamilliontraditions.Certainplatesandspecificdessertsforeachoftheirbirthdays.Everysinglethingintheirhousewassomekindofheirloomwithsomegreatstory,andheandhisbrother,Ben,wouldargueoverwho’dinheritwhatsomeday,butinthisjokeyway.ThewholeextendedfamilyalwayscomeshereforNewYear’sEveandtheydoawhiteelephantgiftexchange,andit’sallvery…Idon’tknow.Ijustreallywanted…”
“Tobeapartofit?”Milesguesses.
Inod.
“Yeah,”hesays.
Ihadn’theardanythingfromanyofPeter’slocalfriendsafterthebreakup,notevenScott.Butbothhismomandhisbrother’sgirlfriend,Kiki,sentmessagesinthosefirstcoupleweeks.KikitoldmetohitherupifIwereeverinGrandRapids,andIknewshemeantit.
Mrs.Collins’smessage,however,hadonlyread:thinkingofyou,withalittlepurpleheartbesideit.
“Forwhatit’sworth,”Isay,“whatPetersaid—itsoundedlikehedidn’treallyknowwhathewastalkingabout.LikehegottheCliffsNotesfromPetraandmadetherestup.Idoubtshewasharpingonyou.”
“Yeah,Iknow,”hesays.“Shewouldn’t.”
There’salevitytohisvoice,buthelooksuncommonlydistant,halfwayherewithmeandhalfwaydeepinsidehisskull.
It’ssurprising,howpowerfultheurgetocomforthimis,howcomfortableitfeelstoletmyselfleanagainsthiminoneofonlyahandfulofhugstopassbetweenusinthemonthswe’velivedtogether.
Hishandsslidedownmyarmstowrapacrossmyback.Westandthereforseveralseconds,tangleduptogether.
“Wanttogoegghiscar?”Imumbleintohischest.
“Seemslikeawasteofgoodeggs,”hesays.
“Iagree,”Isay.“Ijustwishmygynecologisttoldmethatsooner.”
I’mjoking,butMilesdrawsbackenoughtopeerintomyface.“You’dbeagreatmom.”
It’sthekindofthingeveryonesaystotheirfriends,butIbelievehimwhenhesaysit,andI’mstrangelytouched.“Whataboutyou?Youwantkids?”
“Iwouldn’tknowthefirstthingaboutbeingadad.”Hesmilesfaintly,tuckingmyhairbehindmyear.Itmakesmefeellikeatwo-literbottleofsodaflippedupsidedown,allthebubblessuddenlyrushingintheoppositedirection.“Hey,tellmesomething.”
“What?”Iask.
“Somethingaboutyou,”hesays.“Thathasnothingtodowithhim.”
“Well.”Ilaugh.“Iguessallyouneedtoknowishowblankmymindjustwent.That’showsureIamabout‘whoIam’thesedays.”
“Whataboutyourfamily,”hesays.“Anysiblings?”
“NonethatIknowof,”Isay.
Hisheadtilts.
“Mydad’shadalotofgirlfriendsovertheyears,”Isay.“Iwouldn’tbethatsurprisedifI’vegotafewhalfsiblingsfloatingaround.”
“Neitherofyourparentseverremarried?”heasks.
“Mymom’sneverevendatedsincemydad,”Isay.
“Toobrokenhearted?”heasks,whichmakesmeactuallylaugh.
“Toobusy.WhenIwasakid,sheworkedalottomakeendsmeet,andshealwayssaidshe’dratherspendherfreetimewithme.IfiguredonceIwenttocollege,she’dgiveitatry.InsteadshegotreallyintoCrossFitandmadeatonoffriends.She’salwaysbasicallyeitherexercisingwithaladynamedPamortakingartclasseswithawomannamedJan,ordrinkingsmoothieswithbothofthem.She’sreallyhappy,though.That’swhatmatters.”
EvenasIsayit,Ifeelapang.Iknowshe’smeantiteverytimeshe’stoldmeIcouldcomestaywithher,moveintohertinystudio.ButforthefirsttimesinceIcanremember,sheactuallyhasafulllife,beyondjusttakingcareofme.
TheweekPeterdumpedme,ittookatwo-hourphonecalltoconvincehertonotcancelthefive-day“backpackingjourney”shehadscheduledwithPam,tocomenursemybrokenheart.She’dspenttoomuchofherlifedroppingeverythingforme,knowingitallfelltoher.
Icouldjustaseasilyweepinherarmsattheendofthesummer,duringmyscheduledpost–Read-a-thonvisit.
“CrossFit,”Milessaysthoughtfully.“Thatexplainsit.”
“Whatcouldthatpossiblyexplain?”Iask.
“ThescreamsandclankingmetalIhearfromtheotherroomwhenyou’reonspeakerphone.”
“Oh,no,”Isay,“that’sunrelated.”
“Idon’twantanymoreinformation,”heplaysalong.“Ifeeltotallyuncurious.”
“MyregularlyscheduledcallswithChristianGreyarecompletelymundane.”
Hisbrowspinch.“Who?”
“It’sfromabook,”Isay.“Nevermind.”
“Ah,”hesays.“Notabigreader.”
“Iknowthat’sapossibility,”Isay,“andyetItrulycannotfathomit.”
“Whatdoyoulikeaboutit,”hesays.
“Everything,”Isay.
Hismouthcurls.“Fascinating.”
“IlikethatitfeelslikeIcanliveasmanylivesasIwant,”Isay.
“What’swrongwiththisone?”
Atmypointedexpression,hesnortsalaugh.“Okay.Butwe’remorethanjustwhathappenedinApril.Let’sfocusontheotherstuff.”
“Like?”
“Howdiditstart?”heasks.“Thelibrarything.”
Icastmymindback,tobeforegradschool,beforeundergradeven,allthewaytothefirstmomentIrememberlovingastory.FeelinglikeIwaslivingit.Being,evenasachild,bowledoverbyhowsomethingimaginarycouldbecomereal,couldwringeveryemotionfrommeormakemehomesickforplacesI’dneverbeen.
“Narnia,”Itellhim.
“Now,thatoneI’veheardof,”hesays.
“EversinceMr.Tumnusshowedupatthatsnowylamppost,thisworldwasnevergoingtoquitecutitforme.”
“Who’sMr.Tumnus?”heasks.
“Ithoughtyou’dreadit!”Icry.
“No,I’veheardofit,”hecorrectsme.“Asakid,Ineverreadforfun.I’mdyslexic,andittooktoolong.”
“Whataboutaudiobooks?”Isay.
“Doesthatcount?”heasks.
“Ofcourseitcounts,”Isay.
Hiseyesnarrow.“Areyousure?”
“I’malibrarian,”Isay.“Ifanyonegetstodecidewhetheritcountsornot,it’sme.”
Hissmileparts,hiseyescrinklingatthecorners.
Forasecond,we’rejuststandingthere,atinybittooclose.Ormaybeit’satotallynormalamountofspace,butthekississuddenlybuzzingthroughme,replayingagainandagain.
Hishandsslidingaroundme.Lemonandlavenderonhistongue.Ourspinescurvingtogether.Himgoinghard.I’mfairlycertainIcanseeitreplayinginhiseyestoo.
“Shit!”Heflinchesawayfromme.“Theasparagus!”Hetriestoyankonesmokingstalkoffthegrillbutjerkshishandbackwithahiss,fumblingforthetongsbeforehissecondattempttomovethemtotheplate.
Meanwhile,I’mstandingthere,waitingforthefizztosettle.12
THURSDAY,JUNE6TH
72DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
Inthebestoftimes,it’sinadvisabletostartlustingafteryourroommate,andwearenowherenearthebestoftimes.
Itrytopushthememoryofthekisstothebackofmybrain,alongwithanyresidualMiles’smouth–basedcuriosity,butit’snoteasy.
OnThursdayIgotograbalate-nightglassofwateratexactlytherighttimetofindMilesfillinghisownglassintheunlitkitchen,wearingnothingbutathleticshorts,thedisjointedassortmentoftattoossplashedacrosshischestreducedtodarkblurs,piecesofhimI’veseenbeforebutnotsincethekiss,andnowIfindmyselfinsatiablycurious.
AbouttheperfectlybalancedscalesofLibra,theillustratedManontheMoon,thesomewhatwonkyhorseshoe,thelittleredpieceoffruit…astrawberrymaybe?
“Hey,”hesays,hisvoicescratchywithsleep.“Youneedsomething?”
Iguiltilyjerkmygazebacktohisface.“Nope!”I’vealreadyspunbacktomyroombeforeIrealizethatactually,yes,IneededtheverywaterpitcherMileswasholding,butthere’snowayI’mgoingbackintherenow.
OnSunday,wedriveouttoSleepingBearDunesandit’seasiertobenormal,becauseit’seye-scaldinglybrightoutandwe’rebothfullydressed,andalsothisispossiblythemostgorgeousstretchofturquoiseshoreI’veeverseen—evenifit’salsowhereI’mgoingtodieaprematuredeath,becausetodayMileshasdecidedweshouldrentadunebuggy.
“You’llbefine,”hepromisesasheholdsahelmetouttome.
“Anythingyouneedahelmettodo,”Isay,“youprobablysimplyshouldn’tdo.”
Hestepscloser,thebreezerufflinghishair,andpullsthehelmetdownovermyhead.“Ormaybe,”hesays,eyescrinkledagainstthesun,“everythingworthdoingcomeswithsomerisk.”
Hiswinsomegrinsendsathrillupmyspine,alitfuseshorteningbythesecond,andIhavenoideawhathappenswhenitburnstotheend.
Hetipshisheadtowardthebuggy.“Ipromisetogoslowforyou.”
Thewayhesaysit,lowandteasing,sendsmythoughtsscatteringlikepoolballsonaperfectbreak.Ican’tthinkofasinglereply.Silently,Iclimbintothebuggy.
Ontheupside,theexperienceofrumblingoverhillsinavehiclewithnodoororsides,windrippingthroughmyhairandsandstingingmyskin,turnsouttobeagooddistractionfromstaringatMiles’smouthtoolong.
Downside:everytimewehitabump,Iaccidentallygrabhisrightthighwithbothhands,untilfinally,heslowstoacrawlandsetsonepalmovermine,murmuring,“It’sokay.I’vegotyou,”inavelvetytoneIassumehemeanstobesoothingratherthantantalizing.
Wheneverwereachanewscenicview(whichisalmostconstantly),heinsistswestoptotakeapicturetogether,andIhavetodisconnectmybraintokeepthefeelingofhisarmsropedaroundme,chintuckedintomyshoulder,fromplungingmewholesalebackintothememoryofmakingoutagainsthistruck.
ThenextSundayisalittlebetter.WekickthingsoffbydrivingthreetownsovertoMiles’sfavoritefarmers’market.Wewanderforhoursandleavewithwhatweneedtomakepizzas.
Athomethatnight,webuildasimplemargherita(mycontribution)aswellasagoat-cheese,artichoke,pestoconcoction(Miles’s).ThenhekeepsaneyeonthemintheovenwhileIseizetheopportunitytotakeamuch-neededshower.
WhenIgetback,cladinmyfavoritesilkypajamas,he’ssettingthepizzasonthetable.
“Perfecttiming.”Heglancesup,thendouble-takes.
Itrackhisgazedownwardand,tomyhorror,realizeIdidn’tdryoffthoroughlyenoughbeforegettingdressed.Mytopisdamp,nearlytranslucentinseveralplaces,and—speakingofperfecttiming—mynippleschoosethatinstanttostandatattention,likeeagerlittlemeerkats.
Icrossmyarmsovermychest.
Miles’seyessnapbacktomyface.
“I’llgrabplates!”Ivolunteer.
“I’llgetdrinks,”hecoughsout.
Inthekitchen,Ipulltwomismatchedfloralplatesdown,thenturn,immediatelycollidingwithhim,theplatesflatteneduprightbetweenourstomachs,andhishands—intheirattempttocatchmyforearmsandpreventsaidcollision—pressedtotheoutsideedgesofmycollarbones.
“Sorry,”webothsay.
Orhesaysit.Iyelpit.
Weawkwardlysidestepinthesamedirection.Thenhestepsback,holdingahandoutlike,Afteryou,andIscuttletothetable,leavinghimtorummageinthekitchen.Whenheemerges,he’sgottwoglassesofwine.
“Thankgod,”Iaccidentallysaywhenhehandsmeone,acommenthemercifullyignores.
Hedishesupapieceofeachpizzaforbothofusandwepadintothelivingroom,wherewesitonoppositeendsofthecouch.Itakeabiteoftheartichokepizzafirst.
“Thereitis,”Milessays.
Iopenmyeyes.Because,asitturnsout,Ihadclosedthemandalsomoanedalittle.He’sfightingagrinashebitesintohisownartichokeslice.
“ThesignatureDaphnemoan,”hesays.
Iflush.“It’sbeenalongtimesinceI’veeatenpizza.”
Milessmileswryly.“Right,youwereonthewheatgrassdiet.”Hisheadtilts,eyesglimmering.“Sowhatelseshouldwedo,nowthatyou’resingle?”
Inearlychokeevenasaknotofheatslidesdownintomystomach.
Ifeelthephantomsensationofroughhandsatthebaseofmyspine,astomachpressingintomine,coollipsthattastelikelemonandlavender.
Afteraheartycough,Iask,“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,”Milessays,“thingsyourexdidn’tlike.Thatyoucandonow.”
Somehow,thatsoundsevendirtier.
“Likeeatingpizza,”Istammer,determinedtoproveI’mnotreadingintothis
“Right,”hesays.“Orlike…sunrisekayaking.I’vealwayswantedtodothat,andIhaven’t.”
“Petrawasn’tintokayaking?”Isay,disbelieving.
“Shewasn’tintomorning,”hesays.“Butwe’renottalkingaboutthem.We’retalkingaboutus.”
Justthewordustriggersanotherblush.Allthebloodinmybodymightaswellhangoutinmyupperthird,becauseassoonasitleaves,it’sgettingcalledrightback.“Well,I’veneverbeensunrisekayaking,butI’dtryit.ForoneofourSundays,ifyouwant.”
“Really?”hesays.
“Iwon’tbegoodatit,”Iwarn,“butI’lltry.”
“Whatelse?”Milesmurmurs,lightlysqueezingmyknee.
Iignoretheboltoflightningsingingdownmycenter.“Ialwayswantedtolearntobake,but…”
“Youwerelivingwithaserialkiller,”hefinishes.
Icrackasmile,whichmakeshimdothesame.Hishandisstillrestingonmykneeanditfeelslikeaparadeoffireantsiscrawlingoutfromitineverydirection.Hisgazeflickerstowardmytopbutton,thenbacktomyface.
“Whataboutyou?”Iblurt.
Helooksaway,teethskimminghisbottomlipashethinks.“Actionmovies,”hesays.“It’sprobablybeenthreeyearssinceI’veseenanactionmovie.”
Peterdidn’tlikethoseeither.“Metoo.”
“Somaybeweshould,”hesays.
“Mayberightnow,”Isay,becauseIneedsomewhereelsetolook,somethingelsetothinkabout.
Heflashesasmile.“Mayberightnow.”
?“I’msohappyforyou,honey,”Momsaysbetweengaspsforoxygen.ShecalledmeonherwalkhomefromCrossFit,andeithershe’sstilloutofbreathfromtheworkoutor—morelikely—she’skeepingherwalkingspeedatfivemilesperhour.
I,meanwhile,amstarfishedonmycushyivoryrug,staringattheceilingwithamugofchaiatmyhip.ThisisascloseasIgettolifeontheedge:amilkyteaandanear-whiterug.
“Happyforme?”Iecho.I’mhappyforyouisn’tthereactiononeexpectstoastoryabouthercoworkerhavingtotemporarilybanalibrarypatronwhorippedacomputeroutofthewall.
“Imean,I’mgladyou’vebecomerealfriendswithyourcoworker,”sheclarifies.
“Metoo.”Idon’tthinkIrealizedhowlonelyIwashere,evenprebreakup.
AshleighandIhaven’thadanotherbignightoutsinceourwineryvisit—Duke’saninvolvedparent,butshe’sgotprimarycustodyandMulder’sscheduleispackedwithextracurriculars—butevenjustsharingourlunchbreaksatthefoodtruckparkacrossfromthelibraryhasmadeWaningBayfeelmorelikehome.
“I’mjustsohappyyou’reputtingyourselfoutthere,”Momsays.“Yourlifecanbetotallyfullwithoutaromanticrelationship.Takeitfromme.”
SheeitherhasamuchlowerlibidothanIdo,orshe’smanagingtoburnthroughitbythrowingtiresacrossapouredconcretefloor.
Maybeshe’sontosomething.MaybeIshouldjoinsomekindofexerciseclass.NotCrossFit,butsomethingwithmorelyingonyourbackandstaringattheceiling.Yoga?Icouldatleaststartwalkingtoworkregularly,nowthatIlivecloser.
“Youknow,baby,”Momgoeson,“therereallyisalwaysroomforyouhere.”
Onapurelyspatiallevel,thisisfalse.“Thanks,butIhavetostaythroughthesummer.”
“Right,right,”Momsays.“TheRead-a-thon.”
Ihaven’tmentionedtheotherthing.Theone-manWaningBayTourismBureau,inthebedroomacrossthehall.Mom’stooperceptiveformetotalkaboutthatwithoutherpickinguponmyreboundcrush,andgivingthatanyoxygenwillonlyletitlivelonger.
“Andyou’vegotenoughfortherentinthemeantime?”sheasks.
“I’mnotborrowingmoneyfromyou,Mom.”
“Ireallydon’tmind,”shesays.
“I’mfine.”That’sthetruth,butevenifitweren’t,Iwouldn’ttakeacentfromher.Foryearsaftertheirsplit,DadtreatedherlikeanATM,andshehelpedhimouteverytime,untilIturnedeighteen.Likesomekindoffucked-upreversechildsupport,wherehewasthechildshewasobligatedtosupport.
Shetoldmeshecouldn’thavemyfatheroutonhisass,thatitwasn’tright.Butafunnythinghappenedwhenshecuthimoff:hewasfine.
Mom’sdoneenoughcaretakingfortwolifetimes,andifmydadcanscrapebywithoutherhelp,Icantoo.WhenImove,itwillbebecauseI’vefoundagoodjobandmyownplace,thatIcanaffordwithmymoney.
“I’vegotthingsundercontrol,”Ipromise.
She’sstoppedwalking,catchingherbreathatherfrontdoorprobably.“You’vealwayshadabackboneofsteel.”
“WonderwhereIgetthatfrom,”Isay.
“Noidea,”shedeadpans.
Wesayourgoodbyes,doourIloveyou;Iloveyoumores,andIgobacktoreadingthelibrary’sgalleycopyofanewGoonies-esquechapterbook.
Afteraminute,though,IpickupmyphoneandtextAshleigh:Doyouknowofagoodbeginners’yogaclass?
Shesendsbacknothingbutanellipsis.Ireplywithaquestionmark.Shesays,Idon’tbelieveinorganizedexercise.
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans.
Sheadds,Lookingtogetripped?
Lookingforahobby,Isay,because“morefriends”soundstoodesperate.
Doesithavetobeexercise?Ashleighasks.
Nope.WhenIseehertyping,Iheadheroff.ButI’mnotinterestedintheknittingcircleatthelibrary.
I’vegotsomethingbetter,shesays.YoufreenextWednesdayafterwork?
There’saknockatmybedroomdoor,andIsetmyphoneaside,sittingup.“Comein.”
ThedoorwhinesopenandMilesleansin,hairwetfromashower,beardstickingoutineverydirection.“Hey.”
“Hey,”Isay;then,witharealization,“It’sFriday.”
“Itis,”hesays.
“Shouldn’tyoubeatwork?”Isay.
Hehalfshrugs.“Katyaneededmorehours.Youupforanotherfilm?”
We’vewatchedamovieeverynightsinceSunday.Specificallytheover-the-topaction-comediesI’dalwaysassumedwerestrictlyintendedforviewingwhilsthighoutofyourfuckinggourd.Itturnsoutthey’realsoprettygoodwhenyou’restone-coldsoberandtryingnottothinkaboutmakingoutwithyourroommate.
Lyingonthefloorofmytinybedroom,whilehestandsovermelikethis,forexample,islessideal.
Isitupabruptlyandknockovermychaiintheprocess.“Shit!”
Milesretreatsandreturnswithahandtowel,throwingitatme.Notto.At.Ithitsmyface.
“Greatcatch,”hesays.
“Thanks.”Iyankthetoweldownandmopupthespill.“When’sshowtime?”
“Wheneveryouwant,”hesays.
“Givemetwominutes,”Isay.
“I’llmakepopcorn,”hesays.
Fiveminuteslater,we’resettledinforourritual.
Theoddballpairingsaresocliché,soexpected.Butthenagain,theywork
Thehugeguyandthetinyone.
ThetrainedassassinandtheeverydayJoewhogetsmixedupwithhim.
TheseriousonewhogivesgoodeyebrowandthewisecrackingsidekickwhoisabsolutelyalwaysRyanReynoldsorsomeonenearlyindistinguishablefromRyanReynoldswhenyoucloseyoureyes.
“Thismanmustmakesixtyoftheseayear,”Isay.
“AndDwayneJohnson’sonlyinthirtyofthem,”Milessays,fromtheoppositeendofthecouch.
“IwishIcouldsendthemanEdibleArrangementtothankthemfortheirservice.”IsituptograbanothersourgummywormfromtheSpreadofBadDecisionsMilesarrangedforus.
“There’sjustsomethingaboutamoviewhereshitgetsblownupduringacarchase,”hesays,“thatmakesmefeellikeeverything’sgoingtobeokay.”
Atmylaugh,helooksover,stretchesonelegoutuntilhisfootispushingagainstmythigh.“Hey,thatwasarealone.”
Iturntofacehim,mybackagainstthearmofthecouch,andswingmylegsupontothecushions.“Arealwhat?”
“Areallaugh,”hesays.“You’vegotyourpolitelittlechuckle,andthenyou’vegotthatweird,deepchortleyoudowhenyouactuallythinkI’mfunny.”
“It’snotapolitelaugh,”Isay.“It’sadisplayofmildamusement.I’dneverfake-laugh.Idon’tfakeanything.”
Hegivesmealook.
Igowarminseveralplaces.
“Soifthat’sthemildamusementlaugh,”hesays,“thenthelowchortleisreservedfor…”
“Whenyou’reactuallyfunny,”Isay.
Withoutwarning,hegrabsmyanklesandyanksmedownthecouch,drapingmylegsacrosshislap,mybuttrestingagainstthesideofhisthighsothathisfacehangsoverme.
“Fine!”Isay,hearttrillingatthiscloseness.“You’reactuallyfunnyalotofthetime.”
Thecornerofhismouthticks.“Andthechortleis…?”
“Ithinkit’swhenI’mreallyrelaxed,”Isay.“I’vealwaysbeenself-consciousaboutmylaugh,butthisimmenseamountofattentionbeingdrawntoitisdefinitelyhelping.”
Atthesarcasm,hisgrinspreads.Hetakesholdofmywrists.“No,don’tbeself-conscious,”hesays.“It’ssofuckingcute.”
“Icanreallytellfromthewayyoudescribedit,”Ideadpan.
“I’mserious.”Heliftsmywrists,plantingmylimphandsonthesidesofhisface,agrownandbeardedversionofMacaulayCulkininHomeAlone.“Ineverwould’vesaidanythingaboutitifIdidn’tthinkitwascute.”
Thisisthemostwe’vetouchedinweeks.Everypointofcontactvibrates.
Hegingerlysetsmyhandsbackdownonmychest,crossingthemlikeI’mlyinginacoffin,andwhilehisknucklesbarelygrazeme,mynipplespeakupagainstmyshirt.
Iseehimnotice.
Theanesthetizingpoweroftheaction-comedygenreisn’tcuttingitanymore.I’mabundleofbuzzingnervesandwant.
Hisgazeliftsabruptly.“Shit,sorry,”hesays.“I’msorry.”Hestartstostraightenup,butIcatchhiswristsnow,keephimfrommovingtoofar.“It’sfine,”Isay.“Really.Itdoesn’tneedtobeweird.”
“Ithinkit’sjustbecausewekissed,”hesays.
“Ithinksotoo,”Itellhim.
Stillneitherofusmoves.
“I’vebeentryingnottothinkaboutittoomuch,”hesays.
Realizinghe’sbeenthinkingaboutitatallisenoughtoraisemybodytemperatureafewdegrees.
“Same,”Igetout.
It’sbeenalmostthreeweeks,andinsteadofthekissfadingintherearview,itfeelslikeeverydaysince,I’vebeenslidingcloserandclosertoaninvisibleledge,moreandmoredesperatetoknowwhatliesbeyondit.
Hemeetsmyeyes,jawmusclesworkingasheswallows.Heatunfurlsoverme,startingwheremypalmsareringedaroundhiswrists,climbingupmycenter.
Ineedtoletgoofhim.
Insteadmyhandsscrapeuphisarms.Theyfeelamazing.Notgymarms,justarmsthatgetafairamountofdailyuse.Forsuchascruffyman,hisskinissmooth,thehairsonhisforearmsfineandsoft.Myfingersinstinctivelyfollowtheridgesofhisveinsuptohisbiceps,theanchortattooononeandtheold-schoolbirdontheother.Ifollowthecurveofhisshoulders,carriedbyanunstoppablecurrent.
WhenIreachthebackofhisneck,hefoldsoverme,slowly,oneofhishandscomingtopresslightlyonmywaist.There’samomentofhesitationasourmouthshoverclose.
Ishouldsaysomething,breakthistensionthat’sbeenbuilding.
Insteadmychintipsuptohim.
Thefirstbrushofhislipsisfaint,notthefevered,vengefulkisswehadagainsthistruck.Notatfirst.Butthenmyhandsglidedownhisback,andhe’sshiftingtolowerhimselfoverme,andIthinkmynervoussystemmightoverloadfromthesensations:hishipsheavyagainstmine,hischestpressingmeflat,thelow,hungrysoundthatemanatesfromhimasthekissdeepens,morehonestwithourwant.
Hedragsoneofmykneesupagainsthiship,andIseestars,littleblipsofcolorpoppingagainstmyeyelids.Myhipstipuptohis,andmyshynessdisintegratesashismouthskatesdownmyjaw,histeethscrapingmyneck.
There’snospacetoworryaboutwhathe’sthinkingorhowI’mcomingacross.BecausenowI’msurethathewantsme,likeIwanthim.Nothingelsematters.
Myhandsmovedowntohisassandhelickstheskinbeneathmyear.Igasp,andhetiltshishipsagainstmine,makingmearch.Thisnolongerfeelslikejustmakingout.It’sthepreludetosomethingbigger.
“Wereallyshouldn’thavesex,”Ihiss.
“Iknow,”heagrees,kissingmythroat.
“I’mnotreadyforthat,”Isay,moreformybenefitthanhis.
“Waytoosoon,”heagrees.
Butwe’renotstoppingeither.Hishandsailsupfrommyhipbone,hisfingertipscatchingthebottomedgeofmybreast.Hekeepskissingme,hisfingersteasingthecurvebutnotgoinghigher.
Thenhishandskatestothetopbuttonofmyshirt.Whenheslipsitfree,ashiverpassesthroughme.“Alwayssobuttonedup,”hemurmurssoftly,teasingly.Hisfingersdragdownmychest,andIliftunderthem,awavebeingpulledbyhistide.Heundoesthenextbuttonandtouchesthesensitiveskinthere,tracingthecreaseofmysternum.
WhenIcan’ttakeitanymore,Itwistunderhimuntilhishandisoverme,hisgriptightening,histhumbrunningovermynipple.
“Thankfuck,”hesays.
Igrindmyselfagainsthim.Hehastilyundoesthenextbutton,kissesthespacebetweenmybreasts,hishandstilltightonme.
Wetrytoshift,himgoingintowardthebackofthecouch,meslidingouttowardthefront.Ialmostfalloff.Hecatchesmeandyanksmebackagainsthim,bothofuslaughing,vaguelyhysterical.“I’moutofpractice,”hesayshuskily.“Makingoutoncouches.”
Idon’tthinkhemeansitasaninvitation,butitwouldbesoeasytoturnitintoone.We’retwelvefeetfromeitherofourbedrooms.
Ifwegoanywherenearabed,I’mgoingtosleepwithhim.
Iwantsobadlytosleepwithhim.
Ionlywanttonotcompletelydestroymylivingsituation,like,onepercentmore.
WhatamIdoing?Ithink.
Thenhehaulsmeupontopofhim,mykneesstraddlinghiships,hiseyesdarkandglimmeringandalloverme,andtheonlythingI’mthinkingaboutnowishim
Thethrowpillowshavewoundupunderhisneck,hisheadpushedupataweirdangle.Ishiftforwardoverhimtopulltwooutfromunderhishead,andhetakesholdofmyhipsandliftshimselfenoughtokissthelowestpartofmychesthecangettowithonlythetopbuttonsundone.Thesoundthatcomesoutofmeisborderlineinhuman,butitonlyencourageshim.Hesweepshismouthovermeanddrawsmybreastintohismouth,theheatofhistonguemovingagainstmethroughthefabric,leavingitdampandclingingtomyskinasheshiftstomyotherside.
Ileanintothepressure,pitchingmyweightforwardintomyhandsoneithersideofhim.Hispalmsscrapedownme,andwerocktogetherinslow,heavywaves.Hepullstheopencenterofmyshirttoonesidesohalfofmychestisbared.“God,Daphne,”hesays,draggingtheopennecklinebacktheotherway,liftinghimselfenoughtocatchbareskininhismouththistime.
Icryoutfromwant.Hiscoolhandsclimbmyfeverishskinundermyshirt,histouchalmostpainfullylightashistonguemovesovermemoreurgently.Hishandsslidedowntosqueezemywaistandhedrawsback,coldairstingingmyskin.“You’resosexy,”herasps.Heatflushesfrommyhairlinedowntomythighs.
It’snotawordI’vegottenmuch.Cute,pretty,sometimesbeautiful.Neversexy.
“Youaretoo,”I’mbarelyabletomakemyselfwhisper.
Hiseyeslookinkyanddrunkasheliftsmealittle,moveshishandbetweenus,hispalmbetweenmythighs.Myeyesflutterclosedashepressesintome.Ipushmyselfintohistouch,leanoverhim,biteintohisneck.Ifeellikesomeoneelse,someonewhodoesthisallthetime.Likeit’snobigdealtostraddlemyroommateandlethimlickandbiteme.
Hisabdomenliftsandsinksonabreath.“Daphne?”hemurmursagainstmyear.
“Mm?”Itcomesouthigh-pitched,quivery.
Hehumsagainstmythroat,hishandstillmovingslowly,heavily.“Iknowwesaidnosex,butcanItouchyou?”
Inod,throattootighttospeak.Hedrawshishandbackupmystomach,beforedippinginsidemypajamashorts.“Sosexy,”hewhispersagain,kissingmythroatashishandmovesdownme,hisfingertipscurlingupandinward.Igasp,shiftmyselfintohim.Hisotherhandfallsdowntomyass,grippingme,guidingmeintohistouch.
“Ilovethesoundsyoumake,”herasps.
I’mdimlyawarethatinanotherlife,thiswouldbeunbearablyembarrassing.Inthisone,allIcandoisrockintohismotion,andkeeplettinghimcoaxwhateverdesperatenoisehewantsoutofme.Ifumblewithhisjeans,andhereachesdowntohelpme,andasecondlater,myhandisaroundhim,hisonme,andhe’smoaningtoo,andit’squitepossiblythesexiestsoundI’veeverheard.
Thenhisphonestartsbuzzingonthecoffeetable.
Webothglancetowardit.Iwaittoseeifhewantstostop.
Hekissesmehard.Ibitehislip.We’recrazednow,movingwildly.
Thephoneringsout.Onlytostartringingagain.
Hesitsupandpullsmesnugagainsthim,kissingmefiercely,thewaywekissedintheparkinglotexceptwithsomuchmoretouching,groping,gasping,moreprivacy,moreskin,moreeverything.Everypieceofhimfeelssogood,soinviting.
Inthebackground,ourmoviekeepsplaying.Someoneisbeingsnarkyanddisbelievingwhilesomeoneelseisbeingcoolandunbothered,andmeanwhilewe’retryingtogetasclosetoeachotheraspossible.
Apartofmewantstoslowdown,makethislast,butthatparthasalreadylostthebattle.I’mtippingovertheedge.MyhandsclimbupthebackofMiles’sshirttofeelhissmoothskin,oneofhishandsstillbetweenmythighs,edgingmecloseruntilI’mcryingout,sinkingnailsintohisskin,losingmyself,losinganysenseoftheroom,oftheworld,ofanythingotherthanthisfeeling.
Thanthesmellofgingerandwoodsmoke.
Theskinandmusclebeneathmyhands.Thecoolairkissingmychest.Theneedfulpressurecrashingovermeinwaves.Aroughpalmslippingbehindmyneck,lipsgrazingmine,guidingmethroughtothefarsideofthewave.
It’slikeemergingfromwater,thewayeverythingelsecomesbackintofocus,buthe’sstillclearest.Hislipsonmine,ourtonguesslippingtogether,theraspofhisbeardonmyjaw.Hispulsethrumseverywherewe’retouching,andhe’sstillhard,anddespiteallthepleasantheavinessseepingthroughmylimbs,itsendsathrillofhungerthroughme.
Itakeholdofhimagain.Hisduskyeyeslift,glintinginthedimlight,andhewrapshishandaroundmine.
Hisphonestartsringing.Again.
“Shit,”hesays,voicescratchy.“I’msosorry.I’lljust—”Heleansovertoturnthephoneoff.ThewordJULIAflashesonscreen.
“Shit!”hesaysagain,butthistimeit’sclearlyadifferentkindofshit
NotShit,letmethrowmyphoneintotheseasowecangetbacktothis,butShit,Ireallyshould’veansweredmyphonethefirsttime
“I’msorry,”hesays,slidingmegentlyfromhislap.
“It’sokay!”Itcomesouttooloud.Thesuddenabsenceofhisheat,hishummingblood,hiseagerlybeatingheartmakesmefeellikehallucinogenicfumesarebeingwhiskedoutawindow.
Hegrabsthephone.“It’smysister.”
Anotherjarringpushbacktoreality,fromthelusthaze.
Imanageanawkward“Ah.”
“Shewouldn’tcallthismanytimesunlessitwasimportant,”hesays.
“Ofcourse,yeah.”Iwavehimoff,barelymeetinghiseyes.Iwonderifmycheeks,jaw,andthroatarered.Theystingfromthescrapeofhisfacialhair.
Heflashesanapologeticsmile,pinchesmychinalittle.
Eventhislittlegestureisintenselyhottome.
Thephoneisstillbuzzinginhishand.Hiseyesareonme.
Iclearmythroat.“Takeit,”Igetout,alreadybuttoningmyselfbackup.13
I’veswitchedovertoliveTVinanattemptnottoeavesdrop,butthefloorboardscreakasMilespacesinhisroom,andtheindistinctmurmurofhisvoiceistingedwithsomethingakintofrustration—atleast,Miles’schillversionofthat.
Then,somethinglessindistinct:“No,no,Imean,obviouslyIwantyouto.It’sjust…”
Apause.“Shit,Julia,”hesays.“Justaskmenexttime.Don’tpretendyou’reaskingmewhenit’salreadyadonedeal.”
Afterabeat,heopensthebedroomdoor.“Okay,”he’ssaying.“Seeyouthen.”Anothersecondandthen,“Loveyoutoo.”
Hetakesadeepbreath,thenemergesfromthehall,lookingexhausted.
“Everythingokay?”ImutetheTV:anothershowaboutaperfectcouplehouse-huntinginanondescriptsuburbwithafour-trillion-dollarbudget.
Milestosseshisphoneintothechairandrubsbothhandsoverhisface.“Mysistercanbekindofimpulsive.”
Isitupfurther,pullathrowpillowintomylap.“Issheokay?”
Hecomestositonthecouch,leavingafootbetweenus.Withasigh,hesays,“She’sattheairport.InTraverseCity.”
Theairportclosesttous.
“What?”Isay.“Why?”
Hedropshisfaceintohishands,massagingitforasecondbeforemeetingmyeyes.“It’s…”Helaugh-huffs.“Idon’tknow.Shesaysshe’shereto‘helpmetakemymindoffeverything.’?”
Well,that’sasharpreminderofthestateofthings.
Hisjawandforeheadtense.“Butsomethingelseisgoingon.Julia’sspontaneous,butshe’snotflyacrossstatelineswithnowarningspontaneous.”
Hegroansandmassageshiseyesagain.“Sorry.Thisisn’tyourproblem.Ijust…She’salreadyhere.Soifit’sokaywithyou,I’mgonnagopickherupandbringherhome.Wedon’thavetoletherstayallweek.Orifyoudon’twantherhereatall,Icanfindherahotel.Iwould’veaskedhowyoufeltaboutit,ifI’dknown—”
“Miles,hey.”Igrabhisarmtogethisattention.“Ofcourseshecanstayhere.Unlessyouwantmetosayno,sothatyoudon’thavetobethebadguy.Inwhichcase,absolutelythefucknot.”
Hesmiles.“She’sgoingtogivemeshitforthebeard.”
“Oh,themourningbeard?”Itease.“Themoving-to-the-woods-and-never-loving-againbeard?Whywouldshehaveaproblemwiththat?”
“Willyoupretendtolikeit?”heasks.
MyheartsqueezesasInod.It’snice,feelinglikewe’recoconspirators.
“Anythingelse?”Iask.“Youwantmetopretendyourbongismine?Needtomoveyournudiemagsundermybed?”
Hisheadtipsbackonabrightlaugh.“Nonudiemags,”hesays,“andforyourinformation,Idon’thaveabong.”
“Whatkindofapotheaddoesn’thaveabong?”Iask.
“Thekindwhomostlyusesweedwhenheneedstodeep-cleantheapartment,de-pillthecouch,orwatchPrehistoricPlanet.”
“Okay,sothekindI’veabsolutelynevermet,”Isay.
Hepointsboththumbsathimself.“Thisguy.”
“You’rejustoneofakind,aren’tyou,”Isay.
Iwastryingtobejokey,playful,buthisfacesoftensandhecatchesmyhandsinhis,runninghisthumbsupmine,afrissonofwantboltingthroughme.“Ifshegetstobetoomuchandyouneedmetokickherout,”hesays,“justsaytheword.”
Mythroatfeelsdesert-dry.“Whatshouldthewordbe?”
“RyanReynolds,”hesuggests.
Mylaughbreaksupsomeofthegrowingtension.“That’stwowords,andalsocomesupwaytoooftenincasualconversation.”
“Okay,justscreamenoughatthetopofyourlungsandI’llusecontextcluestofigureitout.”
Iask,“Whyareyousoworriedaboutthis?”
“Well,foronething,”hesays,“she’stwenty-three.”
“Areyoucallingmeold,”Iask.
“I’mcallingyouthirty-three,”hesays.
“Rude,”Isay.
“She’sthebest,”hepromises.“Butshe’sverymuchalittlesister.She’sgoingtomakeherselfcompletelyathome.Ifyourtoothbrushgoesmissing,you’regoingtowanttojustassumetheworstandbuyanewone.”
“Ican’tevenbegintoimaginewhattheworstisinthisscenario.”
“Whateveritis,”hesays,“it’sbad.Probablyjustdon’tleaveanythingyou’rereallyattachedtointhebathroom.”
Ourgazesholdforasecondtoolong.
“So—”Ibegin,rightashesays,“Weprobablyshouldn’t—”
Helaughs.Myabdomenfeelslikeoneofthosewaterwigglertoys,theglitterandliquidinsidebubblingfuriouslytothetopasitflips.I’msureI’mblushing.
“Afteryou,”Isay.
Herubsthesideofhisheadwiththeheelofhishand.“Thatwasabadidea,right?”He’slookingatmeclosely,likeitwasn’tarhetoricalquestion.“Imean,we’rebothjustcomingoffofhorriblebreakups.”
Hehasapoint.I’mnotexactlymyselfrightnow.Idon’tnormallydothingslikethis.
ButtheDaphneI’vealwaysbeen,thepracticalandintentionalone,hasn’texactlysetmeupforsuccess.Forafewminutes,I’djustwantedtogivefun,casualDaphneaturnatthewheel.
Shedidn’tevenrunthingswhenIwastwenty-one,ferryingSadietofratpartiesandpullingherintothebusheswhencopsshoweduptobustthem.Iwasnevertheonejusthavingfun.Iwastheoneanticipatingconsequences.
It’snotthatIwanttoreverttoatwenty-one-year-old,butmywholelifehascollapsed,andI’vebeentryingnewthings,andwhateverjusthappened,itwasnewandfun.
Milesisstilllookingatmeclosely,likehe’smakingadecision.Ifeelmycouragebuilding,thewordsrising.RightwhenI’mabouttotellhimIdon’tthinkitwasamistake,orevenifitwas,Imightlikeabreakfromsmartdecisions,hesighsheavilyandgoeson:“Welivetogether.Ifthingsgotmessy…”
Thecarbonatedfeelinginmychestturnsleaden.
Ifthingsgotmessy,he’dneedanewroommate,andI’dneedanewapartment.AsreadyasI’vebeentofleethestate,I’mhereuntilthelibrarygetsthroughtheRead-a-thon,andIcan’tscrewthingsupbeforethen.
“Honestly,”hesays,“I’mnotusuallytheguytothinkthingsthrough.ButIreallylikeyou,andthelastthingIwantrightnowistofuckupthisfriendship.Orhurtyou.”
Whatexquisitetimingformyidentitycrisis:hewantstodothesmartthing,andIwanttohaverecklesssexwithhim.
“Ireallylikeyoutoo,”Itellhim.Athisfaintsmile,Iclearmythroatandadd,“You’reagoodfriend.Idon’twanttomessthisupeither.”
Thatpart,atleast,isstilltrue.Ijustwishwecould“notmessthisup”inbedtogether.
“So,”hesays,hissmallsmilesomewherebetweenapologeticandbemused,“friends?”
Iclearmythroat.“Ofcourse.”
Hestands,browliftingonasmile.“Andyou’llhavemybackwithJulia,aboutthebeard.”
“That’swhatfriendsarefor,”Ideadpan.
Hisbemusedsmilesplitsopen.“Wannacometotheairportwithme?”
“No,gohavesometimewithyoursister,andI’llpickuphere.”Mygazedipsandsnapsbacktohiseyes,myfaceflushing.
“What?”hesays.
“Nothing,you’rejuststill…unzipped.”
“Oh,shit,”hesayscalmly,puttinghimselftorightswithoutanounceofshame.Unfortunately,Inowfindeventhisincrediblysexy.“AnythingelseI’mforgetting?”heasks,holdinghisarmsouttohissides.
Helookslikeexactlywhatheis:amanIwasrecentlystraddling.
“Allgood,”Ichirp.
Hesmiles,pokesmychinonelasttime,thenturnstoleavewithoutanotherlookback.
?WhenIwasakid,mymomwasanamazinghost.
I’mnotsurehowshediditwhileworkingfull-time,butsomehowthehousewascleanwhenitneededtobe,thefridgeandpantrystockedwiththegoodstuff—name-brandsugarycerealsandchips,off-brandcookiesthatwerebetterthantheoriginals.She’dorderusgreasypizzafordinner,andinthemorningservefruitsaladandscrambledeggs,oneofherfewspecialties.
Beforethefirstmove,she,Dad,andIlivedinatinytwo-bedroom,one-bath.Ourboxy,outdatedTVsometimeshadrandombarsofcolorfuzzingacrossthepictureuntilyousmackedtheside,butourfurniturewasallbroken-in-to-perfectioncomfort,andthehousesmelledlikebasilandlemon,allthetime.
WhenDadmovedout,wecouldn’taffordthatplace,sowemovedtoaone-bedroomonthefarsideoftown.Itwasonthefourthfloor,withbrowncarpetandwallsthatseemedhollow.Itsmajorsellingpointwasitstinybalcony,overlookingabrownman-madepondandfacinghundredsofotheridenticalbalconies.
Evenso,allthroughelementaryschool,thattinyapartmentwasthesleepoverspotamongmyfriends.
ThenIgottojuniorhigh,andMomwaspromotedfromatelleratalocalbranchtoanactualbankeratoneanhourandtwentyminutesaway.
Forthefirstcouplemonths,she’ddrivemebackonweekends,ormyfriendLauren’smomwouldbringLooutonaFridaynightandwe’dtakeherhomeSunday.
Butthetrips,thephonecalls,thetextstaperedoffasshefoundherfootinginhernewclassandImadefriendswithsomeofthegirlsontheyearbookcommitteeinmine.
ThenwemovedtoSt.Louisineighthgrade,soMomcouldhelpopenabranchthere.ItwentsowelltheysenthertodothesamethingineasternPennsylvaniaayearlater.Junioryear,wemovedtwicemore,firsttoNorthCarolina,thentoasuburboutsideAlexandria.
Theapartmentsgotnicer,wallsthickenoughthatyoucouldn’theartheneighborsfighting(orpassionatelymakingup),ceilingsthatweresmoothinsteadofpopcorned,yardswithtreesandwoodenfenceswherebeforewe’dhadgravelandchainlink.Momstartedworkingtogetlicensedtobecomealoanofficer,andwiththecourseworkontopofherjob,thehouseworkfelltome.
Bythen,werarelyhadguests.Momhadnotimeforasociallife,andIprettymuchgaveupmakingfriends.Ididn’tseethepoint.Noneofthosefriendshipslastedbeyondthenextmove.
Ayearlater,IleftforcollegeinColumbus,whereImetSadie.
MyheartkeenswhenIpictureher.
Petite,whip-smartSadie.Wesatnexttoeachother,inanelectiveclassthatwasmoreasemester-longJaneAustenbookclub,onourveryfirstdayofcollege.Theprofessorhadusgoaroundandintroduceourselves,saywhichAustencharacterwemostrelatedtoandwhy.Ninetypercentofourclassmatessaidsomevariationof“I’matotalLizzie.”Theoneboyamongusdeclared,veryboldly,thathewasaDarcy.AcoupleofgirlspickedElinorDashwood,orJaneBennet.
Itwasprobablytoohonestforastupidget-to-know-yougame,butwhenitwasmyturnIsaid,“Unfortunately,I’mprobablyCharlotteLucas.”
ShewasthemostpracticalcharacterIcouldthinkof,evenifherpracticalitydidleadhertomarryMr.Collins.
Besideme,Sadieeruptedintolaughter.“Don’tfeeltoobad.I’mprobablyLydia.”
Afterclass,sheaskedmeifIwantedtogogetcoffeewithheronherwaytohernextclass.Igenuinelycouldn’timaginejustwalkinguptosomeoneandstartingaconversation,letaloneaskingthemoffthebattohangout.
Itriedthatonce,aftertheeighth-graderelocation.Ibelievethegirl’sresponsewas,“Ew.Why?”
Sadiebefriendedprettymucheveryoneshemet,butthatday,Ifeltlikeshechoseme,inawayI’dneverfeltchosen.
Shetookmetomyfirstfratparty.ItookhertoCellarCinema,atinytheaterinthebasementofabookstorethatMomandIhadgonetoduringourcampusvisittheyearbefore.Sadiegotusintobars,despiteourlackofdrinking-ageIDs,andIdraggedhertoabackyardpoetryreadingwhereaguyIlikedperformedatrulyhorrifichomagetoAllenGinsberg’sHowlthatquicklyresolvedmycrushonhim.
WealwaysjokedthatSadiewouldhavethrivedasaladyinRegencyEngland,becausesheembroideredandknitted,hadaballerina’sposture,andspokebothSpanishandFrenchfluently.WejokedIwouldthriveinanapocalypse,becauseIwaskindofscrappy,alreadyusedtolivingonnoodles,andcouldprobablybeprettyhappytalkingtonoonefordaysonend,ifIhadenoughbooksaround.
Forthenextfouryears,Irarelyhadtomakemyownfriendsorscoremyowninvitations.ButwheneverSadieorganizedgrouphangsorthrewHalloweenparties,myjobwastochannelmymotherandplayhost.
SothesecondMilesleavestoscoopJuliaupfromtheairport,musclememorytakesover.
Iwipethekitchendown,sweepthecrumbsintoonecorner,andvacuumthemup.Ibringacoupleofcandlesoutofmyroomandlightthem,openingthewindowstoletinfreshair.Withadeep,preparatorybreath,Iopenthehallcloset,ignoringtheright-handsideanditsexcessofthriftedlacetablecloths,votives,andtheDreadedDressformycanceledwedding,anddigaroundforcleansheetsandfreshtowels,whichIstackonthecouch.
Ivacuumunderthecushions,scrubthebathroomsink,andloadthehandfulofdishesintothewasher.
Itoccurstomethenhowlittlefoodwehaveonhand,soIgrabmybagandkeysandheadouttowanderthefluorescent-lit,mostlyemptyaislesofTom’s.
Ican’tbuymuchproduceherewithoutdevastatingMiles’sfarm-stand-lovingheart,butIgrabafewapplesandsomebroccoli,aloafofbread,ajarofpeanutbutter,andacoupleotheressentials.
Onmywaytocheckout,Ialsodetourtograbfournewtoothbrushes.
Justincase.
Istillmakeithomebeforethemandhavejustfinishedputtingeverythingawaywhentwoveryloudvoicesmovedownthehallway,andthedoorswingsopen.
IseeMilesfirst.
“Hey,”hesays,stoppingshort,grinninglikehe’spleasantlysurprisedtoseemehere.Likeheforgotwelivedtogether.I’mnotsureifthisisacomplimentoraninsult.
Hissisterbarrelsintothekitchenrightbehindhim.She’stall.Astallorpossiblytallerthanhim,andstring-beanskinnywiththesameimpishnose,perfectteeth,anddarkhair,thoughhersischoppedintoalittlewavyFrenchGirlbob,completewithbabybangs.
“Hi!”shesaysbrightly,hurling—actuallythrowing—herduffelbaginthegeneraldirectionofthelivingroom.“Youmustbetheroommate,Daphne.”
“Andyoumustbethesister,Julia,”Isay.
“Whatgaveitaway?”ShehooksanarmaroundMiles’sneckandshovesthesideofherfaceagainsthis.“Welooknothingalike.”
“Totalstabinthedark,”Iagree.
Shepullsawayfromhim,scratchingherjaw.“Youneedtoscrapethatroadkilloffyourface,”shesays,beeliningtowardthefridge.“IthinkIjustgotfleas.”
Sheopensthedoorandlooksoverhershoulderatme,thoughnotintimetocatchMilesmouthingsomethingalongthelinesofToldyou.“Haveyouseenmybrotherwithoutabeard?”Juliaasksme.“He’sadorable.Likeafifteenpercentlesshotversionofme.”
“Idon’tknow,Ikindoflikethebeard,”Isay.
Shenarrowshergazeonme.Thenshestraightens,lipspursingsourlyassheconsidersme,likeI’maparticularlytrickypokeropponent.ButI’mnot.I’mterribleatlying,exceptwhenthatoneunhingeddemonpossessedmetomakeupawhole-assboyfriend.
Suddenly,JuliaspinstowardMiles,pointingafingerinhisface.“Youfuckingtoldhertosaythat!”sheshouts,victorious.
Heswatsherhandoutoftheway.“Jules,insidevoice.Ourcrotchetyneighborisgoingtocomeyellatus.”
“Admitit,”shecries,swattinghishand.
Shespinstowardme,facealight,amoreextremeversionofMiles’slit-from-within,delighted-by-everythinggrin.“I’llgiveyoutwentybucksifyoutellmethetruth,Daphne.”
“Daphne,”Mileswarns,tryingtogetpasther.Juliaputsherarmsouttohersides,stancewide,adefensiveguardkeepingusfrompassingthedeceitbetweenus.
“Daphne!”sheshrieksthroughlaughterasMilestriestopushpast.“Tellmethetruth!”
“Ialreadydid!”Icry,runningpastbothofthemtothefarsideofthecounter.“Ilikethebeard!It’sgrownonme!”
“Daphne.”Juliastraightensup,handsonherhips.“We’resupposedtobeateamhere.”
“Youjustmet,”Milessays,roundingthecountertostandbesideme.“We’vebeenlivingtogetherforovertwomonths.”
“Yeah,yeah,yeah,”Juliasays,turningtoresumediggingthroughthefridge.“Holyshit,youhavefoodinhere.Like,notleftovers,Imean.”
“Wedo?”MilessaysrightasIsay,“Wedo.”
Heglancesatme.“Thanks.”
Juliasnatchesagrapefruitsparklingwaterandfacesusasshepopsthetab.“Sohowlonghaveyouguysbeentogether?”
Ichokeonair.“What.”
“We’renot,”Milessays,clearlyalittleembarrassed.
Julia’sdarkbrowsflickupwardasshesips,thenslamshercanonthecounter.Ifhe’saLabrador,she’smoreofaclumsypitbull,thwackingintocornersandswingingherheadintocoffeetableswithoutbattinganeye,completelyunselfconscious.Ilikeherimmediately.
Julia’sheadtilts.“That’snotwhatPetrasaid.”
“YoutalkedtoPetra?”Milessays.
“NotinaJudasIscariotway,”sheblurts.“Ichewedherassoutovertextafewweeksago,andIneverheardback.Thenlastweek,shemessagedmeoutoftheblue,tosayshe’shappyforyou.”
“Howthoughtful,”Igrumble.
Julia’sgazewandersbacktome.“Isthereanyparticularreasonshethinksyouguysaresleepingtogether?”
IwonderifIhavehivesvisiblyformingonmyneck.
IalsowonderifIhavebruiseswhereMilesbitme.
“That’smyfault,”ItellJulia.“Longstory,butPeter—myex—calledme,andIaccidentallyjust…”
Herbrowrisesasshewaitsformetogoon.It’sanexactMilesNowakexpression,butsomehowit’ssomuchsharperonher.
“Istraight-uplied,”Ifinish.
Shestaresatmeforasecond,thenburstsintolaughter,hingingoverherhipsandrestingherwholefaceandarmsonthecounterassheshakeswithgiggles.Whenshefinallypeelsherfaceoffthegranite,shesays,“That’sfuckingamazing.”
Milessmilesfaintly.“Thatwasmyreactiontoo.”
Juliadrumsherhandsonthecounterforasecond.“So.Shouldwegetdrunk?”
Ilaugh.
“Daphneworksinthemorning,”Milessays.“ShehostsStoryHouratthelibraryonSaturdays.Doesallthevoices.”
Idon’tthinkhe’stryingtoembarrassme;Ithinkhegenuinelybelievesthisisaninterestingandmaybeevenimpressivetidbittosharewithhisultrahip,ultraconfidentlittlesister.
“Oh,hellyeah,weshouldgoseethat,”shesays.
“Youreallydon’tneedtodothat,”Isay.“Tomorrow’sbookisTheStinkyCheeseMan.”
“Youcan’ttalkmeoutofit.”SheanglesherselfbacktowardMiles.“Whataboutyou?Youwanttoragetonight?I’msureyoucouldaffordtoblowoffsomesteam,judgingbythe…”Shegesturestowardhisjaw.
Hegrabstheedgeofthecounterandletshishipssinkawayfromit,stretchinghisbackwithagroan.“Julia,”hesays.“I’mthirty-six.IfIgetdrunk,Ipayforit.”
“Oh,bullshit,”Itease.“Lasttime,youwereuponabreakfastsandwichrunwhileIwasstillshakingwiththesweatsinbed.”
“Ha!”Juliacries.“Gotcha.”
“Icanmanagethateveryonceinawhile,”heallows,“butwe’resupposedtogooutSundaynightwithourfriendAshleigh.”
I’msurprisedheremembers.ThenIlookoverhisshoulderandrealizehe’saddedittothecalendar,rightnexttothelongarrowthroughtheSundaycolumn.
“You’lllikeher,”Milestellshissister.Thenhisforeheadwrinkles.“Oryou’llhateher.I’mactuallynotsure.”
“Timewilltell,”Juliareplieswithashrugandaslurpofseltzer.“Shouldweorderpizza?”
Hechancesaglanceatme,hisvoiceateasingscrape:“I’msureDaphnewouldlovethat.”
Awhispershiversdownmybackbone:Ilovethesoundsyoumake
“Actually,let’sdosomethingelse,”Isay.
ItrytothinkoftheleastsexyfoodIcancomeupwith.Mostfood,Irealize,isatleastalittlesexy.
“Nachos?”Isay.14
SATURDAY,JUNE22ND
56DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
Unfortunately,JuliawasseriousaboutStoryHour.
They’relate,ofcourse,butjustbarely.Ismellsun-warmedgrassandthespicykickofwoodsmoke,andwhenIlookup,they’rethere.
Juliapicksherwaythroughtheconcentricringsofparents,babysitters,andkids,withMileswhisperingapologiesinherwake.
He’sshavedhisbeard.NodoubtthankstoJulia’sbadgering,whichhadpepperedourconversationuntillateintothenightwhensheacceptedmyfifty-eighthattempttogotobed.
Somepeoplegrowbeardstohideoraccentuatecertainfeatures,thewayIswitchedmyhair-partatnineteenand,whenIsawhowitbalancedmyslightlycrookednose,neverlookedback.
Thething,itwouldseem,Mileshasbeenhidingallalongisthathe’sdiabolicallyhandsome,withangularcheekbonesandajawthatsortoflookslikeitmightcutyouifyouweretorunahandoverit.Oryourtongue.Youknow,whatever.
Fairlycrueltiming,forustohavejustagreednottocrosstheplatonic-friendsboundary.
Hiseyescatchmine,andhismouthquirks—thatpartofhimisstillsoft,playful,evenwiththisnewlook.ItmakesmefeellikeIswallowedaswordinsideofaheliumballoon.
Underthebestcircumstances,surprisesarenotmything.ButifIweregoingtounexpectedlyseethemanIhookedupwiththenightprior,Iwouldatleastpreferitnothappen(a)whileI’mreadingaloudand(b)onadayhelooksbetterthaneverandIdecidedtowalktowork,duringwhichasurprisedrizzlefrizzedmyhairandraccoonedmymascara.
IdidmybesttocleanmyselfupafterIclockedin,andofcourseitimmediatelystoppedraining,butwe’dstucktoaninsideStoryHour,justincase,andI’msurethebuzzingoverheadlightingisn’texactlygivingmeaheavenlyglow.
WhenIfinallyreachTheEnd,Juliajumpsontoherfeet,clappingwithextremeenthusiasm.EveryoneelsebreaksintothepoliteapplauseI’musedto.Afterachorusofsqueakyvoicessayingthankyouattheirparents’urging,thecrowddisperses,andJuliaboundsuptome.
“Mileswasn’tkidding,”shesays.“You’rereallygoodatthevoices.”
Ipeekoverhershouldertowhereherbrotherhaspausedto“givedirections”toamomwhoI’mprettysurewasbornhere.Ayoungmom—itseemshewasrightaboutthebeard’seffectontheolderladies,becausethey’renottheoneseyeinghimthistime.
Juliafollowsmygazeandguffaws.“Oh,look,hemadeanewfriend.Hownovel.”
“Hashealwaysbeenlikethis?”Iask.
“AslongasI’vebeenaround,yes,”shereplies.“Godknowswherehegotitfrom.Definitelynotourassholeparents.”
I’mjarredbythecasualmentionoftheirparents.It’sliketurningoveralockedbox,onlytorealizetherewasacrackinthebottomallalong.
“Milesoncebumpedintothehighschoolbandteacheratthegrocerystoreandleftwithaninvitationtoherwedding,”shetellsme.“Hewasn’teveninband.”
Animageofcrispstationery,eleganttypefaceslantingacrossit,blossomsinmymind.
Julia’sfacesoftens.“Shit,sorry.Hetoldmeabouttheinvitationthing.”
“It’sfine,”Isay.
Juliacocksherhead,curious.“Really?Fine?”
“No,”Isay.“ButI’mtryingtocomplainless.”
ShecatchesmeglancingtowardMilesandsnorts.“Ifyou’retryingtoemulatemybrother,Iwishyouthebestofluck.Noonecanrepressnegativeemotionslikehim.He’shadtoomuchpractice.”
Helooks,asever,likehumansunshine,totallyengaged,completelyinterestedinthisstranger,anditmakesmychestpinch.“I’dassumedthesunnydispositioncamenaturally.”
“Imean,”shesays,“wehadthesameupbringingandIdidn’tturnoutChronicallyFine,soIguessinaway,it’snatural.WhenIwasakid,andhe’dmovedtothecity,heusedtocomebackandpickmeupeverySaturdayforbreakfastatMcDonald’s.I’dspendthewholetimetryingtogetunderhisskin,becauseIwastheworst.ButIcouldnevergetariseoutofhim.He’sexcellentatignoringthebadstuff.”
“Whataboutyou?”Iask.
Juliachokesoveralaugh.“Oh,Iinvitethebadstufftotrytofuckwithme.”
HavingfinallyextricatedhimselffromHotMom,Milesjoinsus.“WhatdidImiss?”
“Nothing,”Juliasaysinnocently,rightasIsay,“Yoursisterwantstogetintoaknifefight.”
“I’llcallGill,”Milessays.“Wecangetherakittenatthesametime.”
“AmImissingsomething?”Juliaasks.
Ashleighsidlesupthentoo.“Justoneoftheiradorablebestfriendjokes,”shetellsJulia.“Youmustbethesister.”
“YoumustbethefriendI’meithergoingtoloveorhate,”Juliasays.
Ashleigh’sshoulderswiggle,halfshiver.“Intriguing.”
“Shouldbefuneitherway,”Juliasays.“SoshouldweallheadtoCherryHill,throwtinypretzelsatMileswhilehe’sworking?”
“Wedon’tservepretzels,”Milessays,audiblyoffended.
“Asamazingasthatsounds,”Isay,“IneedtogetsomepromotionalstufffinishedfortheRead-a-thon.”
“AndIwasthinkingI’ddomealpreptonight,soIcanbeworry-freetomorrow—”Ashleighinterruptsherselfwithagasp,lookingtoMiles.“Ijustfiguredoutwhereweshouldgo.WeshouldtakethemtoBarn.”
“Barn?”Isay.“Asin…abuildingonafarm?”
“Asinabar,inabarn,”Milessays.“Onafarm.”
“Thereisnoplaceonthisearth,”Isay,“likeWaningBay.”
“Barnhasgoats,”Ashleighoffers,peelingawayfromustohelpacoupleofpatronscheckoutbeforeweclosefortheday.“You’llloveit.”
Julia’sphonepingsandshechecksit.“Weren’tyousupposedtobeatworkbyfourforty-five?”sheasksMiles.
“Shit!”Hemovestowardthedoors,Juliastilltextingassheshufflesafterhim.Heturnsoverhisshoulderandcalls,“Sunriseisbeforesix.Bereadyatfivethirty.”
“Five,”Icounter.“Areyoucoming,Julia?”
“Atfiveinthemorning?”shesayssunnily.“I’drathereataluminumfoil.Butyoutwohaveablast.”
?Icreepoutofmybedroomatfourfifty-eighta.m.,tiptoepastJulia,snoringonthesofa,tothekitchen,sandalsinhand.IflickonthelightbeneaththemountedmicrowaveanddrinkaglassofwaterwhileIwaitforMilestoemergefromhisroom.
Fiveo’clockcomesandgoes.
Thenfiveohfive.
Fiveeleven.
I’mtryingnottobeunreasonablygrumpy,butthisisfuck-everythingearly,evenforme,andifthere’sonethingItrulyhate,it’swaitingonpeople.
Severaldozenunhappymemoriescyclethroughme,aworst-offilmreel,andI’mtootiredtoadequatelybatthemaway.
SowhileI’myawningsohardmyjawpops,I’malsobackinMom’sandmyfirstapartmentwithoutDad,waitingbythefrontwindow,lookingupeverytimeajunkersputterspast.
Waitingonthesnowycurboutsidemyelementaryschool,draggingmyboottoesthroughblackenedslush,tellingmyselfthatifIcounttoonehundred,Dadwillbehere.Andifnot,thenbythetimeIreachtwohundredandfifty.Countingandwaitinguntilmymompulledup,stressedoutandstillinherworkheels,apologizingthroughtheopencarwindow,onhisbehalf:Sorry,sorry,somethingcameup,Iguess.
Waitingatthemailboxforbirthdaycardstoshowup.
WaitingforaphonecallonChristmas.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting,forsomeonewhorarelycame,feelingworseeverytime,untilfinally,Irealizedthatthefeelingswouldn’tstopuntilthewaitingdid.
Youcan’tforceapersontoshowup,butyoucanlearnalessonwhentheydon’t.
Trustpeople’sactions,nottheirwords.
Don’tloveanyonewhoisn’treadytoloveyouback.
Letgoofthepeoplewhodon’tholdontoyou.
Don’twaitonanyonewho’sinnorushtogettoyou.
IconsidercrawlingbackintobedandfinishingapolishontheupcomingRead-a-thonpublicityblast.Thenthefrontdoorclanksopen,asliceoflightpouringfromthehall.
“Hey,”Mileswhispers,liftingthethermosesinhishands.“Youready?”
“Beenreadysincefive,”Itellhim.
Heleansforwardandpeersaroundthecupboardtoseetheovenclock.“Shit.”Hepassesmeoneofthethermoses.“Igavemyselfanextrafifteenminutes,andtherewasnoline,butthenIgotcaughtuptalkingtothebaristaand…anyway,I’msorry,Daphne.”
Ishakemyhead,thegrumpinessclearing.Milesisdoingmethefavorhere.“It’sfine.”Islipmyfeetintomysandals.“Let’sgo.”
It’scooleroutsidethaninourapartment,thenipintheairmakingmyarmsandlegstingle.IcanfeelmyleghairgrowingandwonderwhyIbotheredshavinglastnight.
Becauseyouhaveacrushonyourroommate,myinnerdialogueprovideshelpfully,andyouwanthimtolookatandtouchandprobablyevenlickyourlegs.
No,Iarguewithmyself.It’sbecauseIwanttowearaskirttoworktomorrow.
I’mnotbuyingit,though:thelasttimeIworeaskirtatwork,HandsyStanleytoldmeIwasgoingtogivehimaheartattack.
Thehemreachedmidcalf.
Luckily,Ashleighwalkedpastthedeskatthatexactmoment,andathree-monthbanwasissued.
I’msotiredI’dbewillingtodrinkjetfuelmixedwithespresso,buttomysurprise,whenIsipfromthethermosMilesgaveme,it’sspicy,sweet,creamyperfection.“Thisischai,”Isay.
Heunlocksthedoorandclimbsin.“Ithoughtthat’swhatyouwanted.”
Igetintoo.“No,itis,Ijust—thankyou.”
“Noproblem.”Hejamsthekeyintheignition,andtheenginegrumbles,butthecardoesn’tstart.Hetriestwicemorebeforeitcatches,andthenwe’recruisingawayfromoursilentstreet,thesleepingcityblackandblueasabruise.
Atthekayakrentalplace,there’soneothercoupletherealready—bothblondbutcomicallydisproportionateinheight—andjudgingbythebright,chipper,full-volumeconversationshe’smaintainingwiththesleepy-eyedman,they’reonafirstdate.Whichalsomightsomehowbeanactualvacation?
Shekeepsupasteadylineofquestionsthatheparriesswiftlyabouteachother’sjobs(financeandthemeparkmanagement,respectively)andeachother’spets(threecats,twoGermanshepherds)fromtheregistertothetransportvantotheboatlaunch.
Withoutdiscussingit,MilesandIbothhangbackandletthemlaunchtheirkayaks,pretendingtobusyourselveswithpackingtheprovideddrybagsandgettingourlifevestsonuntilthey’reawaysout.
“RememberwhenyousaidthatIlikeeveryone?”heasksmeaswedragthefirstofourkayaksintothewater.
“Yes,”Isay.
“Idon’tlikethem.”Hetipshischintowardourvanmates’backs,shrinkingastheyrapidlypumptheirpaddlesbackandforth.
Isuppressasmile.“Doyouknowthem?”
“Afterthatseven-hourvanride,Iknowenough,”hesays.
Ichortle.“Ittookussixminutestogethere.”
“They’remyenemies.”Hesteadiesthekayakandgesturesformetogetin.
“SoallIneedtodotostayinyourgoodgracesisnotsnorttwenty-fiveAdderallbeforesixa.m.Goodtoknow.”
“OrgetthreecatsandnameallofthemTheGoddess,”headds.
“Really?ThatwasactuallymyfavoritethingaboutKeith.”
“MyfavoritethingwaswhenGladyshadthatcoughingfitandcouldn’ttalkforlikeelevenseconds.”
“It’sfunwhenyou’resassy,”Itellhim,climbingintothekayakanddroppingintothewet,slipperyseat.
“Enjoyit,”hesays.“Idon’tplanongettingupthisearlyeveragain.Ihatetoadmitit,butPetrawasright.”
Ileanoverthesideofthekayakandsplashhim,hiseyessnappingwide.
“Whatthefuck!”
“That’syourPetratax,”Isay.“Talkaboutheragain,andI’llcallGladysandKeithbackhereandmakethisakayakcaravansituation.”
“Fine,fine,”heagrees,walkingbackuptheshoretopullhisownkayakintothewater.“ButifyoumentionPeter,I’mtippingyouover.”
“Who?”Isayinnocently.
Thetruthis,withinfiveminutesofpushingawayfromtheshore,Peterhasmadehiswaytotheforefrontofmymind,becausemyarmsandshouldersarealreadyburningfromexertion,andMilescanonlypaddleabouttwicebeforehehastopauseandwaitformetocatchup.
Thedarkhorizonhasonlyjuststartedtosoftenaslightbleedsalongthetopofthewater,andIalreadyknowthiswasahugemistake.
We’dbeenplanningtodoasix-milelooparoundasmallislandinthebay,wherethemoreadventurouslocals—peoplelikeMilesandPetraprobably—liketocamp.
Tuckedbackinthebaylikethis,there’snorealcurrentorwavestocontendwith,notliketherewouldbeinthelakeproper,butI’mstillwoefullyunderprepared.
“Youcangoahead,”Icallacrossthewater.
Mileslaughs.“WhywouldIdothat?”
“BecauseI’mprettysureI’mactuallymovingbackwards,”Isay.
“It’swater,”hepointsout.“Ineverydirection.There’snowheretobe.Unlessyou’reseriousaboutcatchingupwithKeithandGladys.”
“Ihaveneithertheintention,northeemotionalcapacity,todothat,”Isay.
“Thenlet’schill,”hesays.“There’snorush.”
“Well,ifthatchanges,feelfreetoditchme.”
“Yes,Daphne,ifsomethingchanges,andIneedtoescapeafreshwatershark,I’llpaddlemylittleheartoutandleaveyoufordead.”
“Aretherereallysharksinthelake?”Iask.
“I’moffendedyou’devenaskthat,”hesays.
“Someone’sgottodefendLakeMichigan’shonor,Iguess,”Isay.
“Whynotme?”heagrees.
Wepaddleslowly,paralleltooneanother,thegraduallyliftingsunpaintingeverythinginpinksandgolds.
“Iknowit’sacliché,”hesaysafteraminute,“butbeingonthewateralwaysdoesfeellikewhatIimaginechurchisforsomepeople.”
“Igetthat,”Isay.“Outhere,you’resmallandthere’snooneelsearound,butyou’renotlonely.It’slikeyou’reconnectedtoeveryoneandeverything.”
“Exactly,”hesays.“Andyouremembertomarvel.It’ssoeasytoforgethowincrediblethisplanetis.”
Ithrowaglancehisway.“Ithinkyou’reprettygoodatthedailymarvel.”
“Sometimes,”hesays,then,“Youaretoo.”
Isnort.“I’mmoreofacrankypessimistandwebothknowit.”
“Youmoaneverytimeyoueat,”hesays.“Idon’tthinkyou’reaspessimisticasyouthink.”
Iflush,reroutetheconversationneatly:“Ithinkasakid,thelibrarywasthethingthatmadememarvel.Ineverfeltlonelythere.Ifeltsoconnectedtoeveryone.Honestly,Ithinkitalsomademefeelconnectedtomydad.”
Thereitis,ahideouslyembarrassingtruthdroppedrightintothemiddleofaconversation.AfactI’veneveradmittedaloud.
Itmightbeanoversimplification,butit’sthetruth:“He’swhyIlovelibraries.”
“Bigreader?”Milesguesses.
Ilaugh.“No.Hejustneverplannedhisvisitsaheadorhadanymoney,sohe’dblowintotownandtakemetheretocheckoutsomebooks,ordoanactivityorwhatever.SowhenIwaslittle,Ireallyassociatedthemwithhim.Itfeltlike‘ourthing.’?”
“Areyouclose?”heasks.
“Notatall,”Itellhim.“He’slivedinCaliforniaforalongtimenow,andhisvisitsareunpredictable.Doesn’tcomewhenhesayshewill,showsupwhenyou’renotexpectinghim.ButhewasareallyfundadwhenIwasakid.Andthelibrarytripsfeltlikethisamazinggift,specificallyfromhimtome,youknow?”
LikehealonehadthekeytoanythingIwantedtoread.
“Mymomneverhadtimetogetoverthere,andIwaskindofterrifiedoftheschoollibrarian,soonceIgotoldenough,I’djustwalkovertothelocalbranchafterclassandMomwouldpickmeupwhenshegotoffwork.”
Hegrins.“Agoodlibrarianmakesallthedifference.”
Ianglemyselftowardhim.“Youjoke,butit’strue.”
“I’mnotjoking,”hesays.“Ifyou’dbeenmylibrarian,Iwould’vereadalotmore.”
“BecauseIwould’vetoldyouaudiobookscount?”Isay.
“Forstarters,”hesays.“AlsoIwould’vewantedtoimpressyou.”
Myfacetingles.“Julia’sgreat,”Isay.
“Sheis,”heagrees.“She’sthebest.”
“Haveyoualwaysbeenclose?”Iask.
“Prettymuch,”hesays.“Imean,Iwas,like,thirteenwhenshewasborn,soIwasoutofthehousealot,butwhenIwashome,shefollowedmelikeapuppy.Likeliterallyjustcrawledaroundafterme.”
Igrin,picturingit.Abrown-eyed,dark-hairedbabyJuliascootingalongafterascrawnybrown-eyedteenageMiles.
“ShewasonlyfivewhenImovedtothecity,”hesays.“ButItriedtomakeitbacktoseeherasmuchasIcould.”
“ShesaidyouvisitedeverySaturday,tookherout.”
Icatchasubtlegrimace.“Justneededtogetheroutofthehouseeveryonceinawhile.”
Thereitisagain,thatcrackinthebox.Justasquickly,though,it’sflippedover,itscontentshidden.
Wefallbackintosilentpaddling.Sweatrisesalongmyhairline,dripsdowntheseamofmyribcageandtheridgebetweenmyshoulderblades.“Youcantalkaboutit,youknow,”Ifinallytellhim.
“Talkaboutwhat?”hesays.
“Anything,”Isay.“Whatever’sbotheringyou.I’mactuallyabetterlistenerthantalker.”
“You’reagreattalker,”hesays.“Butnothing’sbotheringme.I’mfine.Ijustneedtofigureoutwhatshe’srunningawayfrom.”
“Didshesayshe’srunningfromsomething?”I’veonlyjustmether,butit’shardtoimagineJuliarunningfromanything.“Evenifshestumbleduponthatblackbearwhowasaddictedtococaine,Ipictureherfightingbackandfaringprettywell.”
“Shekeepsinsistingshe’shereto‘bethere’forme,”hesays.
“Well,”Isay,“maybesheis.”
Hegivesmealook.“Shenevertellsmewhenthingsarebad,butshe’snotgoodathidingiteither.”Helooksaway,outtowardtheisland,andshakesitoff.“I’llfigureitout.It’sfine.”
Whenhelooksback,he’sgrinning,seeminglyunbothered,thoughthistimeI’mnottotallyconvinced.“Youstillgood,oryouwanttoturnback?”heasks,clearlydonewiththetopicofJulia.
SoIletitgo.“I’mgood.”
Whenthesunishighenoughforthewatertosettleintoitsusualbrilliantcrystalgreen,Milesstopspaddlingandtakesoffhissweatshirtandshirtinonemove,droppingthemintohislap.IholdoutforanothertwentyminutesuntilIcannolongerstandthewaymytanktopstickstome,thenrelentandpeelitawayfrommybathingsuit.
“It’sprettyamazing,”Milessays.
IpullmyshirtoffandglanceoverathimasIslipmylifevestbackon.He’sgazingtowardtheforestedisland,thelastmorningremnantsofmistclingingtoit,hiskayakbumpingintomine.
“Itis,”Isay,feelingtheneedtowhisperit,forsomereason.
Helooks.“Thanksforcomingwithme.”
“Thanksforinvitingme,”Isay.
Hetuckshischin,ateasingcurvetohislips.“Eventhoughyouhateit?”
“Idon’thateit,”Isay.
Heseemsunconvinced.
“IactuallythinkIlikeit,”Isay.“I’mjustnotgoodatit,anditstressesmeoutfeelinglikeI’mmakingsomeonewaitonme.”
“Why?”hesays.
Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.”
“ButIdon’tmind,”hesays.
“Yousaythat,”Ireply.
“I’mnottrainingfortheOlympics,Daphne,”hesays.“WhywouldIgiveashit?”
“Whenweusedtotrytohiketogether,I’dgetoutofbreathandPeterwould—”Irealizemymistaketoolate.
Milesprobablywould’vemissedtheslipup,ifnotforthewaymysentencescreechestoahalt.
Thecornerofhismouthquirksashereachestowardmykayak.
Ishakemyhead,buthedoesn’tslowhisprogress.
“No!”Ishriekasheknocksmetooneside.“Ididn’tsayit!”
“Youone-hundred-percentsaidit,”heargues.
“DifferentPeter!”Icry,laughingaswestruggleagainsteachotherforaminute.“DifferentPeter!”
“Should’vecalledhimPete,then,”Milessays.
Hegivesthekayakonemorehardshove,tippingmeoverintothecoldwater.Itsloshesovermyfaceforjustasecondbeforemylifevestpopsmeabovethesurface.“Areyoukiddingme?”Ishriek,swimmingtowardhim,grabbingthesideofhisboatnow.
“Ididn’tbreaktherule,”heargues.
“Youdumpedmeinthelake,”Isay,tryingandfailingtotiphimin.“That’ssomuchworse.”
“Fine,fine,”hesays.“I’mgettingin.”Butashesaysit,he’sgrabbinghispaddle,slicingitintothewater,tryingtogetaway.
IgrabholdofonesideandyankashardasIcan.
Ittakesafewsecondsofstruggle,butintheend,Imanageit.
Milescrashesintothelake.Heresurfaces,soakedandsputtering,andslickshishairoutofhisface,eyescrinkledagainstthesun.“Didn’tevencheckifIcouldswimornot,”hetuts,pretendingtobeaghast.
“Iwould’vesavedyou,”Isay.
“You?”hesays.“I’m,like,fortypoundsheavierthanyou.”
“Firstofall,”Isay,“you’reabsolutelynot.Andsecondofall,Ihavealifevest.Wewould’vebeenfine.”
Heswimstowardme,loopsanarmaroundmyback,mystomachliftingintomychestatthefeelingofhisskinonmine,hisweightpullingusdownwardasmyheartbuoysintothebackofmythroat.“Yourphysicsareoff,Daphne,”hesaysagainstmyearaswestarttosink.
Iwrigglearoundtofacehim,pushingawaybeforeanythingcankeepmethere.“Iknewyoucouldswim,Miles.”
“How?”heasks.
“One,everythingaboutyou,”Isay.“Two,I’veseenpictures.”
“WhenyouandAshleighweresnooping?”heteases.
“Yes,whenweweresnooping,”Iadmit.
Henods,treadingwaterinfrontofme.“Thoughtso.”
“Haveyoueversnooped?”Iask.
“No,”hesays.
Istudyhimuntilhelaughs,glancestowardtheislandagain,thenmeetsmyeyes.“Fine,acoupleoftimeswhenyou’veleftyourdooropen,I’vepeekedin.Butit’snotlikeI’mdiggingthroughyourdrawers.”
“Excuseme,”Isay.“Ididnotdigthroughyourdrawers.NotthatIwouldhaveneededto,sincetheywereallopen.”
“Youlookedinthem.”Heswimscloser.
“Ididn’t,”Isay.
“Incaseyouwerewondering,”hesays,“yourdrawershaveneverbeenopenwhileyourdoorwas.”
“Iwasn’twondering,”Isay.
“It’sbeenspotless,”hesays.“Notasinglehintastowhoyouare.”
“Prettyboringofme,”Isay.
“Mysterious,”hecounters.“Likeapuzzle.”
“Orahighlyorganizedsilverwaretray,”Isay.
Underthewater,ourcalvesbrushagainstoneanother.Athrumtravelsstraightupmythighintomyabdomen.“Thesamewayyoudress.”
“Likeasilverwaretray?”Isay.
Heshakeshishead.Anothergrazeofourlegs,alittlehigherthistime.“Likeasecret.”
Aheadyrushoftension.Todefuseit,Isay,“LikeI’mhidinganextrasetofarms.”
“ThinkIwould’venoticedthat,”hesays.
Ourhandsbrushunderthewater.Thesecondtime,ourfingerssliptogether,knucklesbrieflyslidingagainsteachotherbeforewepullaway.
Ibackstrokeawayfromhim,turningmyfaceuptowardthesun.Whenmypulsehassettled,Iask,“Shouldwepaddlealittlelonger?”
“Ifyouwantto,”hesays.
Istareacrosstheglisteningturquoisewatertowardtheshoreoftheisland.It’snotasfarasIthought.Itfeelspossiblenow,thatwecouldmakeit.
“Iwantto,”Itellhim.15
“Iloveit,”Isay.
“Toldyou!”Ashleighbustlespastmetowardthelight-strewnpatioofBARn,whichInowknowisstylizedasBARn.Myhairisstilldampfrommypost-kayakshower,myshouldershurtwherethestrapsofmydressrubintomysunburn,andmyarmmusclesfeellikeJell-O.Mixedwithwetconcrete.
MilesandIdidn’tevenmakeittotheisland,letalonearoundit,beforeIacceptedIcouldn’tgoanyfurther.
ThatwasalsowhenIrealizedmybiggestmistakeoftheday.I’dsavedabsolutelynoenergyforthepaddlebacktoshore.We’dhadtostopeveryfewstrokessoIcouldgathermystrength,whileMilespaddledbackandforthinawidezigzag.
ItwouldbeawhilebeforeIkayakedagain,beforesunriseornot.
Sofar,BARnismuchmoremyspeed.
JuliaandMilespileoutofthebackseatofAshleigh’shatchbackintothegrassyfield–cum–parkinglot.“Ohmygod,atacotruck,”Juliasays,hurryingtocatchupwithAshleighasshestridestowardthepatio.
Totherightoftheparkedtacotruck,there’sadancefloorandastage,acoverbandblaringout“TheBoysofSummer.”Totherightsitsabigredbarn,itsdoorsproppedopen,peoplefilinginandoutwithbooze-filledMasonjarsandbeerbottlesclutchedinhand.There’salsoapartiallycoveredbarjuttingoutfromthesideofthebarn,everyinchpacked.
“I’velovedboyfriendslessthanIlovethisplace!”JuliacallsbacktousasMilesisshuttingthecardoor.
“That’sjustourattachmentissues,”hetellsme.
“Oh?”Ilookoverathim.“Yousharethem?That’snice.”
“SheoncedumpedaguybecausehethoughtMammaMia2wasbetterthantheoriginal,”hetellsme.
“Wow,adie-hardfan,”Isay.
“Shehasn’tseeneithermovie,”hesays.“Shejustthoughthavingsuchastaunchopinionaboutitwasaredflag.”
Theinfamouslowchortlesneaksoutofme,andhissmileissoaffectionateIwishIcouldrollmyselfupinitlikeablanket.
“Well,ifnothingelse,”Isay,“sheandAshleigh-the-Phish-Hatershouldhavesomethingtobondover.”
“Yeah,they’llprobablyditchusbytheendofthenight,”heagrees.
Oureyescatch.Mybloodhums.Mybodywarmswithphantomsensations,memoriesfromtwonightsago.
Hebrusheshisfingertipsovermybright-redshoulder.“Thishurt?”hemurmurs
“Alittle,”Iadmit.“Butthat’swhatIgetfortryingtobethecool,laid-backgirlwhodoesn’tneedtoslathereveryinchofherbodyinsunblockeveryhalfhour.”
We’vestoppedmoving,justbarelyoutofreachofBARn’stwinklinglights,JuliaandAshleighlostsomewhereaheadinthecrowd.“Shemightbecoolandlaid-backrightnow,”hesays,“butshe’llfeellessfancy-freewhenshe’stakingmonthlytripstoadermatologist.”
“Nah,cool,laid-backgirlsneverfaceconsequencesfortheirspontaneity.It’showthey’reabletokeepbeingcoolandlaid-back.They’regeneticallypredisposedtohealth.They’renotallergictopoisonivyorshellfish,andtheynevergetmigraines,eveniftheyonlysleepforthreehoursinacoldtent,andtheyneverburninthesun.”
“Huh,”hesays.
“What?”Iask,rightasIspotJuliainlineatthefoodtruck,wavingusover
“IjustrealizedI’macool,laid-backgirl,”Milessays.
IstarttowardJuliaandAshleigh,towardthesafetyofabuffer,callingovermyshoulder,“Icould’vetoldyouthat.”
?Thefourofuseatfriedfishtacosononeofthewoodenpicnictablessetupinfrontofthefoodtruck.Weorderbourbonandsweetteafromtheoutdoorbar,brieflypokeourheadsinsidebeforedecidingit’swaytoopacked.Wewanderaroundthebackofthebarntothegoatenclosure,whereoneisrubbingitsfaceagainstthefencewhiletheothersaretuckedawayinacoveredareainaccessibletobarpatrons.Wescratchthelonegoat’sheadforawhile,thenpumpourhandsgenerouslywiththeprovidedsanitizerbeforemakingourwaybacktothesnap-lockdancefloor.
Thebandcranksoutcountrycoversofhitsthroughthedecades,andwedanceuntilmyhairhasdriedallthewaythrough,thenuntilit’ssweatyagain.
Atonepoint,Milesgoestogetfreshbeers—andaciderforme—andcomesbackwearingahandfulofglow-sticknecklaces,asloppypinklipstickmarkonhischeek.
“Ofcourse,”Juliashoutsoverthemusic,notinterruptingherdancingwhatsoeverandnotevenclosetowinded.
Oh,tobetwenty-three.
ShejerksherheadtowardMiles.“Leavesforabeer,comesbackwithahickey!”
Ithinkshemustmeanfiguratively,butthatdoesn’tstopmefromscanninghisthroatashe’spassingoutourdrinks.Whenhe’sdoledthemallout,hedropsoneoftheglownecklacesaroundAshleigh’sneck,thengivesJuliaone,whichsheadjuststobesmallersoshecanwearitlikeatiara.Thenheputsthelasttwoaroundmyneck.
“Thankyou,”Ishout.Theband’sjuststartedinonacoverof“CrimsonandClover,”andhalftheaudienceisdrunkenlysingingalongaroundus.
“Mypleasure,”hesays.
“Iseethat.”Iflickhischeekjustbelowthekissmark.IhopethatsoundedfriendlyandjokeylikeIintended,andnotincandescentwithjealousy.
“Partofabachelorettepartyscavengerhuntorsomething,”heexplains.“Canyougetitforme?”
Ibrushmyfingersoverthecondensationontheoutsideofhisbeerbottle,thensmudgethemarkoutofhisskin.“Can’ttakeyouanywhere.”
HeleansinsoIcanhearhim.“IfIhadabeard,”heshouts,“thisneverwould’vehappened.”
“Youcouldbeintheghost-facemaskfromScreamandthiswouldstillhappen,”Isay.
Heturnsintome,hismouthnearlytouchingmyear,thespicygingerandbreadytangofbeerhittingthebackofmynose.“Areyoujealous?”heteases.
Ipushupontotiptoes,bracingahandagainsthisshoulder,tipsyenoughtoplayalongbutnotdrunkenoughtobehonest:“It’djustbenicetoearnmyownglowsticksonceinawhile.”
Hetouchesmywaist.Heatunfurlsoverme,skulltotoes.Automatically,Ileanintothetouch,andhisfingerscurlaroundmyhipasheduckshisheadagain.“Thebacheloretteparty’sstillbythebar.I’mhappytointroduceyou.”
“Andmissthissong?Notenoughglowsticksintheworld.”Iturnintohim,andmyheartthumps,quickandsharp,atthewayhisdarkeyesdilate,thewaythecornerofhismouthtipsupinawrysmile.
Lookingathismouth,Iforgetwhatwewerejusttalkingabout.Iswallowathornyknotandtouchthescratchycornerofhisjaw.“Beard’salmostback.”
Hishandcirclesmywristlightly,anelectricfrissonleapingfromhimtome.“Petrahatedittoo,”hesays,hisvoiceabuzz,halfheardthroughthemusic.
Mystomachgivesadecisivedownwardjolt.“Idon’thateit,”Isay.“It’sgrownonme.”
Thecornerofhismouthtickshigherandhisthumbrunsalongthesideofmywrist.“SoIshouldkeepit?”
Iclearmythroat.“That’suptoyou.”
“AndI’maskingyou,”heparries,hissmileslightlymischievousbuthisgazedarkandheavyenoughtopinionmetothespot.
Themomentfeelslikeaheldbreath,orasoapbubble,somethingthatcan’tlast,thathastobreakonewayoranother.
Andthenitdoes.Thesongends,andJuliabarrelsbacktowardus,babybangsstucktoherforeheadandmascararingedaroundhereyes.“Who’supforashot?”sheasks,andMilesstepsbackfromme.
“I’llgetthem,”hevolunteers,andbreaksawaythroughthetightlypackedcrowd,castingonelastglanceoverhisshoulder,ahazylookthatmakesmefeellikeaChristmaspresenthe’sonesleepfromunwrapping.
?“AreyouandMilessleepingtogether?”AshleighasksatthebaobunfoodtruckonourlunchbreakonMonday.
I’djusttakenasipoflemonadeandreachedouttoacceptmyreceiptfromthecashier,andIbarelymanagetoavertmyfacebeforespit-taking.
“Ashleigh!”Ichide,pullingherawayfromthecounter.
“What?”shesays.“Thatguy’s,like,sixty.Idon’tthinkwe’regoingtosurprisehim.”Sheaddsthoughtfully,“Unlessofcoursehe’salsosleepingwithMiles.”
“I’mnotsleepingwithMiles,”Itellher.
“Okay,fine.Imust’vemisreadthesignals.”Hertonemakesitclearshedoesn’tbelieveit.
Thecashiercallsourrespectivereceiptnumbers,andwegrabourfoodfromthecounter,thenwalktowardthepicnictablesonthegrassyknolloverlookingthepublicbeach.
“Onetime,”Iadmit.“Somethinghappened,once.”
AsmilespreadsacrossAshleigh’spink-paintedlips.“Iknewit.Tellmeeverything.”
“There’snothingtotell,”Isay.
“Thatbad?”
“No,”Isayalittletooemphatically.Athersmuggrin,Iadd,“Ijustmean,I’mnotevensurehowithappened.”
“Well,you’restillaheadofme,becauseIdon’tevenknowwhathappened.”
“Wejustmadeoutalittlebit,”Isay.
“Inwhatcontext,”shesays.
“Athome,”Isay.“Wewerewatchingamovieand,Idon’tknow,itjusthappened.”
“Whatwereyouwatching?”sheasks.
“Doesitmatter?”Isay.
“Itsetsthescene,”shesays.“Honestly,Daphne,haveyouneverhadaclosefriendbefore?”
ThelastconversationIhadwithSadiedriftsthroughmymindlikeacridsmoke.Butstrangely,IalsofeelaslightliftinmystomachatAshleigh’simplicationthatthat’swhatwe’rebecoming:closefriends.“Notinawhile,no,”Itellher.
Shegrabsmyelbow.“Youknowit’snotlikemysocialwellisoverflowingthesedayseither.Ijustmeant,it’ssupposedtobefuntorehashallthis,notembarrassing.Thisisajudgment-freespace.We’retwentyyardsfromthelibrary,forgod’ssake.YesterdayIhadtoaskaguytostopleadingwildpigeonsinsidewithabreadcrumbtrail.”
“Again?”Isay.
“NotLarry,”shereplies.“Differentguy.”
“Well,Ididn’thavetoenticeMileswithbreadcrumbs,”Isay.
“Alwaysagoodsign,”shesays.
“WewerewatchingaFast&Furiousmovie,”Ispitout.
“Whichone,”sheasksimmediately.
“Ireallycouldn’ttellyou.OnewithVinDieselinit.”
“Wouldmakeanyonehorny,”shesays.“And,what,itwasweird?”
“No.Itwas…”Itampmyvoicedown,lestthefoodtruckoperatordecidetoleanin.“Weirdlygood.”
“What’sweirdaboutthat?”Ashleighsays.“Milesishot.”
“It’sweirdbecauseIhaven’tkissedanyonebutPeterin,like,fiveyears,andIdidn’tthinkwhenIfinallydid,itwouldbemyex-fiancé’snewfiancée’sex-boyfriend.”
“Whenyouputitlikethat…”
“Anyway,weagreeditwasahugemistake,”Isay.
“Really?”shesays.“Why?”
Ishrug.“Imean,foreveryconceivablereason.Welivetogether.We’rebothjustgettingoutoflong-termrelationships.”
Sherollshereyes.“Youdon’thavetodiveintoanythingserious.Ifinalizedmydivorceoverayearago,andIhaveyettomakeittoathirddatewithanyone.”
“No,Iknowthat,”Isay.“Itcouldn’tevenbeserious,since…”
Hereyebrowsharplyarches.“Since?”
Iheaveasigh.Iwasn’tgoingtotellanyonefromthelibraryaboutthisuntilthingsweremoredefinite,butAshleigh’smyfriendnow.Ioweittoher.“I’mlookingforanewjob.”
Shestaresatme,likeshedoesn’tunderstand.“You’reobsessedwithyourjob.SometimesIcatchyoujuststaringatspreadsheetslikethey’rewinninglotterytickets.”
“Okay,that’sabitofanexaggeration,”Isay,“butyes,Ilovemyjob.It’sthetownI’mlesssoldon.Imean,Ilikeitasatown.ButIonlymovedhereforPeter.Mymom’sontheeastcoast,and…Idon’tknow.I’mjustnotsureIcanhackithere.I’msorryIdidn’ttellyousooner.”
Sheshakesherhead,setsherbaobundown.“Look,Igetit.We’readults.Wehavetodowhat’sbestforourselves.Itsucksforme,butIgetit.”
“Thanks,Ash.Really.”
Sheshrugs,picksherbaobunbackup,andtakesahugebite.Mouthfull,shesays,“Butifyou’renotstickingaround,andyoudon’twantanythingserious,thenIreallydon’tseewhattheissuewithMilesis.”
“Theissueis,”Ibegin,“hesaiditshouldn’thappenagain.”
“Huh,”shesays.
“Huh,what?”Isay,instantlypanickingalittle.
“Nothing,”sheassuresme.“Thatjustsurprisesme.Lastnighttherewasavibe.”
“IthinkMilescouldbealoneinaroomwithapaperbagandthere’dstillbeavibe,”Isay,though,honestly,I’mrelievedsomeoneelsepickeduponittoo.Thatitwasn’tjustwishfulthinking.
Ishakeitoff.Vibeornot,thebottomlineremainsunchanged.I’mnotgoingtohaveaone-nightstandwithmyroommate.
“CanIask…”Itrailoff,tryingtodecidehowtophraseit.“Isittoosoonformetoaskwhathappened?BetweenyouandDuke?”
“Well,sinceyoujusttoldmeaboutyourclandestineroommatehookup,”shesays,takingahugebiteofbaobun,“Ithinkwe’veofficiallygraduatedfromworkfriendstorealfriends.”
Myheartpinchesatthethought.IwishI’dmademoreofanefforttogettoknowhersooner.Evenbeforethebreakup,itwould’vebeennicetohaveafriendlikeAshleigh.
“Dukewasmyhighschoolboyfriend,”shesays,thenpausestochewforasecond.“Webrokeupwhenwewenttocollege.Thenwebothendedupbackhere.Eventually,weranintoeachotherattheYMCA,thenmetupathiscarintheparkinglot,asImentioned.”
“Gotit.”
“Soninemonthslater,Mulderisborn,”shesays.“AndDukewasgreatduringthepregnancy.Weweren’treallytogether,buthewaspresent.Andafterward,Ithinkwewerejustlike…drunkonourperfectnewbornbaby,sowhenhetoldmehewantedtomarryme,Iwaslike,Hellyeah,let’sdoit!We’realreadyafamily,youknow?
“Andfor,like,fiveyears,thingsweregood.ThenMulderstartedkindergarten,andIwentfull-timeatthelibrary.Mulderstartedtakingkarate,andgymnastics,andDukejoinedarechockeyteam,and…”Sheshrugs.“Idon’tknow.Westillworkedokay.Butourwholerelationshiprevolvedaroundourkid.EventheothercoupleswehungoutwithallhadkidsMulder’sage.That’showwechoseourfriends.It’showwechosewhatshowswewatched.Itwasallwetalkedabout.Andonceoursongotbusier,therelationshipjust…stoppedfeelinglikeenoughforme.
“Sowetrieddoingdatenights,andthathelped.Justhavingdedicatedtimeforthetwoofus.Butsomethingwasstilloff.Itfeltlike…likewe’dreachedourfinalform.Like,I’daskhimtotakeacookingclass,andhe’dsay,Wedon’tlikecooking,orI’dbelike,WhatifwemovedtoPortugal,andhe’dbelike,Wedon’thavejobsinPortugal.”
“Imean…Ihesitatetosaythis,butthoseseemlikereasonableresponses.”
“Oh,totally,”sheagrees.“Buttheconversationjustendedthere,everytime.Therewasn’taWhatifwevisitPortugalinthesummer.Therewasn’tevenaWhydoyousuddenlywanttomovetoPortugal?”
“Whydidyou?”Iask.
“Ididn’t,”shesays,likethisshouldbeobvious.“Ijustwantedtofeelless…settled.”
Isnort.“Weshould’vetradedlives.”
Ashleighshakesherhead.“There’ssteadinessanddependability,andthosearegreat.Butsettling?Justdecidingyoualreadyknoweverythingyoulikeanddislikeontheentireplanet,everythingyou’regoodat,everyfriendyou’regoingtomake,andeveryfoodyou’reevergoingtoeat?Theguywouldn’tevenletmerepaintourbedroom!Iwantedtoknownewpartsofhim,andIwantedtofindnewpartsofmyself.SoIaskedhimtogotocouples’counseling.”
“Anditdidn’twork?”Isay.
Shesmiles,butsomehowit’sthefirstflashofsadnessI’veseenonher.“Formeitdid.Buthewouldn’tgo.Hewaswillingtobegoodtome,buthewasn’twillingtobeanybetter.IstuckitoutaslongasIcould.ThenonedayIwokeup,andIcouldn’tanymore.SoItoldhim.Andapartofmeexpectedhimtofinallygetit.Tosayhe’ddotherapy,try.Buthedidn’t.”
“Shit,”Isay.“I’msosorry,Ashleigh.”
Shegivesablaséshrug.“Sometimesit’sterrible,butthiswasmychoice.IthinkalotofmyfriendsthoughtIwasaselfishidiot,givingupaprettygoodthingjustforthehopeofareallygoodthing.ButhowcanIteachmykidnottosettleifI’mnotwillingtofightforthelifeIwant?ItriedsohardtolovetheoneIhad,andifDukehadtriedtoo,Iwould’veheldon.Buthe’sjustoneofthoseguyswhodoesn’tbelieveinsharinghis‘business’withastranger,sotherapy’sout.
“Hedidn’tevenwantmetalkingtoourfriendsaboutitall,sowhenweseparated,itseemedlikeitwasoutofnowhere.Everyonetookhisside,andhonestly,eventheoneswhodidn’tstillstoppedinvitingmetothings.It’sawkwardtohaveonesinglepersoninaroomfullofcouples,Iguess.”
Aweightsinksthroughme.
IthinkaboutmylastconversationwithSadie:Youbothmattertoussomuch.Ithadhurt,tobelumpedinwithhim.Butwhathurtworsewas,Ididn’tbelieveit.
IfwebothmeantsomuchtoherandCooper,wouldn’tshehavecalledmeatsomepointinthelasttwoandahalfmonths?Shedidn’twantmeanymore,notonmyown.
“God.”Ashleighshakesherhead.“Maybethat’swhyI’msostarvedforgossip.IneverfeltlikeIcouldtellanyonewhatwasgoingonwithus.Damn,IthinkI’vehadabreakthrough,Vincent.”
“Nottomention,youknowmywholelastnamenow,”Isay.
“See?”Shetakesanotherbite.“Officialfriends.”16
TUESDAY,JUNE25TH
53DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
MilesisonhiswayoutthedoorwhenIgethome,apieceoftoastclampedinhismouthandhiskeys,phone,andwaterbottleclutchedinonehand.
“Runninglate?”Iguess,holdingthedooropensohecanslipout.
Henods,plucksthetoastfrombetweenhislips.“HadtogiveJuliaaride.Toadate.”
“She’sbeenhere,like,threedays,”Imarvel.
“Iknow.GuessshemethimatBARn.”
Afewsecondstickbyinwhichneitherofusseemstohaveanythingatalltosay.It’sthefirsttimewe’vebeenaloneintheapartmenttogethersinceJuliashowedup.
Ibreakfirst:“Anyway!I’llletyougo.”
“Right.Seeyoulater.”Heturnstogobutalmostimmediatelydoesanabout-face.“Iforgottomention,Ican’tdothisSunday.”
“Oh.”Itrynottolookcrestfallen.Itrynottobecrestfallen.It’shonestlyprobablyforthebestifwespendalittlelesstimetogether.“Noworries.”
“Thethingis,”hebegins.
“Miles,really,it’sfine,”Ipromise.
“No,Iknow,it’sjust…”Hepauses.“I’mcommittedtothisthingSaturdaynight.”
Inodeagerly,likeI’mnotonlypersonallyinvestedinbutalsothrilledbyhishavingplans.
“ButIhavetwotickets,”hesays.“SoIwasthinkingmaybeyou’dwanttogowithme?”
“Oh,”Isay.
Imusttaketoolongtogoon,becauseaslightsmiletugsathismouth,hiseyessparkingwithhumor.“There’snopressure,Daphne,”hesays.“Ifyoudon’twantto—”
“No,”Isay.“It’snotthat.”
Itisexactlythat.
“Ijustmighthavetogetsomeworkdone,”Isay.
Theworkbeing,notfindingmyselfalonewithMilesNowakonaSaturdaynightandincapableofmaintainingthefriendlyboundarieswe’veestablished.
“Sorry,”Iforceout.“Maybenexttime.”
Henods.“Sure,”hesays.“I’llseeyoulater.”
Inodtoo.“Seeyou.”
Hepopsthetoastbackbetweenhislipsanddisappearsintothestairwellattheendofthehall.
Ishutmyselfintotheapartmentandwaitforthefull-bodyregrettosimmerdown.
It’sforthebest.I’mstuckhereforatleastfifty-threemoredays,andI’mnotgoingtoblowupmylifeagaininthatwindow.
Idropmybagandshuffledeeperintotheapartment.Julia’sshoesareinthefronthall,herclotheseverywhereinthelivingroomandbeddingstillwaddedonthesofa.Thebathroomcounterissmearedwithmakeup,andshe’slefttwoseparatehairtoolspluggedin.
Minusthefirehazard,Idon’tmind.Asakid,Iwassojealousofmyfriendswhohadsiblings.MybestmemorieswereallofmovienightswithMomorourlongSaturdaymorningwandersthroughkitschshopsandrecordstores,butsomuchofmychildhoodwassittinginanotherwiseemptyapartment,longingforthekindofnoise,clutter,permanencethatcomesfromhavingafamily,ratherthanjustoneoverworkedmother.
Juliamightbeaslob,buthavingherstuffeverywheremakestheemptyapartmentfeelalittlelesslonely.
Iunplugherflatironandcleanupabit,thentakeashowerandmakesomeEasyMac.WhileIeat,Iemailpotentialsponsorsalongwithafewhigher-profileauthorswehostedbackattheRichmondlibrarytoaskwhethertheycouldrecordvideostoairaswemeetourfundraisinggoalsthroughoutthenight.ThenIcheckmyphonecalendaragainstthewallcalendar.Tomysurprise,Mileshasaddedhiswineryshiftsinblue,andJulia(Ipresume)hasaddedinscratchyred,acrossthisThursday:COMMITMURDER.
Underneathit,IscribbleassmallasIcan:CallFBIaboutJulia
ThenIgetinbedandtrytoread,withoutanysuccess.ThenItrytowatchanactionmovieandquicklyrealizeit’snotfuntowatchthatsortofthingalone,soItaketoscrollingsocialmedia,seeingcollegefriends’summerpregnancyannouncements,aRichmondcoworker’srecenttriptoThailandtoseefamily,andthen,withoutanywarning,theresheis,onmyscreen.
Petra.
Andsure,that’sjarringenough.Butit’snotwhatmakesmeflingmyphoneacrosstheroom,pulseracing.
It’swhopostedthepicture.It’swhoelseisinit.
Thetinywomanwithher,armswrappedaroundPetra,bothofthembeaminginfrontofdecimatedplatesofchocolatewafflesonanorange-checkedtablecloth.
Ionlysawtheimageforasecond,butit’ssearedintomymind.
Howcoulditnotbe,whenIrecognizethetablecloth,thewaffles,andevenPetra’sbeamingfriend?
Icrawlacrossthebed,heartinmythroat,andbracemyselfbeforeflippingthephonefaceupagain.
Cooperpostedthepicture.Idon’tneedthegeotag—RICHMOND,VIRGINIA—toknowwheretheshotwastaken.It’sourbrunchspot.Theonehe,Sadie,Peter,andIusedtogotomostSaturdays.
PeterandPetraarevisitingthem.
Ican’tbreathe.Myclothesfeeltootight,myskinhotanditchy.Istumbletothewindowandmyarmshavegonetooweaktoopenitonthefirsttry.WhenIfinallydo,there’snobreezetobreaktheheat,anyway.
It’sonethingtobereplacedbyanex.It’sanothertofeellikeyourwholelifehasbeenhandedovertosomeoneelse.
IthinkImightbesick.Ievengointothebathroom,justincase.
Thisisyourfault,avoicewhispersfromthebackofmymind.You’retheonewhobuilteverythingaroundhim
Movedtohishometown.LetSadie’sandmyrelationshipgetabsorbedbythefourofus,ourweeklygirls’nightsbecomingdoubledates,ourweekendtripsreplacedwithcouples’vacations,ourconversationsunfoldinginourgroupchatinsteadofonlongphonecalls.I’mtheonewhoputallmyeggsintheincrediblyawkwardbasketofwillfullybefriendingScottandtherestofPeter’sWaningBaybuddiesinsteadofmakingmyown—nevermindhowharditistomakeheadwayintoagroupwho’smostlyinterestedinrehashingsharedmemories.MovedintoahousethatbelongedonlytoPeter.
Mileswasright.IneedtostopfixatingonhowmuchI’velost,andfocusonbuildingsomethingnew.Ialreadyknewmyoldlifewasover.Sittinghereandsimmeringinitwon’tdomeanygood.
Iclosethetoiletandsitatopthelid,pullingupmymessageswithAshleigh.YousaidyouhadahobbyIcouldborrow?Itype.
EveryfourthWednesdayofthemonth.AKAtomorrow,shewrites.Youin?
Whatisit?Iask.Allyousaidisitisn’t“organizedexercise.”
Stilltrue,shereplies.Don’tshowupinraggedysweats.
IsitDISorganizedexercise?Iask.
That’scertainlycloser,shesays.
Great,Isay,andthenItextMilestoo.Maybeit’samistake,maybeit’snotsmart,butbeing“smart”hasn’tpaidoffwellformethusfar.
I’minforSaturday,Itellhim.
?ThisisnothowIpicturedAshleigh’smonthlypokernight.
Foronething,themanwhoanswersthedoortothebilevelfivemilesoutsidetownisn’tastranger.
He’saseventy-something-year-olddeadringerforMorganFreeman,aslongasyouignorethefullRedWings–brandedsweatsuitandmatchingslippers,whichdon’tstrikemeasaparticularlyFreemanesquesartorialchoice.
“Abouttimeyoushowedup!”hegreetsusandstepsasidetoletusintohishome.
“Harvey!”Isay,toostunnedtomove.
“Sorrywe’relate.”Ashleightipsherheadtowardme.“Daphne’sfault,obviously.”
Harveysnorts.“IknowI’vegotayouthfulglow,butIwasn’tbornyesterday.Comein,comein.Shoesoff.Everyone’sbackinthebreakfastnook.”
IslipmyloafersoffnexttoAshleigh’sknee-highbootsandwefollowHarveydownanarrow,wood-paneledwalltowardthesoundofsmoothjazzandthepotentsmellofcigarsmoke.Everyinchofthewallsisdevotedtoatleastthreegenerationsoffamilyphotos,rangingfromrecentshotsofhisgranddaughters’soccertournamentsallthewaybacktotime-fadedweddingportraitsofhimandhislatewife.
“Sohowlonghasthispokernightbeengoingon?”Iask.
“LiterallysinceIwasborn,”Ashleighsays,“butIwasn’tallowedtojoinuntilIwaseighteen.”
“You’veknowneachotherthatlong?”Isay,surprised.They’refriendlyatwork,butI’veneveroncegottenthesensethattheyactuallyknoweachother.
“Sinceshewastwofeettall,”Harveytellsmenow.
“Soeighthgrade,”Isay,andhehacksoutalaugh.
“Harveyhasthiswholethingabout‘notshowingfavoritism’atwork.”Ashleighmakesfingerquotes.“Heevenmadethedistrictmanagerdomyjobinterviewratherthanjusthiringme.”
“Wouldn’tyouhatewonderingwhetheryou’dreallydeserveditornot?”heasks.
“Notreally,no,”shesays.
Harveymovesoutofthehallway,sowecanslideintothebreakfastnookafterhim.“Lookwhodecidedtofinallyshowup,”hesays,“andshebroughtusanewfifth!”
“Trialbasisonly,”Ashleighsays.“We’llseeifshecanholdherown.ThisisDaphne.Daphne,thisis—”
“Lenore!”Isay,shockedanewtospottall,ganglyLenorefromtheasparagusstand,tuckedbackinthechairclosesttotheroom’sbaywindow.Andrightbesideher,thefinalparticipantinpokernight,tinyanddark-haired:“Barb!”
They’rebothwearingthesamevisorsaswhenImetthem.Bothhavematchingcigarshangingoutoftheirmouths.Lenoreyankshersoutfrombetweenherlipsasshestandstogreetme.“Whatanicesurprise!”
Ashleighlooksbetweenus.“Youknoweachother?”
“We’vemet,”Isay,rightasBarbchimesin,“She’sourfriendMiles’snewgirl!”
Smalltowns
“HowdoyouknowMiles?”Ashleighasks.
RightasIsay,“Oh,we’rejustfriends.”
RightasHarveysays,“WhothehellisMiles?”andsinksintooneofthecane-backeddiningchairs.It’sthefirsttimeI’veeverheardHarveyswear.StilllessshockingthantheRedWingsslippers.
LenoreasksAshleigh,“Howdoyoutwoknoweachother?”
“Daphneworkswithusatthelibrary,”Ashleighreplies.
“Who’sthisMilesfellow?”Harveysays.
“Milesismyroommate,”Iclarify,atwhichLenoreandBarbexchangeaknowinglook.
AshleighslingsherhugepurseontotheflooranddropsintothechairbesideHarvey,leavingmetotaketheonenexttoBarb.Harveyplucksacigarfromasmallwoodenboxinthecenterofthelaminatetable,thenslidestheboxtowardus.
“No,thanks,”Isay.Ashleighpopsonerightout,reachingforthecigarcutterinthebox’slid.“Sohowdoallofyouknoweachother?”Iask.
Harveystartstoshuffle.“Oh,weallgowayback.”
“GraceEpiscopal.”Lenorenodslike,Youunderstand
Idon’t.
“Mymomwasthepriestthere,”Ashleighexplains.“Mystepmom,technically,butmydaddiedwhenIwastiny,andmymommarriedAdarawhenIwassix,soshewasaparenttomeforbasicallyaslongasIcanremember.”
Asadnessfluttersthroughtheroom.HarveysetshishandatopAshleigh’sandgivesitasqueeze.“Shewasagoodwoman.”
“Thebest.”Lenoreexhalesaperfectringofsmoketowardtheopenbaywindow.“Greatpokerplayertoo.”
BeforeIcanask—ordecideifIshould—Ashleighsayscurtly,“Stomachcancer.Fiveandahalfyearsago.”
Ithinkofmyownmotherandfeellikemychestmightcrumple.“I’msosorry.Ihadnoidea.”
“It’shard.”Shecupsahandaroundhercigarasshelightsit.“WhenwelostAdara,Momreallyneededtobesomewherenew,soshemovedouttoSedona,wherehersisterlives.MulderandImissbothofthemalot,butatleastwithoutMomandAdarainthegameundercuttingme,Icanfinallytakethesegeezersforallthey’reworth.”
Lenorescoffs.“Goodluck.”
“Shetaughtmeeverythingsheknew,”Ashleighsays,handsup,cigardanglingfromthecornerofhermouthlikeaHunterS.Thompsoncharacter.“I’mtheheirapparenthere.”
“Would’vebeen,”Barbreplies,“ifyou’dbeenthekindofkidwholistenstoadamnwordyourelderssay.”
Theyooh.Theyaah.Theytrash-talk.Theykeepaccusingeachotherofputtingofftheinevitable,untilfinallyweplaythefirstround.
Iquicklyfold,nothingbutapairoftwosinmyhand.Harveycelebrateshiswinningroyalflushbyshufflingintothekitchenandcomingbackwithabottleofnicescotch.HepoursalittleforeachofusandBarbputsanewrecordon.
“Roundtwo,”Lenoresays,rubbingherhandstogether.
Bytheendofthenight,I’velostfortybucks,wonelevenofitback,smokedmyfirstcigar,andpromisedtogotoHarvey’sseventy-fifthbirthdayparty,whichisn’tuntilOctober—threeandahalfmonthsfromnow—butforwhichplanninghasalreadycommenced.
“We’regoingtorentapartybusandgodowntothecasino!”Barbtellsme,eyessparklingfromlaughing,drinking,smoking,andsoundlykickingourassesatthecardtable.
“AssumingIdon’tkickthebucketbeforethen,”Harveysays.
“Oh,no,we’llstillrentthepartybus,”Lenoreputsin.“It’lljustbeafuneralinsteadofabirthday.”
“Goingoutinstyle,”Harveysays.
“Shouldwemakesureyou’rewearingyoursignaturelook?”Iask,gesturingtowardhisgetup.AssoonasI’vesaidit,Ifeelthatfamiliarohshitdipinmystomach,unsurewhetherthejokecrossedaninvisibleline.
ButHarvey’scoughingoutalaughalongwithacloudofsmoke.“Youcancomeback,”Harveytellsme;thentoAshleigh,pointedly,“Bringherback.”Then,tomeagain:“Justdon’texpectspecialtreatmentatwork.”
Icrossmyheart.
Atthefrontdoor,weallexchangehugsfarewell,thenAshleighandIsliponourshoesandstepoutintothequietcul-de-sac.Mostoftheotherhousesareeithertotallydarkorhaveonelonebulbglowingbesidetheirfrontdoors,butifAshleigh’stobebelieved,pokernightisjustgettingstarted.
“Shareacab?”sheasks,swayingslightlyonthespotasshesummonsoneonherphone.
Neitherofusisfittodrive.“Firstahobby,thenacab,”Isay.“What’snext?”
“Adeadlysecret,”Ashleighdeadpans.
AtleastIthinkit’sajoke.
“Thatwasreallyfun,”Isay.“Ihaven’tbeentoapartysince…”Ithinkforamoment.“Myengagementparty,Iguess.”
“Youthoughtthatwasaparty?”shesays.“Wereallydoneedtogetyououtmore.”
Ishrug.“I’vealwaysbeenkindofatagalong,Iguess.OnlylatelyIhaven’thadanyonetotagalongafter.”
“You’renotatagalong,”shesays.“You’reawe-girl.”
“Likeaweelass?”Iask.
“No,like,Welovethatrestaurant.Wealwaysvacationthere.Wedon’treallylikescarymovies.Awomanwho’smorecomfortablebeingapartofawhole,whonevergoesanywherewithoutapartner.”
“Shit,”Isay.“You’reright.”
“OfcourseI’mright,”shesays.“I’mwise.”
Thefirstwewasmymomandme,thenitwasSadieandme,thenPeter.I’vealwayscleavedtothepeopleIlove,triedtoorientmyorbitaroundthem.Maybe,Irealize,I’vebeentryingtomakemyselfun-leave-able.Butithasn’tworked.
“Idon’twanttojustbeapartofwe,”Isay.“IwanttobeanI.”
“You’realreadyanI.It’sjustabouthowmuchyouembraceit.”
“Iguess,”Isay.
Ashleighappraisesme.“Youheldyourowntonight.”
“Yeah,well,Ihaveafeelingtheywenteasyonme,”Isay.
“Oh,theytreatedyoulikeyouweremadeofglass,”sheagrees,herheadcockedandgazeappraising.“Butyou’renotsodelicate,Vincent.”
“I’mnot.”Itfeelstrue,atleastrightnow.I’mnotsodelicate.Lonely,hurt,angry,alittlebitwhiny?Sure.
Butnotdelicate.
MaybeIcouldhandlestayinghere,wheremylifefellapart.MaybeIcouldstartover,makingsomethingmyownthistime.
Thecabpullsup.
“Ashleigh?”Isay.
“Hm?”shesays.
“Thankyou,”Isay.“Really.”
Sherollshereyes.“Weneededafifth.”
Ishakemyhead.“Notjustthat.Forbeingmyfriend.Forstillgivingmeachance,afterthelastyear.”
Herever-bluntfeaturessoften.“Youknow,”shesays,“Ineededonetoo.”
“I’mgladitcouldbeme,”Itellher.
“Rightbackatyou.”Thecabdriverflasheshislightsatus,andwithourarmsslungovereachother’sshoulders,wewobbledownthedrivewaytomeethim.
ForreasonsIdon’tcompletelyunderstand,IfeellikeIcouldcry.17
SATURDAY,JUNE29TH
49DAYSUNTILICANLEAVE
“Whydon’tyoujusttellme?”IaskMilesasIfollowhimintothekitchen.
“Because,”hesays,openingthefridge,“youalreadyagreedtogo.”
“Andyou’reafraidI’llbackoutonceIknowwhatitis?”Iask.
Hepullsthewaterpitcherout,fillshisglass,anddrinksthewholething,whilesmirkingatme.
“Comeon,Miles,”Isay.“Ihatesurprises.”
“Thenyoushould’veaskedquestionsbeforeyousaidyou’dgowithme,”hesays.
“Areweskydiving?”Iask.
Herefillsthepitcheratthesink.“Idoubtit.”
“Doeswhatwe’redoinginvolveheavymanuallabor?”Iask.
Heputsthepitcherbackinthefridge.“Goputonsomethingnice,Daphne.Wehavetoleavesoon.”Hesqueezespastmetoleavethekitchen.
“Funeral?”Icallafterhim.
Hepausesandlooksbackatme.“Closer.”
“Pleasetellmethat’sajoke,”Isay.
Hissmirksplitsintoagrin.“Youcanwearred,ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”
“Afuneralforsomeoneyouhate?”Isay.
Helaughsandducksaway.“Bereadyinhalfanhour,”hesays,somewhereoutofview.
Inmybedroom,IputontheonlyreallynicedressIhave,thesamebacklessblackoneIworetomyengagementpartyandtoCherryHillwithAshleighthatfirstnight.SheandJuliaareoutatalocaljazzclubtonight,soImessagetheminagroupchat:doeitherofyouknowwhereMilesandIaregoing?
Juliawrites,hestillhasn’ttoldyou?
Ashleighsays,lmaoyesIdo.
Isendabunchofquestionmarks.
Juliasays,ohmygodshejusttoldme
Whatisit,Iask.
Ashleighonlyreplieswithawinkyface.Juliaadds,takelotsofpicsPLEASE.
?SENIORPROM,readsthesilverbanner.It’sstrungbetweenthetwocolumnsthatframethebaby-pinkbeachsideresort’sfrontdoors,abouquetofblackandsilverballoonsoneithersideofit.
Miles’struckrumblestoastopinfrontofthem.
“What,”Isay.
“Don’tworry.”Milesputsthecarinpark.“It’sgoingtogetalotweirder.”
Ateenagevaletcomessprintingoutofthehotel,andMilesgetsoutofthetrucktohandoverhiscarkeys.Ifollowsuitandhemeetsmeatthefrontdoor.
“It’sthemiddleofthesummer,”Isay.
“Junetwenty-ninth,”heagrees.
“We’re,like,thirty-fiveyearsold,”Ipointoutnext.
“Yes,weare,”Milessays.
“Howareweataseniorprom?”Iask.
“Howareanyofusanywhere?”heteases.“Comeon.”Hesetsahandagainstthesmallofmyback,atingleleapingupmyvertebraeasIletthelighttouchguidemeintothehotel’sopulentlobby.
Glossytiledfloorstoppedwiththickfloralrugsandboldlyclashinggeometricwallpaper,velvetchairsarrangedinseatingareasoneithersideofus,andamountedsignstraightahead:WaningBayHistoricalSocietySeniorProm
Thearrowbeneathitpointsleft.
IglanceatMiles,wholooksdelightedbymyutterbafflement.Hegrabsmyhandandleadsmedownthecarpetedhallway,musicswellingaswereachthepropped-opendoubledoorsattheend.
Westepthroughandpassbeneathanarchofsilverballoonsintoaballroombedeckedinshimmeringstreamersandballoonsfilledwithglitter.White-clothedtablestoppedwithplumpbouquetsofwhiterosesringaglossydancefloor,beyondwhicharowofbackdoorssitopenontoaverandalimnedintwinklinglights,couplesalreadystandingaroundthehigh-toptablesoutthere,chattingwithcocktailsinhand.
That’swhenIfinallynoticethegueststhemselves,allextravagantlydressed,somenearbyextravagantlyperfumed,mostwithoneobvioustraitincommon.
“Ohmygod.”IspintowardMilesanddropmyvoice.“Whatisthis?”
“It’saseniorprom,”hesays,grinningdownatme.
Senior,here,hasadifferentconnotationentirely.We’reprobablyoneofthreecouplesherewhodon’trememberthedayofthefirstlunarlanding.
Hescoopstwochampagneflutesoffthesilvertrayofapassingcater-waiter.
“Thiswillhelpwiththeshock,”Milessays,liftingoneofthechampagneflutesuptomylips.
Ijustbarelymanagetoswallowmymouthfulofwineinsteadofspewingit.“Please,”Isay,“explainthistomelikeI’mnewtotheplanet.”
“You’renewishtoWaningBay,”hesays,“sotheeffect’sthesame.”
“Whatschoolisthisfor?”Iask.
“Noschool,”hesays.“It’safundraiserthehistoricalsocietydoeseveryyear.Tonsofbusinessownershere.Ithoughtitcouldbeagoodplaceforyoutomeetsponsors.FortheRead-a-thon.”
I’msoweirdlytouchedbythisthatmywholebodyfeelsabouttwentydegreeswarmerthanitdidasecondago.Thenagain,thatcouldbethewineIjustchugged
“That’ssweet,”Itellhim,“butitdoesn’texplainwhyyou’rehere.Youalreadyhadthesetickets.”
“Well,firstofall…”Heleansinclose,dropshisvoicetoawhisperagainstmyear.“Iloveoldpeople.”
“Ihavenoticedyoutendtodowellwiththeover-seventyset,”Iallow.“Thenagain,you’renotsobadwiththeunder-seventyset.”
Herollshiseyes,buthe’ssmiling.“Iguessit’snicebeingaroundpeoplewho’vemadeitthroughshit,youknow?”Heshrugs.“Likeprobablyalltheirworstmistakesarebehindthem,andtheyknowwhotheyarenow,andhowtobewhotheywanttobe.”
Ifeelmysmilefalling,myheartsoftening.There’ssomethingwistfulinhisvoice.AndI’mnotusedtowistfulMiles.
“Plus,”hesays,brightening,“Lenore’sontheboardforthesociety,andshebadgeredmeinto‘doingmypart’andbuyingacoupleseats.”Hetouchesmyback,tippinghischintowardthemahoganybaracrosstheballroom.“Here,let’sgetarealdrink.”
Aswemakeourwayoverandjointhebackofthemercifullyshortline,somethingdawnsonme:“Yousaid‘firstofall.’?”
Miles’sbrowwrinkles.“What?”
“Yousaid,firstofall,youlove”—Isilentlymoutholdpeople,sonooneinlinewillhearit—“butyoudidn’tbuytwoticketsforthisjustbecauseof…”
Itrailoffasithitsme.
Well,partlyItrailoffbecauseithitsme.
Mostly,ItrailoffbecauseattheexactsametimethatitoccurstomewhyMilesmighthavetwoticketstothisevent,thesecondreasonwhyhappenstowalkthroughtheballoonarch.
Blond,willowy,lookingspectacularinseafoamgreenwithonehanddelicatelycrookedinthearmofherequallyspectaculartux-wearingdate.
MilesandIlookateachother,mirroringeachother’sshockandhorror,anendlessloopofOh,god,anythingbutthis
“Iassumedshewouldn’tcome,”Milesspitsout.
“Uh-huh”isallIcanmanage.Mybrainisbusyplanningescaperoutes.WithPeterandPetrastillstandingjustinsidethedoorway,ourbestbetwouldbetosprintoutontotheveranda,pitchourselvesovertherailing,andbellyflophardontothesandybeachbelow.
“I’mtheonewhoboughtthetickets,”Milesissaying.“SoIjustassumedshewouldn’tcome.”
“Whatdowedo?”Iaskhim.
“Imean,”Milessays,“wecouldsayhi?Orjustignorethem?It’sabigroom.”
Suddenly,theentirestateofMichigandoesn’tfeellargeenoughforallfourofus.
Iglancebacktothedoors.PeterandPetrahavemovedoffalongthewall,serpentiningthroughthetablestowardagroupofpeopleinthebackcorner.
“GrannyComer’shere,”Milesgrunts.
“GrannyComer?”Irepeat,aghast.
“Petra’sgrandmother,”hehelpfullysupplies.
“No,Igatheredthat.Ijustcan’tbelievethat’swhattheycallher.Dotheysecretlyhateher?”
“No,theyloveher,”hesays.“It’smetheysecretlyhated.”
“SotheyhavejustasbadtasteasPetra,then,”Ibiteout.
Hesmiles,butit’squick;there,thengone.“Doyouwanttorun?”
ObviouslyIdo.
ButI’malsothinkingaboutthepictureofPeterandPetrawithSadieandCooper,aboutallthosesacredplacesinRichmondthatdon’tbelongtomeanymore,aboutthehousethatwasn’teverreallymine,andaboutPetrabringingPeterhere,evenknowingMilesalreadyhadtickets.
“Ma’am?”thebartendercallstowardus.
We’vemadeittothefrontoftheline;she’swaitingforustoorder.IlockeyeswithMiles.“Ifyouneedto,wecanrun,”hesays.“But…”Hisheadtips,eyesglimmeringbeneathhisdarklashes.
“But?”Isay.
“Wecouldalsostay,”Milesreplies.“Drink.Dance.Havefun.”
“Inaroomwithourexes,”Ipointout.“Whothinkwe’redating.”
Miles’ssmilehitchesup.“See?”hesays.“Doesn’tthatsoundfun?”
“Ma’am?”thebartendersays,moreloudlythistime.
Weshouldn’thavetoleave.Ifthey’reuncomfortable,theycango.
Iturnbacktoher.“Twoshotsofwhiskey,please.”18
Asusual,Milesknowseveryone.
Fromthetimewerealizethere’sabanquettablecoveredindessertsoutontheverandaandstarttowardit,wecan’tmakeitfurtherthantwoyardsatatimewithoutbeingwaylaidbyanotherwhite-hairedorgray-beardedMilesNowaksuperfan.
Mystomachisjustemptyenoughtoletthewhiskeyshotdothesocializing,whichisforthebest,becausewhenLancetheHobbyShopOwneranswersMiles’squestionsabouthowbusinessisgoing(“So-so—kidsthesedaysdon’tlikebuildingliketheyusedto”),Milesneatlypivotswith,“Ibetthelibrarykidswouldloveit.HaveyouthoughtaboutdonatingsomeDIYkitstotheRead-a-thon?”
Towhich,ofcourse,Lancereplies,“What’saRead-a-thon,”andMilesverygentlynudgesmeforward,anglinghimselftowardmewithalittlereassuringnod.
Ordinarily,I’drathershavemylegswithabrokenbeerbottlethangiveanimpromptuverbalpitch,buthe’steedmeupsonicely,andI’malreadyinaballroomwithmyex-fiancé,sowhat’stheworstthatcouldhappen?
“It’safundraiser,”Itellhim.
AndwhenI’mdonetellinghimaboutthefundraiser,Ifindmyselftalkingaboutthekids,aboutthestaff,aboutourdesperateneedforanupdatedstockofkidlit,andbytheendofourconversation,Lancehasnotonlypledgedtenkite-buildingsetsforprizesbutalsoofferedtohostaminiature-paintingclassforusinthefall.
Bythetimeweactuallymakeittothedesserttable,I’vealsomet:Miles’sfavoritecheesemonger,theownerofCherryCityCherryGoods,MollyofMolly’sPopcornEmporiumfame,andtheguywhorunsthewalk-upicecreamplace,FrostyDips.I’vealsohadanexceptionallybriefconversationwithBarbandLenore,rightbeforeavolunteerranuprequiringtheirassistance“breakingupsomenecking”intheindoorpoolroom.
Inthelasthour,theRead-a-thonhasrackedup:afreecharcuterieboardforitsvolunteers,onehundredgiftbagsofchocolate-coveredcherries,anassortmentofpopcorn,andonelarge(tax-free)cashdonation.
I,meanwhile,haveaccumulatedasurplusofbothaweandhunger.AsMilesandIhoveroverthedesserttable,loadingasharedplateupwithcookiesandcakeslicesandindividualcupsofchocolateganache,Isay,stillhalf-dazed,“Idon’tunderstandhowyoujustdidthat.”
Hehandsmeapinkmacaron,whichIputdirectlyintomymouth.“Ididn’tdoanything,”hesays.“Peoplecareaboutwhatyou’redoing.”
“Maybe,”Isay,mouthfull.“ButI’vebeentryingtogetaholdofsomeonefromFrostyDipsforawhile.”
“Well,DillardfromFrostyDips’sbrotherrunsthehardwarestoreslashbarbershopIgoto,”Milessays.
“I’vebeenherelongenoughtojustacceptthatsentence,”Isay.“IalsoemailedPopcornEmporiumbackinMarch.”
Milesfrownsatthat,addsalightgoldenmacarontotheplate.“Iknowthissucks,butsometimespeopleneedtoputafaceonsomethingbeforethey’rewillingtohelp.Anemaildoesn’tdothat.”
“Thankyouforbeingtheface,”Isay.
Heturnstowardme.“Youmadethemcare,notme.”
“Well,IthinkmybeingthefakegirlfriendofthemayorofWaningBaydidn’thurt.Sothanks.Really.”
Heturnstowardme,smilingthroughthetwinklinglights,andtapsalime-greenmacaroninbetweenmylips.“Anytime,”hesays.
Imanagenottomoan,butitstillfeelstoointimate.Theverandaisalmostentirelyabandoned,anddarkerthantheballroom,anddespitethebreeze,Ifeelflushed.
Iclearmythroat.“Shouldwegoinside?”
“Ifyouwant,”hehums.
“Let’sdoit,”Isay,andstartforward.
Butinchoosingwhethertostayouthereintheelectricdarkalonewithhimorgobackintoacrowdedroom,Iforgottocalculateforoneimportantvariable.
Theonewenearlyrunsmackintoassoonaswegetinside.
Petra’saquamarineeyesflare,foramillisecond,beforeherexpressionmeltsintoawarmsmileandathroatyfemmefatalepurrof“Ohmygod,it’ssogoodtoseeyouguys.”
TowhichIsaynothing,largelybecauseshe’salreadywrappedmeinahugthatsmellslikesandalwood,aglossycurtainofblondcompletelyobscuringmyvisionuntilshepullsaway.
ShegoesforMilesnext,doesn’thurlherselfathimlikeshedidme,butinsteaddrawsupontohertiptoesandsqueezeshimtoher.
Oneofhisarmscomesupacrossherback,hisotherhandsettingthedessertplatedownonthetablenexttous.
Hemanageshisown,even“Youtoo”toher,andIwishforthefloortoopenupandswallowmewholeortheboozetoknockmeoutcold.
“Youlookbeautiful,”Petrasays,squeezingmyforearm.
“Thanks,”Iforceout.“Youtoo.”
“Ilovethisdress,”shesays.“It’ssodifferent!Yourusualstyleisso…buttonedup.”
Ouch.
Milestouchesmyback,hishandskimmingovertomyfarhip,pullingmeintohisside.“Likeasecret,”hesays.
Ilookupathim,thegratitudeinmyupperabdomengivingwaytoanache,awant.
“Oralibrarian,”Peteraddstartly,andeventhoughI’mninetypercentsurehedidn’tmeanthisasadigatme,thewindstillleavesmysailsatbeingremindedofthedisparitybetweenmeandthewomanbothmenpresenthaveloved.
Miles’shandslidesforwardfrommyhiparoundmystomach,drawingmeintohimsothatmybackispressedtohisfront.“Yeah,I’vealwayshadathingaboutthat,”hesays.
“Aboutwhat?”Petrasays.
“Hotlibrarians,”hesays,lookingdownatmewithafaintgrinthathitsmyheartlikethefirstshockofadefibrillator.
“Whataboutyou,Daphne?”Petersays.
Iflinch,lookbackathim.Idon’tknowiftheyrealizethey’redoingit,butPeterandPetrahavedrawnclosertoo,likethisissomecompetitiveDirtyDancingsituation.
He’sgotanarmhookedaroundherwaist,andshe’ssetahandproprietarilyonhischest.“Youbeenharboringasecretbartenderfantasy?”Peterasksdryly.
Andonceagain,I’mmostlysurehe’snottryingtobeadicktome,butI’malsosurehedoesmeantobeadicktoMiles.
JudgingfromPetra’sgapingmouthandtightbrow,shethinkssotoo.
Andthenthere’sMiles,whoIfeeltensebehindme,eventhoughhe’sstillsmiling,onehandstillgentlyrubbingovermyhipbonelikehe’snotbotheredatall.
Iam.I’mbothered.
“No,”Isayfirmly,turningintoMiles.Iloopmyownarmsaroundhiswaist,basicallyproppingmyboobsuponhischest,andgazingintohiseyesasIsay,“Buttheroommatethingisprettyhot.”
Miles’spupilsflareashetakesthecue,onehandcuppingmyjaw,andkissesme.
AndI’vekissedMilesinfrontofPeterbefore—akissthatwasamoveinagame—butthisfeelsdifferent.
Thisoneistheprize.
Slow,soft,familiar.Areliefofakiss,andoverway,waytoosoon,thoughfromthewayPetraisgawkingatus,you’dthinkwe’djustperformedahandstandingsixty-nineinfrontofGodandeveryone.
Milesknotshishandthroughmine,hisknucklestighteningasheclearshisthroat.“Excuseus,”hesays.“I’vebeenwaitingallweektodancewithDaphne.”
Hetugsmeawayfromthem,andIfollow,brainfoggybutheartracingasitallreplays.
Thelight,upwardbrushofhislips,thepressureofhistongue,thewayhishandrolledbackandforthacrossmyhipbonewhilehisothertiltedmyjawtotheperfectangle.
Wedrawtoastopnearthecenterofthedancefloor,thetwinklinglightsseemingtoshimmeranddanceacrosshisfaceasthemirrorballtwirlsoverus.“Youokay?”heasks.
“Yeah,good,”Isay,voicesmall.
“Good,”hesays,andfoldshisfingersthroughmineagain,drawingmein,alreadyslightlyswayingalongtoNeilYoung’s“HarvestMoon.”Hesetshisotherhandagainstmyback,everymotionsoslow,soconsidered,everysecondengravingitselfintomymemory.
“I’msorry,”Isay.Hisbrowfurrows.“ForwhatPetersaid.”
“Ah.”Hisshouldertwitchestowardashrug.“It’sfine.”
“It’snot,”Isay.
“It’snothingIdidn’thearfromPetra’sfamilyforthelastthreeyears,”hereplies.
Myhandinvoluntarilyclenchesintothefabricofhisshirt,likethatwilldoanygood,protecthimfromanyonewhodoesn’tunderstandwhatkindofgiftheis
“Ithoughtyousaidtheywerenice,”Isay.
“No,theywere.”Anothershrug,asidelongdartofhiseyesbeforetheydrop.“Everyonceinawhile,though,therewerecomments.‘Mustbenicenottohavetogrowup.’Thingslikethat.”
“Miles.That’snotnice.”
“ShealwaysthoughtIwasreadingtoomuchintoit,”hesays.“ButIthinktheywereworriedIcouldn’tgivePetraeverythingtheywantforher.”
“Thenthey’renotonlymean,they’realsostupid.”
“Theyhadapoint,”hesays.“I’veneverbeengoodunderpressure.Iwould’vefuckeditupeventually.”
“Basedonwhat?”Idemand.
Hissmileisrueful.“History.”
Forseveralseconds,neitherofusspeaks.Wejustslowlyswayandturnwiththemusic.“Thankyou,bytheway,”hemurmurs.“ForwhatyousaidtoPeter.”
IttakesmeasecondtorememberwhatIsaid,andthenthelavastartscoursingthroughmyface.“Sorryaboutthat.”
Mileslaughs.“No,don’tbeembarrassed.”Hetouchesmycheekforasecond,thenfeelsmyblushwiththebacksofhisfingers.“Itwasamazing.IthinkPeter’ssoullefthisbodyforasecond.”
Theflirty,nervousbuzzinmychestdiesatthementionofPeter.IknowI’vebeenawillingparticipantinthiswholegame,butthecloserIgettoMiles,theharderitistotellwhat’sreal.
“Well,what’sembarrassingaboutcoppingtoaroommatesexfantasyrightafteryourex’shotfiancéecallsyoudowdy?”
“Shedidnotcallyoudowdy,”Milessays.Hetwirlsme,pullsmebackincloser,ourbodiesfittingsnuglytogether,everypointoffrictionitsownlittlesun,heatandgravityandheatandgravity.
“Defendherallyouwant,Miles—”
“I’mnotdefendingher,”hesays.“Iknowshedidn’tsaythat,becausethere’snowayshethinksthat.Imean,obviously,you’re…”Hiseyescascadedownme.
“It’sfine,”Ipromise.“I’mfinewithhowIlook,exceptwhenIhavetostandnexttomyex’ssuperhotgirlfriendandreallyunderscorethetrade-up.”
Milesstopsmovingabruptly.“Don’tsaythat.”
“It’strue,”Isay.“Somethingbetteralwayscomesalong.That’smycurse.”
“Daphne.”Hegivesalow,scrapinglaugh,buthiseyesstayserious.“Youcan’tseehimrightnow,butPeterisliterallystandinginagapattheedgeofthedancefloor,watchingyoureverymove,andinasecond,I’mgoingtoturnyouninetydegreesandkissyouagain,andwhenIstop,Iwantyoutolooktoyourleftandseehisface.Thenyoucantellmeifhethinkshisnewlife,withoutyou,issomethingbetter.”
Andassoonashesaysthelastword,hedoesit.Movesusinahalf-turn,dropshisnosealongmine,andit’slikewepickedupwherethatlastkissleftoff,everythingalreadymoreurgent,intensefromthejump.
AndI’mnotwonderingwhatPeterthinksofallthiswhenMilespartsmylipswithhistongue,hishandslidingfirmlydowntothecurveofmyass.AndwhenMiles’sotherhandwindsitselfintomyhair,andmyspinearchesupintohimofitsownaccord,I’mthinkingonlyofthespicyscentofginger,thetasteofespressomacaroninhismouth,thefeelingofhiserectionbetweenus.
Forafewseconds,I’mnothingbutabodyseekingmoreofhis.
Ionlyregainawarenesswhenacoupleofoldladiesinbeadedmother-of-the-bride-typesetsstarthootingandclappingforusatanearbytable.
Milestouchesmychinwithhisthumbashesweepsonelastkissovermymouth.Hestraightensup.“Lookleft,”hesaysscratchily.
ButIdon’t.Instead,Istepback.ThenIturnandrun.19
Iplantodartintoabathroomandcatchmybreath,convincemybraintoquitspinning.ButIdon’tpassabathroom,soinsteadIfindmyselfburstingthroughthefrontdoorssoforcefullythatthevaletyelpsinsurprise.
“Sorry!”Istammer,movingtowardthedarkparkinglot.
“Daphne!”Milescalls,joggingafterme.“Daphne?”
Islowtoastopandtrytoseemandbeasnormalaspossible.“I’mokay,”Isay,facinghim.“Justgotalittledizzy.”
“Shit.”Hecomescloser,touchesmywaistashehunchestopeerintomyeyes.“You’reprobablydehydrated.Let’ssitdownandI’llgetyousomewater.”
Ishakemyhead.“No,it’sfine.IthinkIshouldjustheadhome.”
“I’llgetthekeysfromthevalet,”hesays.
“No,”Iinsist.“I’llgrabacab.”
Hestudiesmewiththewaryconcernofaveterinarianexaminingadogwhojustscarfeddownafullespressochocolatecake.“Ifyou’releaving,Iamtoo.”
Oh,right.
BecausewhilemybrainwasclaustrophobicallyswirlingwithMiles,hehasn’tforgottenthattheloveofhislifeisintherewithanotherman.
“Soyou’llwaithere?”Heduckshisheadagain.“Youwon’trunifIgogetthekeys?”
Ishakemyhead.Heletsgoofmyelbowandjogsbackacrossthelot.Bythetimehegetsback,I’malittlecalmer.
Heopensmydoorformefirst,thengoestogetinthedriver’sseat,startingtheengine.“Whendiditstart?”
“Whendidwhatstart?”Isay.
Creasesrisefromtheinsidesofhisbrows.“Thedizziness.”
Ittakesasecondtorememberwhathe’stalkingabout.“Oh.Justwhileweweredancing.Ialreadyfeelalotbetter.”
Hestudiesmeforalongmoment,thennodsandbacksoutoftheparkingspace.Wedriveinsilenceforseveralminutes,windingdownthecurveofthepeninsulatowardtown,andIkeepmyeyesfixedoutthewindowonthemoon,watchingitsparkleandvanishbehindthetreelinebeforepoppingbackintoview.
Thetruckslows,driftingtowardthedirtshoulder,andIfacethewindshield,expectingtofindadeerblockingourway,buttheroadisempty,still.
Milesputsthetruckintopark.“Willyoutellmewhat’sgoingon,Daphne?”heasksinagravel.
“Nothing,”Isay.
“It’snotnothing,”hesays.“Didsomethinghappen?WithPeter?”
“No,”Iinsist.
“Youcantellme,”hesays.
ButIcan’t.Thatclaustrophobicfeelingisback,embarrassmentandwantmixedtogether.Ipushopenthetruckdoorandstumbleintothedark.
Milesclimbsouttoo.“Whereareyougoing?”
“Ijustneedsomeair.”It’sthesimplestversionofthetruth.
Heroundsthehoodofthecartostandinfrontofme.“DidIdosomething?”
“No.”I’veneverbeenagoodliar.
“Daphne,”hesaysgently.“PleasejusttellmewhatIdid.”
Anddespiteeveryintentionofkeepingallthesefeelingsasecretuntiltheendofthesummer,Iblurt,“Youkissedme.”
Hisbrowshootsup.“Ithoughtthatwaswhatyouwanted.Ithoughtthat’swhatweweredoing.”
“No,Iknow.”Istepback,myspinemeetingthesideofthebenchseat.“Wewere.Ijust—it’sdifferentnow.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Idon’twanttoplaythatgameanymore,”Isay.“Idon’twantyoutosaythingsyoudon’tmeananddothingsyoudon’twanttodo.It’sconfusing.”
“WhosaysIdidanythingIdon’twanttodo?”heasks.
“Youdid,”Ifireback.“You’retheonewhotoldmeyoudon’twantanythingtohappenbetweenus—”
“Ineversaidthat,”heargues,steppingcloser.
“—andIdon’twanttobeaproptomakeyourexjealous,andIknowIstartedit—”
“You’renotaprop,”hesays,lookinghurt.
“That’sexactlywhatIjustwas,”Icounter.“Youonlywanttokissmewhenthey’retheretoseeit.AndIknowIstartedit,butthingsaredifferentnow.”
Miles’sgazedropsonahoarselaugh,ashakeofhishead.Hestepsincloser,ourhipsbrushing.
Thenhelooksbackup,takesmyfaceinbothhands,andkissesmeagain.
Rough,deep,messy,breathless.
Withnoonetoseeit.
Nothingtostopus.
Hishipspinminebacktothesideofthepassengerseat.Hishandsmovearoundtomyback,spreadingoutovermybarespine,ourchestspressingtogether,hisheatcuttingthroughthecoldnight.“Iwanttokissyou,”hemurmurs,drawingbackamereinch,“everytimeyoutakeasipofsomethingandmakethatsound.”
Ipullhimbacktome,thatsoundslippingfrommymouthintohis.Myhandsclimbintohishair.Hisscrapedownovermysides,histhighpushinginbetweenmine.“IwanttokissyoueverytimeIwalkpastyourbedroomandhearyourlaughthroughthedoor,”hesays,andhishandsstealbeneaththehemofmydress,allthewayuptocradlemyhips,myskinpricklinglikeeverycellwantstobealittlebitclosertohim.
Iuntuckhisshirtfromhiswaistband.Myhandsskimupoverhisback,greedilytouchingeverywarmcurveIcangetto.
“IwanttokissyoueverytimeIheartheshowerturnonandknowthatyou’reinthere,”herasps.
Itouchhisstomach,hischest,themusclestighteningasmyfingertipsbrushoverthem,andhetakesholdofmyhips,liftingmeupintothetruck.
“Iwanttokissyouallthetime,Daphne,”hesays.“Sometimesit’sjusteasiertofindanexcuse.”
Ipullhimcloserbythebeltloops,hishandsgrazingovermythighsashepushesinbetweenthem.Thecurvesofourbodiesmelttogether.Hispartedlipsrunalongmyneckline.Iscootdeeperintothetruck,drawinghiminafterme,thenclimbingacrosshislap.
Hishandstracedownmysides,hiseyesdark.“Daphne,”hesays,athroatyrumble.
Ireachbackandundotheclaspatmyneck,letthefrontofmydressfalltomywaist.
Hegroans,lightlycuppingmybreasts,loweringhismouthtolickme,thentakemebetweenhislips.
Igasp,gripthebackofhisneck,mybodyarchingintohis.
“Whatarewedoing?”hemurmursagainstmyskin.
“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”Iask.
Aslow,testingthrustofhiships,thefrictiondividingmythoughtsintofractals.
Hismouthdragsbackupmythroat,hisbreathhot.“Iwant,”hesaysraggedly,“toundressyou.Andtasteyou.Iwanttohearyoucomeagain,andfeelittoo.”
Thefractalsbecomefireworks,akaleidoscopeofsensationsandneeds.
Miles’ssilkydarkhairbetweenmyfingers.
Hisroughhandsupundermydress,findingthelaceofmyunderwear.
Thepressureofhiswarmmouthonmychest,andthecoolairkissingeveryotherinchofexposedskinastheneedandpleasurebuildtogether.
“Miles,”Igasp,movingmyselfagainsthim.
Hiseyesslantup,hismouthstillonme,hiseyesnearlyblack.It’sanunbearablysexyimage.“Tellmetostop,”hesays.
“Idon’twantyoutostop,”Ipantout.“Iwanttoundressyou.Iwanttotasteyou.Iwanttofeelyoucome.”
“Fuck,Daphne.”Hepresseshisforeheadagainstmyshoulder,hisheartslammingintome,hishandsbracedlightlyagainstmyribs,holdinghimselfbackfromme.Hislowgroanturnsintoapainedlaugh.
Hestraightensup,redoestheclaspbehindmyneck,andletshishandsslidedowntomythighs.“I’mnotgoodatthis,”hesaysroughly.
“Goodatwhat?”Iask.
“Whenthingsgetcomplicated,”hescratchesout,“Ipanicandshutdown,andIdon’twanttodothatrightnow.Ican’t.”
Mystomachsinks.“Itdoesn’thavetobecomplicated.”
“Italreadyis,”hesays.
“BecauseofPetra?”Iask.
“No,”hesays,tenderlytuckingastrandofhairbehindmyear.“Notjustthat.”
Islideoutofhislap,blushingfuriously.
“Hey.”Hereachesout,takesmyhand.
“It’sokay,”Isayquietly.“Youdon’towemeanykindofexplanation.”
“Daphne,”hesays,hisvoiceheartbreakinglysoft.
Ilookupandmeethiseyes,alldarknow,withoutanykindofglimmer.
“There’salotofshitIdon’tliketotalkabout.”Hisvoicesplinters.“Thethingis,IhaveabadhabitoflettingdownthepeopleIcareabout.Idon’talwaysthinkthingsthrough,andmyfeelingsaren’tsomethingIcantrust.”
“Whatistheretotrust?”Ishakemyhead.“Youfeelhoweveryoufeel.”
Helooksdownatourhands,foldshisfingersintomine.Afterseveralseconds,heclearshisthroat,buthisfacestaystorqued,hiseyeshyperfocusedonourhands.
“Growingup…”Hehesitatesforalongmoment,visiblyweighinghisnextwords.“Ourfeelings—mine,Julia’s,mydad’s—thosedidn’tmattermuch.”
Hisjawmusclesflexasheswallows.Hispulsespeedsagainstmypalm.“Allthatmatteredwashowitaffectedourmom,”hesays.“Ifwemadeherlookgood,thenshelovedus.Andifwedidn’t,thenwewere‘outtogether.’OnceIhadastomachbug,andshewassomadatmeforthrowingupinthenight.SaidIwasfakingtogetoutofschool,andifIkeptpretending,I’dbegroundedforamonth,soIjustwenttoclassthenextday,andeverytimeIwenttothebathroom,IthrewupasquietlyasIcould.Sotheschoolwouldn’tmakehercomegetme.WheneverIdidanythingthatshethoughtmadeherlookbad,itturnedintothishugethingabouthowImusthateher,totrytohurtherlikethat.IfIwasupset,oranxious,orhungry,orevensick,sheactedlikeitwassomethingIwasdoingtoher,andIbelievedit.”
“Holyshit,Miles.”Ipullhishandintomylap,cupitbetweenbothofmine.
Hedragshiseyesuptomine.“It’sokay.”
“It’snot,”Isay.
“That’sthething,though,”hescratchesout.“Ineedittobeokay.BecauseIneedtobeokay.Asakid,Ijustfeltsofuckingscaredandpowerless,allthetime,andnowIjustneedtobeokay.”Heshakeshishead.“Ihonestlythinkthat’spartlywhyPetraandIworkedtogether.I’venevermetsomeonewhowasso…‘inthemoment,’andthat’swhereIhavetobe,becauseifIthinktoomuchaboutthepastorthefuture,Icomeapart.SoImostlyjustkeepallofthatstuffwhereIdon’thavetothinkaboutit.”
Idropmyeyes.“I’msorry.I’mnottryingtopry.”
Hiseyescomebacktomine,hisvoiceascrape.“You’renot,”hesays.“Iwantyoutoknow.Ijust…”
“What?”
Helooksovermyshoulder.“Idon’twantyoutolookatmelikeI’mbroken.”
“Miles.”Itouchthesidesofhisneckandpullhisgazebacktomine.“You’renotbroken.You’reokay.Butwhathappenedtoyouisn’t.It’sfuckedup.”
“It’sover,”hesaysquietly,hishandsringingmywrists.
“Thatdoesn’tmeanyoucan’tstillhavefeelingsaboutit,”Itellhim.
Thecornersofhislipsflutter,forjustasecond.“That’stheproblem,though.Wheneveranyofushadanegativeemotion,itonlymadethingsworse.Sheturneditaroundonus,andwe’dendupapologizingforbeinghurtorangryorsad,andIneverknewwhatwasrightornormal.Imean,everyonewhometmymomlovedher.Teachers,theotherparents,myfriends.
“Ifshewantsto,shecanmakeyoufeellikethecenteroftheuniverse,likeherfavorite.Iusedtolovehavingfriendsover,becauseshe’dturnintothisdifferentperson.Thisfunny,warmmomwholovedme.
“AllIwantedwasforthatversionofhertostay.SoIstoppedshowingitwhenIwasupset,justwentalongwithwhatevershesaidanddid.Andeventually,Ijustsortof…stoppedgettingupset.Stoppedfeelingthebadstuff.Andthingsgotbetter.Forme,anyway.”
Helooksdown,hiseyesdarkandglossed.
“I’msorry,”Iwhisper,runningmythumboverthehingeofhisjaw.“Igetwhyyoudidn’twanttotalkaboutit.”
“It’snotjustthat.Imean,Idohatedwellingonthisshit,but…”HisAdam’sapplebobs.“IletherreallyfuckinghurtJulia.AndwhenJulia’saround,it’shardnottohatemyself.Allthosefeelings,theyjustcomeback.Andmymindstartstofeelsoloud,anddark.Ijustwanttoescape.”
Adaggerspearsthroughmyheart.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhimandburrowmyfaceintohischest.Idon’twanttomakehimkeeptalking,butheis,likehe’sbeenuncorkedandnowit’sallcomingout.
Ipictureitspiralingdownadrain,hopethat’swhatthisconfessionisdoingforhim,ratherthanscrapingatanoldwound.
“ShewaswayworsewithJuliathansheeverwaswithme.She’dcompareJulestoourcousins,tellherwhowasprettierandsmarter,orbetterbehaved.She’dcompareJulestoherselfatthatage,shitthatprobablywasn’ttrue.”Hisvoicewavers.“She’dscreamatherforthedumbestshit,aslongasIcanremember.AndIletitallhappen.”
Irearback.“Whatwereyousupposedtodo?”
“Stopher,”hesaysimmediately,likehe’sthoughtthisthrough,knowswithcertaintytherightanswer.“StandupforJuliainsteadofshuttingdown.NotrunawaytothecitythesecondIturnedeighteen,andcomebackonceaweeklikeitmadeanyfuckingdifference.”
“Itdidmakeadifference,”Isay,“orshewouldn’tbehererightnow.”
“Maybe.”Whenhelooksupatme,hiseyesarestark,tired.“ButIdon’tevenknowwhyshe’shere,becauseshewon’ttellme.NomatterhowhardItry,Ialwaysmakethewrongdecision.Ifuckitupandpeoplegethurt.”
“Miles.”Igrabhisshoulders,turnhisupperbodytowardme,andscootinclose,nearlyintohislap.“Shegotout.”
“Onherown.”Heshakeshishead.“ShesawthroughtheshitwaybeforeIdid.Choseanout-of-statecollege,andwhenourmomtriedtotellhershecouldn’tgo,shewentanyway.Appliedforherownloans,hadmecosign,movedtoWisconsin.Momstoppedtalkingtohertopunishher,whichcompletelybackfired,sothenshedidherversionofanapology.SorryIwasn’tperfect,butyou’llunderstandwhenyou’reamothersomedayYoucan’tdoeverythingright,andyourkidswillhateyouforit.”
“God,”Isay.“I’msosorry.Isthatwhenyoustoppedtalkingtoher?”
Helaughscoarsely.“No.Iwantedeverythingtobeokaysobadly.SoItriedtobrokerpeace.Justonemorebaddecision.MymomkepttryingtopitmeagainstJulia,anditdidn’tmatterhowmanytimesItriedtosetaboundary,shewouldn’tstop.Wouldn’ttakeanyblame.Won’tsayshe’ssorry,oradmitshedidanythingwrong,soeventuallyIhadtocutherofftoo.”
“Andyourdad’sjustokaywiththis?”Isay.
“Notokay,”Milessays.“Justavoidantasfuck.Travelsalotforwork.”
“Soheleftyouguystodealwithallthatonyourown,”Isay,“andyouthinkyou’rethebadguyforfindingawaytosurvive.For‘only’goinghomeonceaweek,tospiritJuliaawaytoaMcDonald’s?”
Hisbrowsdrawtogether.“How’dyouknowitwasMcDonald’s?”
“Becauseshetoldme,Miles,”Isay.“Shetoldmeyourescuedher,andtookhertoafilthyplay-placeandletherbeanobnoxiouskidandwerecompletelyunflappablenomatterhowterribleshewas.”
“I’mnotunflappable.”Hisvoicetakesonadampgravel.“Honestly,it’shardtoevenlookathersometimes,becauseitmakesmethinkabouteverythingIshould’vedonedifferently,alltheshitItrynottothinkabout,andIjuststartfeelinglikeI’mabouttoself-destruct.”
“Youweren’ttheadult,”Isay.
“Iwaswhatshehad,”heargues.
“Andyoudidwhatyoucould,”Itellhim.
“That’sthething,though.”Heshakeshishead.“Idon’tknowifIdid.Idon’ttrustmyperceptionofthings.That’swhatmychildhooddidtome.MademybrainintoafuckingfunhousewhereImightthinkI’mstandingonthefloor,butreallyI’mstucktoawall.IneverknowifI’mfeelingtherightthing,andI’mtiredoffuckingthingsupforthepeopleIcareabout.”
“Idon’tthinkthere’sarightwaytofeel,”Isay.“Andyoucan’tcontrolit,anyway.Feelingsarelikeweather.Theyjusthappen,andthentheypass.”
Herubshisfaceagain.“I’msorry.ThisiswhyIdon’ttalkaboutit.”
“Don’tapologize.”Iwrapmyarmsaroundhiswaist,andhiseyesliftbacktomine.“I’myourfriend.Iwanttoknowallthis.Iwanttobethereforyou.”
Iknewitwastrue,butwhenIsayit,somecrankinsidemyabdomenisslowlyturning,pullingmyhearttightagainstmychest.That’swhatMilesneedsrightnow.Afriend.
AndnowIunderstandwhathemeant,howriskythisreallyis,notjustformebutforhimtoo.
Thisisn’tjustafundistractionorareboundanymore.Hematterstome,andifthisthingbetweenusblowsup,there’llbenowhereforeitherofustorunrightnow.
“Youshouldtalktoyoursisteraboutallofthis,”Itellhim.“BecauseIknowyouthinkyoufailedher,butfromtheoutside,whatIseeis,something’sgoingonwithyoursister,andshegotonaplanestraighttoyou.Didn’tevenaskfirst,becausesheknewyou’dmakespace.You’rewheresheranwhensheneededtofeelsafe.”
“Maybeshejustdidn’thaveanywhereelsetogo,”hemurmurs.
“Maybe,”Iallow.“ButneitherdidI,andyoutookcareofmetoo.That’swhoyouare.IfIhadtobemarooned,I’mgladitwaswithyou.”
“Metoo,”hesaysquietly,thenafterasecond,“Idon’twanttofuckthisup.Thingsarealreadyamessrightnow,forbothofus.”
“Idon’twanttomessitupeither,”Ipromise.Thistime,Imeanit.NotjustbecausenowIknowhimsomuchbetter,caresomuchmoreaboutthisfriendship.ButalsobecauseIcanadmitwhatIcouldn’tbefore:IlikeMilesNowakenoughthathecouldreallyhurtme.
“So,”hesays,unstickingastrandofmyhairfrommyeyebrowandtuckingitbehindmyear.“Thatwasmycomplaint.Whathaveyougot?”
Despitetheacheinit,myheartfluttersatthispieceofevidencethatheknowsme,thatImattertohimlikehedoestome.“AreweplayingWhinyBabiesnow?”Iask.
Henods.“Anygrievancestoair?”
“Well.”Ithinkforabeat.“I’mnotahugefanofglobalwarming.”
Thecornersofhiseyescrinkle,myheartleapinginresponse.“IheartheGreatBarrierReefisintrouble,”hesays.
“Thewealthgapisridiculous,”Ireturn.
“Andinsuranceiswaytoofuckingexpensive,”headds.
“Nottomention,alldaylong,mysockkeptgettingcaughtundermyheel,”Isay.
Helaughsalittle,touchesmychin.Themomentfeelslikethemeniscusofaglass,likeanyseconditmightspillover.“Iguessweshouldgohome.”
Inod.Hishandfallsaway.“Thankyou,”hesays.
“Forwhat?”Iask.
“Just,thankyou.”20
THURSDAY,JULY4TH
44DAYSUNTILICOULDLEAVE(IFISTILLWANTTO)
Maybethingsarecomplicated,butthey’realsogood.
Juliadecidestostickaroundabitlonger,andtheapartmentisneverempty,rarelyquiet.Milesdropsoffchaiformeatthelibraryonhiswayintowork.Ashleightellsmeaboutschooldrop-offdramaoversmoothiesatajuicebar.Onenight,she,Julia,andIhitupCherryHillandwatchMilesdazzlehiscustomersatthebar’sfarend.Everytimehelooksover,it’slikethesunpeekingoutfrombehindacloud,andIdomybesttofeelcontent,tobejustanotherpersonattheedgeofhisglow.
OnThursday,he,Julia,andIgotoTraverseCityfortheFourthofJulyparade,thensitinarowongrasssocoolitfeelsdamp,towatchthefireworkspopandsparkleoutoverthebay.It’sthekindofperfectsummernightIcan’trememberhavingsinceIwasakid,noteventhistimelastyear,whenPeterandIwenttohisparents’annualbarbecue.
Becausethere,intheirgorgeous,lightningbug–filledgarden,withalloftheirlongtimefriendstipsyandflushedandhappyinrattanpatiochairs,apartofmehadstillached.
CouldfeelthatIwasstandingoutsideofthings,waitingforthemomentIwouldfinallybecomeapartofit.
Here,tonight,though,I’minthecenterofeverything.Thismoment,thoughfleeting,belongstometoo.
OnSunday,wegobacktoTraverseCitywithAshleigh,fortheendoftheCherryFestival.Wewandertheaislesofpop-uptentsandfoodtrucks,gorgingourselvesontartsandhandpieslateintothenight,andeverytimetheDaphneMoansneaksout,Miles’seyesandmineseekeachotherout,thequirkofhismouthmyownpersonallightningrod.
AndthenIlookaway,becausethisisgood.Wearefriends.
Whenwecan’tstomachanotherbite,Juliademolishesusinabasketballcarnivalgame,thentalksusintoridingtheSpinningCherries,fromwhichwedepartviolentlynauseous,cursingthecherryslushieswepiledontopofeverythingelseinourstomachsbeforeboarding.
Icheckforjobpostingsoccasionally,butonlyforjobsIreallythinkImightlikenow.Otherchildren’slibrarianorprogrammerpositionsincitiesI’matleastinterestedin.
Juliadecidestostayanotherweek,andweuseourSundayforanelaboratefarmers’marketshoppingtripfollowedbyavisittoanarcadebar,whereonceagainsheheartilyandgleefullyannihilatesus,thistimeatMs.Pac-Man
Everynightthatweek,wecooktogether—orMilescooks,whileJulessitsonthecounter,curatingacountryplaylistandsingingalongattopvolumeintowhateverutensilherbrotherhasmostrecentlysetdown.Ichopwhateverheputsinfrontofme,washwhicheverdisheshe’sdonewith.
Mostnightsweeatontheflooraroundthecoffeetable,allthewindowsthrownopen,thebuzzofcricketsandcicadasaroundusandthesmelloffirwaftingin,butsometimeswesitinarowonthecouch,eatingwhilewewatchaspymovieoroneaboutaheist,myveinshummingeverytimeMilesleansacrossmetograbahandfulofpopcornortheremote,myheartclenchingwheneveroureyescatchinthedark.
Sometimesatnight,fromtheotherroom,hetextsmeliveupdatesashelistenstotheaudiobookofTheLion,theWitch,andtheWardrobe,thingslikeiwanttolivewthebeaversandwatisturkishdelightandedmundneeds2chill.Sometimeswetextforanhourstraight,likeourdoorsaren’ttenfeetapart.
We’rebasicallyalwaystogether,butwe’realmostneveralone,asidefromoncewhenheaccidentallylockedhiskeysinthetruckandIhadtobringhisspareuptothewinery.
I’malreadyinmypajamas,sohecomesouttomeetmeinthelot,withagrinandahugthatsmellslikecampfireandfeelslikeahookinmyheart.
OnFridaythenineteenth,Ifindoutaboutthechildren’slibrarianjobinWorcesterCounty,Maryland.
AquickonlinesearchtellsmetheOceanCityLibraryistwentyminutesfrommymotherandlookslikeanadorablelighthousefilledwithbooks.
Ialmosttextmymom,butsomethingholdsmeback.Itseemstoogoodtobetrue.Therewillprobablybedozensofapplications,andthere’snopointingettingmyorherhopesupbeforeI’veevengottenaninterview.
Still,Iemailthemmycoverletterandrésuméonmylunchbreak,andcheckmyemailobsessivelyfortherestofmyshift.
WhenIgethome,IknowJuliaisn’tthere.
Ifeelitlikeabarometricshift.ProbablybecauseItypicallyhearJuliabeforeIseeher.LessclearishowmynervoussystemknowsMilesishere,eventhoughhisCrocsaren’tsittingnexttotheshoerack,asishiscustom,andit’sFridaynight,whenheusuallyworks.
Ihangmybagsonthehooksbythedoor,kickmyloafersontotherack,androundthecornerintothekitchen.He’sstandingbesidethestove,readingsomethingonhisphonewithadivotbetweenhisbrowsashewaitsforwatertoboil.
“Soyoufinallyshutyoursisterinthepantry,”Isay.
Helooksup,breakingintoasmile.“She’sbringinguppackagesfromthelobby.”
Ileanbacktopeeroutofthekitchen,towardthelivingroom.Threelargecardboardboxesalreadysitstackedbesidethecoffeetable.
IfeelaflurryofpanicthatImight’veforgottentocancelsomeexpensiveorderforthewedding,andthusPeterhasforwardedithere.Alife-sizemarblestatueofusembracing,maybe.
Norecollectionoforderingthat,butwhoknows?Iwasinaweddingfuguestate.
Thewaterinthepotstartstoburble,andMilesdumpshand-rolledtrofienoodlesintoit.Inthefoodprocessorbesidehim,Iseewhatappearstobefresh-madepesto,andmysalivaryglandskickintohighgear.“Youhungry?”heasks.
“I’mfine,”Isay.
“You’redrooling,”heteases.
“Isthereenough?”Iask.
“Ofcourse,”hesays.
“Don’tyouworktonight?”IcallovermyshoulderasIwanderoutofthekitchentowardthepackages.
“Headinginrightafterthisisdone,”hecallsback.
Iscanthemishmashofshippinglabelsandfindthesender’sname:JuliaNowak.AnaddressinChicago.
Thenthereceiver’sname:JuliaNowak,butwithouraddress.
Ipadbackintothekitchen.“Whatarealltheseboxes?”
“Noidea,”Milessays.
Oncue,thefrontdoorflingsopen,andJuliacrashesintotheroomwithmorepackages.“Hey,Daph,”shesays,bustlingpast.
Ifollowherintothelivingroom,andshesetstheboxesdownwithahuff.“Whatyougotthere?”Iask.
Shepassesmeonherwaybacktothekitchen.“Justtheessentials.”
Ipeekmyheadbackinasshe’sgrabbingasparklingwaterfromthefridge.
“Essentialwhat?”Milesasks.
She’salreadysqueezingbetweenustoleavetheroomagain,hervoicegrowingfainterassheretreatstothecardboardtreasuretroveatthefarendoftheapartment.
“WhateverIcan’tlivewithout,”shecalls.“Paidmyroommatetoboxitup.OnceIfindaplace,I’llgobackfortherest.”
Miles’sheadsnapsupfromthepastapot.
Oureyeslock.Heshakeshishead,ageneralIhavenoideapantomime.
“It’sokay,”Isayundermybreath.
Heshakeshishead,callsloudandclear,“Jules?Comehereforasec.”
Shepopsherheadbackintothekitchen.“Yeah?”
“Quickquestion,”hesays.“Whatthefuckareyoutalkingabout?”
Withdoe-eyedinnocence,sheasks,“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Whydoyouneedmorestuff,”hesays.“Yourstuffisalreadyswallowingtheapartment.”
“ItoldyouIwasthinkingaboutstickingaroundlonger,”shereplies.
“Thinkingaboutstayinganotherweek,”hesays.“That’swhatyousaid.Aweekago.”
“Exactly.I’mgoingtostayforanotherfewdays.ThenflybacktoChicagotopackuptherestofmystuffanddriveitouthere.ButIneededmygoodclothesforjobinterviews,soIhadRileymailsomestuff.”
“Jobinterviews,”hesays.
“I’llneedanewjob,”shesays.“Ican’tlivewithyouforever.”
Herunsahanddownhisface.“Whendidyoudecideallthis?”
“WhenIgothereandrealizedyouwereintotaldenialaboutwhatyou’vejustbeenthroughandyouobviouslyneedme.”
“Julia,I’m—”
“—fine,”shefinisheswithaneyeroll.“You’realwaysfine.”
“I’mgoingtojust…gointheotherroom,”Isay,creepingaway.
“No,don’t,”Juliasayscheerily,alreadybackingtowardthefrontdoor.“Ashleigh’sactuallydouble-parkeddownstairswaitingforme,soIhavetorun!”
Shewhirlsoutthesamewayshewhirledin.
Afterabeatofsilence,MilesandIlookateachother.
“I’llgetherahotel,”hesays.“OrI’llgetyouahotel.”
“Firstofall,anyhotelthatwillhaveasummervacancythislastminuteisnotoneI’mgoingtostayin,”Isay.“Andsecondofall,Icanhandleonemoreweekofflatironsinthesinkandbronzeronthefloor.”
Hisbrowlifts.“Yousure?”
“Positive,”Isay.“Buthowdoyoufeel?”
Heclearshisthroatandturnsbacktothenoodles,scoopingoneoutwithaforktotestitbeforecarryingthepottothestrainerinthesink.“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“She’sstillactinglikeeverything’snormal,butIknowmysister.She’shidingfromsomething,andshedoesn’tusuallyhide.”
“Maybeshereallyisjustworriedaboutyou,”Itellhim.
Hedumpsthenoodlesbackintothepot.“Whyshouldshebeworriedaboutme?”
Istareathim.
“Itwasthreeandahalfmonthsago,”hepointsout.“WhatdoessheneedmetodotoproveI’mokay?GetatattoothatsaysHAPPILYSINGLEonmyforehead?”
“Thatwouldscream‘I’mokay,’?”Isay.
“YouknowwhatImean.”Hedumpsthepestoinwiththenoodlesandswirlsthepotaround.“I’mthirteenyearsolderthanher.I’vebeenonmyownsinceshewasakid.Idon’tneedmybarelygrownsisterworryingaboutme.Especiallywhenworryingaboutmemostlyjustconsistsofleavingherdirtyclothesonthehallwayfloor,andsettingherphonealarmtotopvolume,thensnoozingitfivehundredtimes.”
Igetdownacoupleofbowlsandsomeforks,andpassthemtohimtostartdishingitup.“Doyouwantmetokickherout?”
Heeyesmebriefly,thengoesbacktoscoopingpastaintothebowls.“Ican’t,”hesays.“NotwhenIdon’tknowwhat’sgoingon.”
Headdsacouplewholebasilleavestoeachbowlandpassesmeone.
Isetmineasideandtouchhisshoulders,easethemdown.“Ifyoueverneedtovent,”Isay,“textme.YouknowIlovecomplaining,andit’snofuntobetheonlyone.”
Hisjawsoftens.Hesetshispastaasidetooandpullsmeintoahugthatmakesmybonesliquefy,hisbreathwarmagainstmyneck.Iclosemyeyesandbreathehimin,andit’snotcomplicated:Iwanthim,Ilikehim,andIcareabouthimenoughtopushthosefirsttwothoughtsaside.
Thefrontdoorflingsopen,Ashleigh’sandJulia’slaughscompetingforMostLikelytoPissOffMr.Dorner,andwepeelapartastheyboundinside,loadedwithTargettotes.
“Smellslikeheaven,”Ashleighsays,whizzingpast.MilesandIexchangealook,bothapparentlysensingsomekindofmischiefafoot.
Wepickupourbowlsandfollowthemtothelivingroom,wheretheyemptytheirtotesontotherug.Anairmattress,apump,acoupleofvacuum-sealedpillows,ablueblazer,agoldchenilleblanket,andtwominidesktopfansfallout,followedbysometoiletriesandabelt.
“Areyouplanningaveryspecificheist?”Iask.
“Ithoughtaboutbuyingapullouttoreplacethisgarbagesofa,”Juliasays,“butIdidn’twanttobepresumptuous.”
“Oh,yeah.Youwouldn’twanttobepresumptuous,”Milesdeadpans.
“Hey,benice,”Juliasays.“It’stemporary.AssoonasIgetajob,I’llstartapartmenthunting.”
Herubshisbrow.“Ihavetogettowork.We’lltalklater.”
“Youknowwheretofindme,”shesays,leaningoverthecouchtogatherherlaundry.
Milesturns,shakinghisheadandstillforkingpestointohismouthasheheadstowardthefrontdoor.
Isetmyownbowldownonthecoffeetable.“Doyouneedhelpwiththat?”
“Nope,”Juliasays.“Justlookingforsomewhereelsetoputthisstuff.Thelivingroom’sgettingabitunwieldy.”
Ashleighsnorts.“Abit.”
Julia’smovingtowardthecloset.Thecloset.WhereIkeepthedress.
MyheartrattlesagainstmyribcagelikeoneofthoseNewYear’sEveclappers.Shereachesforthepocketdoors,seeminglyinslowmotion.
“No,wait—”Ilungeforher.
Idon’tmakeitintime.
Notevenclose.
ForthefirsttimesincethedayMileshelpedmehaulmystuffoverhere,theclosetdoorslidesallthewayopen—fromthewrongside.ThesidepackedsoTetris-tightthattheabsenceofthedoortriggersanavalancheofwhite,cream,ivory,blush.
Giftbags.Boxesoftapercandles.Tealights.Acrateofbiodegradablecutlery.Palmleafplates.Organza,anungodlyamountoforganza.Theamountyou’dneedtofilmamonstermoviewherethetownpredatorwasasentientweddingdress,hell-bentonswallowingwomenwhole.
Me.Iamthewomanwhowassupposedtobeswallowedbythatdress,andnowit’scascadingdirectlyintoJulia’sface,aragingwaterfallofmymistakes.
Ittakesseveralseconds,duringwhichshe’sutterlyfrozen,foreverythingtocometumblingout.It’slikesomethingoutofILoveLucy,orTheDickVanDykeshow.
Whenit’sfinallyover,we’reallleftstaring.
“Oh,honey,”Ashleighsays.“Tellmeyoudidn’tkeepthedress.”21
“Ijusthaven’thadtimetofigureoutwhattodowithit!”Icry,brushingpastJuliatostartstackingthingsbackup.
“No!”Juliayelps,yankingaboxofthrifted-and-launderedivoryclothnapkinsoutofmyhand.“Youcan’tjustputthisstuffbackinthere.Pandora’sboxhasbeenopened,Daphne.”
“AndPandora’scontentsaren’tgoingtofitinthislivingroomwithyourbig-assliferaft,”Isay.
“You’regoingtohavetogetridofitbeforeyoumoveanyway,”Ashleighpointsout.
Julia’seyessnaptome.“You’removing?”
“Possibly,”Isay.“Butnotuntilafterthesummer,attheearliest.I’vegottimetodealwiththisstuff.”
AshleighfacesJulia.“Maybeyoucouldmoveintoherroom.”
ForMiles’ssake,I’mrelievedtoseeJuliascrunchhernoseindismay.“Noway.Stayinghereisashort-termsolutiononly.”
NowthatIhaveanin,Iask,“Whythesuddeninterestinmovinghere,anyway?”
Juliasucksherteethforasecond.“CanItellyousomethingwithoutitgettingbacktoMiles?”
“Ooh,gossip!”Ashleighpantomimeszippingherlips.
“Fine,”Isay.“Butifyoucantellme,I’msureyoucantellhim.”
Juliasnorts.“Ilovemybrothermorethananyoneontheplanet,buttherearethingsit’sbetterforhimnottoknow.”
“Suchas?”Ashleighpresses.
“I’vebeenalmostmovinghereforyears.”
“Weren’tyouincollege,inWisconsin?”Iask.
“Iwasmiserable,”shesays.“AndIcouldn’ttellMiles—he’dcosignedmyloans.”
“Hewould’veunderstood,”Iinsist.
“Iknow,”shesays.“Hebabiesme.Andfrankly,I’mnotahugefanofcleaningupmyownmesses.Butthethingis,whenImakeoneandMilesrushesinwithamop,he’salwaysleavingsomethingbehind.”
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Whenhegraduatedfromhighschool,”shesays,“hewassupposedtomovetoColoradowithacoupleofhisfriends.Lastminute,hedecidednottogo.AndIknowitwasbecauseofme.BecauseIwould’vebeenstuckwithmyparents.
“HewaiteduntilIleftforcollegetoevenleavethestate.Hemovedouthereandhelovedit.Sowhenschoolstartedsucking,Iwasgoingtocometoo.ButthenhestarteddatingPetra.”
“Didn’tyoutwogetalong?”Iask,surprised.
“Petragetsalongwitheveryone,”Juliaretorts.“Butshe’salsosofuckingflighty.AndIsaythatasaflightyperson.Igetsickofjobs.Igetsickofroommates.Igetsickofhavingbangs,fourdaysaftergettingthem.”
Ashleighsays,“Well,that’severyone.”
“ButPetra—she’snextlevel.OncesheandMilestookatriptoIcelandanddecidedjusttostayindefinitely.Forliketwomonths.I’mnotevensureifitwaslegal.Andthenlastwinter,theirtwo-weektriptoUruguaylastedfive.
“Ididn’twanttomovehereifhedidn’treallywanttobehere,”sheexplains.“BecauseIknowhim,andhe’dfeelstuck.Butsomethingschangedinmyliferecently,andnowfeelsliketherighttime.Butifsomethingcomesup—ifMileswantstomovetoIceland,Ijustdon’twanttobethereasonhedoesn’t.Ican’t.He’sgivenuptoomuchformeovertheyears.”
Myheartkeens.Iknowwhatit’sliketohaveallyourfamilyconcentratedinoneperson,towantwhat’sbestforthemafterthey’vegivenyousomuch.ButhavingheardMiles’ssideofthings,Ican’thelpbutwishheknewhowhissisterfelt.
Tohim,he’sthebrotherwhoranaway.Toher,he’stheonewhostays,evenwhenheshouldn’t.
“Youshouldtellhimhowyoufeel,”Isay.
“Interestingsentiment.”Shegrabsherwaterbottleforalongsip.“Icanthinkofsomeotherscenarioswhereitmightapply.”
Ashleighrescuesmewithafirmclap.“Okay,backtotheissueathand.Thisstuff.”
“Right,”Juliasays.“Here’swhatwedo:wephotographandlisteverythingwecanonline.ThenI’llshipthingsoutasthey’rebought.Asathank-youforlettingmestayhere.”
“AndI’vegotplentyofroomforthisstuffatmyplaceinthemeantime,”Ashleighvolunteers.“Sowecatalogit,listit,andthenI’llstoreituntilitsells.”
“Comeon,”Juliasays,readingmyhesitancy.“Wouldn’titfeelgoodtojust…letthisstuffallgo?”
Iscanthestuffinquestion.WhatamIwaitingfor?
This,Ithink.Them.Tonotbealone.Tohavefriendsbearwitnesstothedeathofthisdream.
ItaketheboxfromJulia.“I’mready.”
Sheclaps.“I’llgetthewine.”
Ashleighqueuesupaplaylistshe’stitledYou’reDivorced,NotDead,whichhastheurgencyofaspin-classsoundtrack.Juliapoursuseachaglassofsauvignonblanc,fillingminetothebrim,andabsolutelyeverythingintheclosetgetspulledoutandlaidacrossthelivingroomfloor.
Wemovelampsaroundtogetgoodlighting,andsnappictureslikeeverypieceisanelementofacrimescene.
Ijotdownquickdescriptions,whichJuliapromisestoposttoafewdifferentresaleapps,andhonestly,it’skindoffun.
Threeglassesofwineandseveralhourslater,wefinallygettothedressitself.
“Well,obviouslyyouhavetotryiton,”Ashleighsays.
“Yes.”Juliaclapsagain.
Ishovethefabricather.“Youcan,ifyouwant.”
“She’snottheonewhochoseit,”Ashleighcutsin.“Youdid.Don’tyouwantonelastlookatit?”
“Moreimportantly,”Juliacutsin,“don’tyouwantyourfriendstoseeyoulookingdrop-deadgorgeousinitbeforeit’sHalloweenandyou’redrivingpastafrathousewheresometeenagerinaBrideofFrankensteinwigispukingdownthefrontofit?”
Shehasapoint.Noone’severseenmeinthedress,exceptmymomandmyex-almost-mother-in-law.IfI’msendingitoff,Icouldatleastgiveitsomefanfare.
“Try.It.On,”Ashleighchants.Juliaimmediatelyjoinsin.“Try.It.On!Try.It.On!”
“Okay!Fine!”Irelent.“I’lltryiton!”
Withagiddysqueal,Juliapushesthewadded-updressbackintomyarms,andAshleighleansforwardtotopoffmywine.“Attagirl,”shesays.
Iturnandstuffmyselfinthebathroomtoshuckoffmyworkclothes.
Ittakesafewtriestogetthedressovermyhead,thelayersofsilkandorganzatwistingaroundmeinincreasinglynonsensicalways,untilfinallyImanagetopushmyfacethroughitlikeI’mclumsilyhatchingfromathree-thousand-dollaregg.
Ihadn’tevenwantedaweddinggown.I’dplannedtofindacreamsilkorsatindressforacouplehundredbucks.ButPeter’smomhadwantedmetoatleasttryonsomeweddingdresses,andsurprisingly,mymomagreed.Bothofthemhadflownoutforaweekend,toVirginia,andthethreeofus—Mom,Melly,andI—spentsixexhaustinghourssippingourwaythroughthefreechampagneandPerrierofRichmond’sfinestbridalboutiques.
I’dbeenpreparedtothankthembothfortheirtimeandreassertmyplanstojustgetanon-weddingdress,untilourlaststopoftheday,ashopspecializinginvintagedressesthatMellyhadreadaboutonline.
Momhelpedmeputthedresson,andwhenshe’dfinishedwiththebuttonatmynape,webothlookedintothemirrorandfellsilent.Shesqueezedmyshouldersandtookalong,shudderingbreath,herversionofburstingintotears.
Thenshesaid,inaquiet,unsteadyvoice,“YoulooklikeGraceKelly.”
“IlooknothinglikeGraceKelly,”Iwhisperedback.
“It’stheone,”Momsaid.“Isn’tit?”
Thedresswasthreethousanddollars,andI’dalready—aftermuchprotestation—allowedPeterandtheCollinsestopayfornearlyeverything.Wewould’vehadtohaveacourthouseweddingifMomandIwerefootingthebill,andIwasfinewiththat,butPeter’sfamilywastraditional,andIwantedthemtobehappy.
“IthinkI’llgowithsomethingsimpler,”Isaid,aknotinmythroat.
Momsighedandpulledmein,restingherchinonmyshoulderandholdingmygazeinthemirror.“Letmedothis.”
“You’vealreadydoneeverything,”Itoldher.“Absolutelyeverything.Andyoudon’tevenbelieveinallthis.”
“Sweetie.”Shesmoothedmyhairovermyshoulder.“Ibelieveinyou.Ibelieveyoushouldandwillhaveeverythingyou’veeverwanted,ifyou’renottooscaredtogoafterit.”
Itwasthefirsttime,oneofveryfew,thatI’dwonderedwhetherMomreallywasashappyonherownassheseemedtobe.
“It’stheone,”shesaidagain,kissingthesideofmyhead.“You’remyone.”
“You’reminetoo,”Isaid.
Shesmiled.“No,baby,”shesaid.“Nowyou’vegottwo.”
TherehadbeennoIalwaystoldyounottorelyonmenfromherwhenthingscamecrashingdown.Therehadbeenonlykindness,comfort,scathingcriticismsofPeter.
Istillfeltguiltyaboutthedress,butwheneverIbroughtupthepossibilityofpayingherback,shejokedthatsheactuallyowedmemoney,sinceI’dneverneededhertobailmeoutofjailorreplaceagaragedoorIdrovethrough“likeanormalteen.”
Thewaymymomtalkedabout“normalteens”madeitclearthatshe’dbeenthekindtheywritemoviesabout,whosneakoutbedroomwindowsandthrowkeggersinthewoods.
AsI’mgettingthedressovermyshoulders,Ashleighknocksandshoutssomethingthatsoundslikeaquestionatmethroughthedoor,butit’sunintelligiblethroughthecocoonoffabricI’mfightingagainst.“Holdon!”Icallback.“Givemeaminute!”Anothermuffledreply.
Ifinallymanagetoshakeoutallthelayers,andturnmybacktothemirrortofeelaroundforthezipper.ItjamsthreetimesbeforeIcoaxittomyshoulderblades.
ThenIturntoexaminethesmoothsilkbodiceinthemirroroverthesink.Thehighboatneckandbarearms.Theflareoftheskirt.Thepocketstheshopseamstresshadadded.I’dbeensoexcitedaboutthepockets.
Forasecond,Iletmyselffeelthesadness.
I’mmourningtheVictorianhousewithitsporch,andthegorgeousnewkitchenwherePeterwouldcookmedinner.Thekidswemight’vehad,andtheparentswewould’vebecome.Thewaythatwalkingthroughthefrontdoorwouldfeellikesteppingintoawarmhug.
Buthonestly,thedressitselfdoesn’thavethesameeffectitusedto.Possiblybecauseit’snowasizeandahalftoosmall,theseamsstraining,mycleavagepusheduplikeI’maTessaDareheroinecourtingscandal.ExceptTessa’scovermodelslooksexyandcourageous;Ilookbaffledandridiculous.
Iletmyselfoutofthebathroomandsweepintothelivingroomwithadramatic“Ta-da!”
It’sincrediblyanticlimactic,wearingyourskintightweddinggownintoanemptyroom.
“Hello?”Icreeptowardthekitchen.It’sempty,thoughAshleigh’sphoneisonthecounter,herplayliststillblaringout“LoveIsaBattlefield”viaBluetoothspeaker.
Itraipsebackintothelivingroom,butthere’snosignofthem.Behindme,thefrontdoorclanksopen.
Iturnandstopshort.SodoesMiles.
“Hi,”Isay.
“Hi?”Hesaysitlikeaquestion,alookakintohorroronhisface.
ProbablybecauseI’mdriftingaroundtheapartmentinagownforaweddingthatneverhappenedwhilePatBenatarserenadesmefromthekitchen.
“I’mnotwearingthis,”Isayquickly.
“Okay,”hesays.
“Imean,Iamwearingthis,butnotbymyself,”Iexplain.
Helooksaroundtheemptyapartment.
“YoursisterandAshleighwerehere!”Ialsolookaroundtheemptyapartment,searchingforproofI’mnothavingaMissHavishammomentandinsteadfindingweddingsupplieseverywhere.“Theywantedtoseethedress,soIputiton,andnowthey’re…somewhere.”
Hefinallycracksasmile,takesoffhissweatshirt,andtossesitoverachair.“Isawthemgettingintoacabdownstairs.Apparentlytheyneededmilkshakesupplies.”
WhichexplainedwhatAshleighwasshoutingatmewhenIwaswrestlingwiththedress.“Ah.”Icrossmyarmsinfrontofmyself.
“I’llpayyoutowearthattoPeterandPetra’swedding,”hesays.
“I’llpayyoumore,”Isay.
Hisgrinsplitswide.“It’sanicedress.Youlooknice.”
Iblushfuriously.“Ilooklikeanoverstuffedcannolo.”
Hisheadcocks.“What’sacannolo?”
“Thesingularversionofcannoli,”Isay.
“Soyoulookdelicious,”hesays.
“Itusedtofitbetter.Ormyvision’sjustgettingbetter.Ormaybeit’sjust,thelongerthiscutsoffmyoxygen,theprettierthehallucinationsget.”
“Youlookbeautiful,”hesays,then,withaslighttwitchatthecornerofhismouth,“evenbetterthananItalianpastry.”
Ashisgazetracksoverme,Igetanunadulteratedhitofhisspicy-sweetscentandlurchtowardthebathroom.“I’mgonnagochange.”
Inside,Ilockthedoorandfacethemirror.Redsplotcheshavespreadfromthenecklineupmythroat.
TheybasicallyspelloutISTILLWANTMILESNOWAK.
Ipushasidethoughtsofwhathappenedbetweenusinhistruckandreachbackbetweenmyshouldersforthezipper.Itglidesdownafewinches,thensnags.IturnmybacktothemirrorandlookovermyshoulderasIwrestlethezipperoverthebumpinthefabric.Imanagetotugitbackupthetracksaninch,butwhenIdrawitdownagain,itsnagsevenworse.
Itwon’tbudge,andthebodicefeelstighterthanitdidaminuteago.ThemoreImesswiththezipper,themorepanickedIbecome.
Myskinfeelstenderundertheseams,myribcagehurts,Ican’tgetagoodbreath,andTheDress.Is.Stuck.22
IbarreloutofthebathroomandsmashintoMiles,who’sbeenwaitinginthehallwaylikeanervousfirst-timefatherpacingthehospitalfloors.
“You’restillinit,”hesays.
“It’sstuck,”Isay.“IthinkIbrokethezipper,andthedressistootight,andIcan’tbreathe,andit’sstuck.”
“It’sokay.”
“Oh,isit?”Isay.“ThenIfeelbetter.”
He’sturningmebytheelbow.“I’llgetit.Justtrytobreathe.”Hegathersmyhairoffmynecksocarefullyhisfingersneverbrushskin.“Canyouholdthisoutoftheway?”
Ipinmyhairagainstthebackofmyhead,shouldersandarmsthrobbingasmyheartpumpstoomuchbloodtomyextremities.
Milespinchesthetwosidesofthefabricandwigglesthezipperuntilitgives.Atmidback,itcatches.“Shit.Holdon.”
Morepinching,wiggling,straining.Iclosemyeyesandfocusonmybreath.
Thezippergoesupandglidesdowntothesamesnag.
“Trytostaystill,”hesays.
“Youkeeppullingmeoffbalance,”Isay.
“DoyouhaveanyChapStick?”heasks.
“Canyourmouthmoisturizationwaitaminute?”Icry.
“Nah,notreally—it’sforthezipper,Daphne.”
“Inthemedicinecabinet,”Itellhim.Weshuffletogetherintothecrampedbathroom,himholdingupthebackofmydressaswego.Ihandthetubetohimandhedoeswhateveritishethinkshe’sgoingtodowithit,thengoesbacktowrestlingthezipper.
Helosespurchaseandsmacksanelbowintothewallbehindmewithagruntofpain.“It’stoocrampedinhere.”
Weshuffle-stepbackintothehall.Hetriesagain,hisfrustratedhuffturningintoalaugh.
“What?”Iaskovermyshoulder.
“NowIcan’tseeanything.”Hedragsmebytheskirtthroughhisbedroomdoor,bumpingthelightson.
“Canyouleanoverthedresser?”heasks.
“Seriously?”Isay.
“Ineedmoreleverage,”hesays,“andeverytimeIpull,youcomewithme.”
Deargod,whatdidIdotodeservethis?
Oh,right.Iliedaboutbeinginarelationshipwiththisman,thenjumpedhisbonesatalavenderfarmtoupsetmyex-fiancé.Thatcould’vedoneit.
Ibracemyhandsagainstthetopofhisdresser.Hesetsonepalmtomyhip,holdingmesteadywhilehepullsagain,getsthezippertomoveforseveralblissfulmillimetersbeforeitcatchesagain,hisgriponmetightening.
“Distractme,”Isayundermybreath.
“Ipromisewe’llgetthisoffofyou,”hesays.
Wrongkindofdistraction.
“I’mfeelingunbearablystupidrightnow,Miles,soyou’regoingtohavetodobetterthanthat.Tellmesomethingawful.”
Helaughs.“Okay.Whataboutthis:whenPetraandIgotyoursave-the-dateinthemail,shetoldmeshedidn’twanttogetmarried,andIwaslike,Cool,noworries.BecauseIthoughtshemeantingeneral,notspecificallythatshedidn’twanttomarryme.”
Idropmyfacetowardthedresser.Mypainedgroangiveswaytosomethingmoreforceful,theemotionshakingthroughmyshoulders.
“Shit,”hesays.“I’msorry.Nothelpful.”Milestakesholdofbothmyhips.“Hey.”
Istraightenup,shakingmyheadasthelaughterracksme,tearsleakingfrommyeyes.
“Daphne,”hemurmursbehindme,stilltenderandsweet,pullingmein,mybacktohischest,andcoilinghisarmsaroundmywaist.
“Miles,”Ifinallymanage,spinninginhisgrip.“WhatwastheChapStickfor?”Anotherfitoflaughterthrottlesmyvoice.
Heregistersit.Hismouthopensandcloses.“Ithoughtitmightsmooththetrack.”
“Youlubedmyzipper,”Isay.
“Actually,”hesays,“IveryspecificallyaskedaboutChapSticksothatneitherofuswouldhavetosaythatsentence.”
Myforeheadhitshiscollarboneasthegigglesdoublemeover.Hishandslidesupmyback,goosebumpstrailingalongbehindhistouch,torestatthebaseofmyneck.Hislaughhumsthroughmetoo.
“Youwerejustreadyforthat,”Isay.“Howmanyroommateshaveyouhadtodothisfor?”
“Dozens.”Hisarmsloosenandheturnsmeagain.“Butyou’rethefirstwhohadChapStick.”Hepinchesthezipperandgivesasofttug.
Afterallthathuffingandstrugglingandbracing,thezipperglidesdowntothesmallofmyback,Miles’sknucklesdraggingalongmyskinalltheway.
Ishiveratthesensation,pricklewithfull-bodyawarenessofhim.
Hedoesn’tpullawayimmediately,andIcatchmyweightshiftingbackintohistouch.Hisfingersunfurl,hispalmflatteningagainstmylowback.
Thebodiceofthedressisgapingloose,gravitypullingthestrapsdownmyarmsastheweightoftheskirtdrawseverythingtowardtheground.
Icatchthebustagainstmychest,pinningittomeasIturntowardhim.“Thanks.”
“Here.”Heflinchesawayfromme,avoidsmyeyesashesnatchesaloosegrayT-shirtfromhisopentopdrawer.Whenhepullsitovermyhead,hisgingersnapsmellengulfsme,andhetugsitdownoverthedress.
WhenIletgoofthebust,thewholelacyconcoctionpoolsatmyfeet.IgetmyarmsthroughtheT-shirtsleeves,andMileshelpsmestepoutoftheskirt,gentlyuntuckingmyhairfromthecollar.
Hiseyesliftbacktomine,andtheroomthrums.“Thankyou,”Isayagain,thistimeawhisper.
“I’mgoingtoneedthisback,”heteasesquietly.“That’sbeenmyfavoriteshirtsinceIwasten.”
Iregisterthefrontofitforthefirsttime:acracklyvinylcartooncamelsmokingagiganticcigarette.Chortling,Imeethisgaze.“Thisisyourfavoriteshirtfromchildhood?Awalkingnicotineadvertisement?”
Hissmilewidens.Hisfingersmoveabsentlytomychin,andIfeelmyselfbeingdrawnintohim,ourstomachsconnecting,hisheartpatteringthroughme.“It’sacamel,Daphne,”hesayswryly.“Insunglasses.”
“I’llchangeimmediately,”Isay,playingalong.
“No,no,”hesays.“Keepitaslongasyouwant.What’smineisyours.”
Isuppressagrin.“See,thisiswhyalltheselocalshaveaddedyoutotheirwills.”
Hefrowns.“SometimesyoumakeitsoundlikeI’masnake-oilsalesman.”
Igrabhisarm.“That’snotwhatImeanatall.”
“Thenwhatdoyoumean,”heasks.
“Imeanthatyou’renice,”Isay.
Helaughs.“Thisagain.”
“Imean,”Isay,morefervently,“you’reprobablytheonlypersonI’veevermetwho’sgenuinelycuriousabouteveryonehemeets.Andmakesthemfeelinterestingandwelcome,andlike—liketheyshouldbeconfidentinwhattheydo.Youmakethemfeellikegrowingcornormakingcherrysalsaorrecommendingbooksisasuperpower.”
“Ifyou’regoodatthosethings,”hesays,“itis.”
“Exactly,”Imurmur.“That’showyouactuallyfeel.”
TheonlyotherpersonI’veeverknownwiththatparticularskillwieldsitlikeashield.Orataxhe’spayingyou,acutofhimjustbigandbrightenoughtoguaranteeyouwon’taskformore.
“Ijustthink,”IsaytoMiles,“youlikepeoplealmostasmuchastheylikeyou.Anditmakesbeingaroundyoufeellike—likestandinginsunlight.”
Hismouthsoftens.Briefly,hestudiesthespacebetweenourfeet.“Youfeellikesunlighttoo.”
Isnort.“No,Idon’t.”
“No,”heagrees.“Youdon’t.You’remorelikeLakeMichigan.”
“Coldandbracing,”Isay.
Hisvoicedrops:“Coolandrefreshing.”
“Shockingandpainful,”Isay.
“Surprisingandexciting,”hecounters,nowcloseenoughthatIsmellthepostshiftglassofredwineonhisbreath.CloseenoughthatIbecomethemothtohisirresistibleglow,tryingtoresistthepulltomovecloser.
Itipmyheadtowardthelivingroom,themess,mineandJulia’s.Iseizetheopportunityforadistractionfromthisheadyfeeling.“Haveyoumanagedtotalktoher?Aboutwhatshe’sreallydoinghere?”
Heexhalesheavilywithahalfstepback.“I’vetried.She’sstillpretendingthere’snobigreasonotherthanscrapingmeupoffthefloor.”Heforcesasmilethatmakesmyheartfeellikeit’sfoldinginhalf.“Youreadytokickherout?”
“Ilikehavingherhere,”Ipromise.
Henods.
“CanIdoanything?”Iask.
Nowhissmilesoftens.Hetouchesmychinagain.“Nah,”hesays.“Thisisenough.”
“I’mnotdoinganything,”Ipointout.
Thecornerofhismouthtwitches.“ThenwhydoIfeelbetter?”
Themomentswells.NowIstepback,thefloorchillybeneathmysoles.“Thanksagain,”Isay,“forlubingmyzipper.”
“Anytime,”hesays.23
WEDNESDAY,JULY24TH
24DAYSUNTILTHEREAD-A-THON
AsidefromTHEradiosilenceaboutmyOceanCitylibraryapplication,I’mhavingastreakofuncommonlygoodluck.
OnSunday,Milessurprisedmeand(alessthanthrilled)JuliawithadrivedowntoalittletowncalledNorthBearShoresforabookstoreeventwitharomancewriterSadiehadturnedmeontoyearsago.Afterthesigning,theshopownerandhergeologyprofessorwifeendedupfallinginlovewithMiles(obviously)andmakingadonationtowardtheRead-a-thon.
OnMonday,twochildren’sbookauthorsagreedtosendvideosforRead-a-thonprizes,whileathirdofferedtodoalivevideocallwiththekids.
Tuesday,ourmonthlyFortnitetournamentkickedoffwithourhighestturnoutever,andtoday,whenMayadroppedbythedesktopickupherholds,I’dfinallymanagedtoconvincehertocometonextweek’sYAbookclub.
MomscreamswithexcitementwhenItellheronourcallasIwalkhome.
Thatorsheaccidentallydropssomefreeweightsclosetohertoes.
“That’sgreat,honey,”shesays.“Iknowthatkid’sbeenatoughnuttocrack.”
“She’sjustsoshy.Buttheotherkidsinthegrouparereallysweet,”Isay.“Andacouplearehomeschooled,soshe’sprobablynevermetthem,whichcouldbegood.Acleanslate.”
“God,once,whenyouwerehavingahardtimeatanewschool,Irememberaskingyouifyouwantedtobehomeschooled,”Momsays.
Isnort.“Whenwouldyouhavehadtimetohomeschoolme?”
“Iwouldn’thave,”shesays.“Butyouweresounhappyatschool.Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Iwantedtojustrescueyoufromyourmisery.Doyourememberwhatyousaidtome?”
“Ineverevenrememberhomeschoolingbeingonthetable,”Isay.
“Yousaidyou’dmissyourteacherstoomuch.”Sheburstsintobreathlesslaughter,whichturnsintoagroanofexertion,followedbytheclankofweightshittingthefloor.“Youwereshy,butyouwerebrave.”
“Iwasalittlenerd,youcansayit,”Isay.
“Backthentheyusedtocallit‘apleasuretohaveinclass,’?”shetellsme.
MyphonebeepsandIstepunderanawning.“Holdonasecond,”Itellher,blockingtheglaretoreadthescreen.“Whatthehell?”
“Iseverythingokay?”Momasks.
“Yep!”Isaytoobrightly.
Everything’sgreatexceptthatmydad’stryingtocallme,andit’snottwoweeksafteramajorholiday,whenI’dnormallyhearfromhim.
Ifireatexthisway:Sorry,onthephone.
Herepliesimmediately,anextremerarity:Gimmeacallwhenyougetasec.Funnews.
Anxietycorkscrewsthroughme.Funnews,inJasonRobertsSpeak,isusually:Hey,I’mdatingatwenty-six-year-old!(Notforlong.)
Or,Imadeafriendwhoownsacatamaran,soI’mgoingoutofthecountryforawhile.SendyouapostcardwhenIhitdryland!(Hewon’t.)
“Daphne?”Momasks.
“Everything’sfine.”SheandDadaren’tmortalenemiesoranything,butshestoppedhavingcontactwithhimprettymuchthemomentIturnedeighteen,andasgoodasmymomisatempathizing,laughingthroughtheshitstormsinlife,she’salwaysgoneoutofherwaytonottrashDad.Formysake,Iknow,butsometimesIjustwanthertostopbeingsupermomandjustagreewithmethathe’stheworst.Somostlywejustdon’ttalkabouthim.
“Well,look,”shesays.“I’mhappyforyou,andI’mproudofyou,andIloveyou.”
“Andyouhavetogo?”Iautofill.
“Ido,”shesays.“I’mgoingtothebeachtomorrowwithsomefriends,buttalknextweek?”
“Noproblem,”Itellher.“Loveyou.”
“Loveyoumore,”shesays,hangingupbeforeIcanargue.
WhenIpassthetaffy-greenfairy-talecottage,themorninggloriesviningaroundthepicketfenceareinfullbloom,littlebirdscheepingfromthebrancheslikeonemoregoodomen.
Onawhim,Ichecktheonlinelisting.Thepricehasrecentlydroppedfiftythousanddollars,butit’sstillwellbeyondmyreal-liferange.Still,itfeelsgoodtodaydream.
Topicturemyselfinaplacelikethat.Hostingdinnersandwatchingactionmovies.Grabbingchaifromthecaféupthestreetandfillingvaseswithfresh-cutlavender.Drinkingwineoutbackwithfriendsduringlightningbugseason.
Icanalmostseeit.Icanalmostseealifehere.
?“Anybigplansforyourbirthday?”HarveyasksAshleighaswesettlearoundthepokertableseveralhourslaterwiththeothers.
“It’syourbirthday?”Isay.“When?”
Shegroans.“AweekfromSaturday.Forty-three.Andnotobigplans.ItjustsohappenstofallontheweekendMulderandIgetbackfromvisitingmymominSedona,sohe’llbeathisdad’splace,andI’llbeathomerottingmybraintothetuneofBravorealityTV.”
“Whywouldyoubehome?”Isay.“Weshoulddosomething.”
Aroundhercigar,Lenoresays,“You’renotgonnawinthisbattle.”
“I’vealwayshatedmybirthday,”Ashleighexplains.“It’sjustonemorereminderofhowlittleprogressI’vemade.I’minexactlythesamespotIwasthistimelastyear.Lookingatthesamefourwallsinthesamehouseinthesametown,onlyminusahusband.”
“Oh,sweetie,that’snottrueatall!”Barbpipesin.“Youleftastagnantmarriage.Youstartedtherapy.YougotMulderthroughatoughyear,andnowyou’vebroughtDaphneintoourlittlecircle!”
“Andit’snotadaytocelebrateprogress,anyway,”Iinsist.“It’sadaytocelebrateexistence.Wehavetodosomething.”
“Aren’ttherolesabitreversedhere?”Herbrowarches.“I’mthefun,take-chargeone.”
“Youare,”Iagree.“Butyoucan’tAshleighyourself,sosomeoneelsehasto.”
“Idon’twanttogoout.”Shesticksoutherbottomlip.
“Thenwewon’tgoout,”Irelent.“WhatifIcomeoverandwepaint?”
Herfacescrunches,anexpressionakintodisgust.“LikeBobRosslandscapes?”
“Likearoom,”Isay.“Inyourhouse.YousaidDukeneverwantedyouto,right?Andyou’retiredoflookingatthesamefourwalls.Sopickawallcolor,andI’llcomehelppaint.”
“I’mterribleatpainting,”shesays.“Igettooimpatientandfuckupthe‘cut-in.’?”
“Well,you’reinluck,becauseI’mamazingatthecut-in,”Isay.
Shesnorts.“Youwouldbe.”
“I’mnotinsultedbythat,”Itellher.
Sheconsidersforabeat.“Soyou’llcomedoallthehardparts,andI’llpourthewine,whilewewatchthehousewivesthrowdrinksandscream‘justownit’ateachother?”
“Sure,”Isay.“Anyoneelsewantin?”
Lenoreguffaws.“I’mgood,butyougirlsenjoyyourselves.”HarveyandBarbnodagreement.
“Okay,Vincent,”Ashleighsaysafteramomentofconsideration.“Saturdaynightafternext.I’llpickacolor.Youwearyouradorablefriendship-montageoveralls.”
“Idon’thavethose,”Isay.
“Well,you’vegotallweek.”
“Iknowagreatfarmsupplystore,”Barboffershelpfully.
“Now,canwepleasegettothecards?”Harveysays.“I’mfeelingluckytonight.”
Andheisprettyluckythatnight.Hewinssixhands.
Iwinthegame.
?WegetrainedoutonSunday.Milesdidn’ttelluswhatweweresupposedtodo,onlythatitrequiresgoodweather.“ThinkyoucouldcalloffonThursday?”heasksmeaswe’remakingourrespectiveteaandcoffeeinthekitchen.Ordinarily,I’dhatetocalloff,butwithAshleighoutallweek,work’sbeenalittleboring,andthereisn’tmuchonthelibrary’scalendarthatday,soIgivein.
Istillwakeupatseven,evenwithoutanalarm,anddecidetoeaseintomydayreadingandsippingicedteaatoneofFika’ssidewalktables.Onawhim,IordermatchaandlikeitmorethanIexpected,butstilldecidetogobackinformyusualbeforewalkinghome.
Thethoroughlyfacial-piercedbaristalooksupandcallsbrightly,“You’reback!”
“Iam,”Isay.
“Anothermatcha?”hesays.“Oricedchaiwithmilk?”
“Chai,please,”Isay.“Plusanicedmiel,andanicedhazelnutlatte.”
“Bigday?”heteases.
“Formyroommates,”Isay.
“Gotit.”He’sscribblingmynameonallthreecups,withoutaskingforit.Ifeelanembarrassingamountofprideathavingbecomearegularsomeplacenew,onmyown.
“HowmuchdoIoweyou?”Iaskwhenhebringsthefinisheddrinkstome.
“Onthehousetoday,”hesays.
“What?Areyousure?”Iask.
Helooksaround,thenleansin.“Mymanagerisn’there,there’snooneinlinebehindyoutodemandtheirownfreedrinks,andyou’reagoodtipper.I’msure.”
“Well,thanks.”Istufftheten-dollarbillinmyhand—partoflastWednesdaynight’swinnings—intothejar.
“Jonah,”heputsin,withoutmeasking.
“Thanks,Jonah,”Isay.
Hebeams.“Haveagoodday,Daphne.”
Onmywalkhome,mydadtriestocallmeandIaccidentallyhangup.Iforgottocallhimbacklastweek,whichisn’tlikeme.Butit’snotlikehimtocallme,period.
Atthispoint,we’resustainingmoreofacasualtextseveryfewmonthskindofrelationship.
Atastoplight,Itexthim:Sorry,canIcallyoubackinjustafew?I’mterribleatmultitaskingevenwhenthetwotasksathandaren’tasdemandingas(a)navigatingsmalltalkwithmysemiestrangedfatherand(b)navigatingcrowdsofice-cream-sandwich-carryingout-of-townerszigzaggingineverydirection.
Noneed,Dadreplies.Justwantedtoconfirmtheaddressyourmomgaveme.
Sohe’smailingmesomething.RightwhenI’vefinallystartedclearingouttheweddingjunk.
IfthissurprisepackageisanythinglikeDad’slastfew,Icanlookforwardtoanintriguingassortmentofmiracle-curevitamins,essentialoils,andweedgummiesIdidnotaskforandlikelyareanactualcrimetomail.Forgoodmeasure,sometimeshethrowsinsomethingvaguelynostalgicbutultimatelymisguided.Likeayellowsnowhathefoundinhisatticandisconvincedbelongedtomeasakid.
Inthatcase,Isothoroughlydidnotrecognizethehatthattheonlylogicalexplanationwas:itbelongedtowhoeverownedthehousebeforeDad,andsincehecouldonlyaffordtheplaceduetothefactthataviolentcrimehadbeencommittedthere,you’dbetterbelievethathatwentstraightintothetrash.
Idid,however,brieflyburnthesagehesentme,inthegeneralvicinityofthetrashcan,beforetossingitinafterthesnowcap.Ifigurewereachednet-zeroonthatparticular“gift.”
Insideourapartmentbuilding,Icheckmyphoneagain.TheaddressDadsentforconfirmationis,infact,Miles’splace.Still,IdialhisnumberasI’mtrudgingupstairs,determinedtotalkhimoutofsendingmeanything.
Thecallringsout.Itryoncemore.AmessagepromptsmetoleaveavoicemailasIreachourdoor.
Afterthebeep,Isay,“Hey,Dad.”Mykeyjamsinthelock,andittakessomewigglingtogetittoturn.“SorryImissedyou.Justgivemeacallbackwhen—”
Thedoorswingsopen.
Idon’topenit.
Someoneontheothersidedoes.
Amiddle-agedwomanwitha1960s-esquebeehiveandcleavagetoherchin.
ShelookseverybitassurprisedtoseemecomingintomyapartmentasIamtoseeheralreadystandinginsideit.
“Daphne!”sheshouts,withpureecstasy.
“Hiiii,”Isay,tryingfuriouslytoplaceherandgettingnowhere
Mydadstepsoutofthekitchen,intoview,slippingonehandoverthewoman’sshoulder.“Hey,kid,”hesays.“Surprise!”24
THURSDAY,AUGUST1ST
16DAYSUNTILTHEREAD-A-THON
Mygutinstinctistostepbackintothehallway,closethedoor,andtryagain.Seeifanythingelsegreetsme.
Dadyanksmerightintoahug,thwackingmybacksoheartilyitmakesmecough.
“Yousick,kid?”Hedrawsback,grippingmyshouldersashissparklinggreeneyesgivemeaquicksurvey.
“Alittle,”Isay,becausesuddenlyIdofeelfeverish.
“Comeonin,comeonin,”hesays,likethisisn’tmyhome.Hespinsmetowardthekitchen.“YoufinallygettomeetStarfire.”
Awordlesssquealemanatesfrombehindhim.Hesidesteps,presentingwithafull-armflourishthewomanwhoopenedmyapartmentdoor.
Severalfeetbehindher,Mileshoversintheentryway,lookingasflusteredasI’veseenhim.Whichistosay,technicallynotvery.ButforMiles,everybitlikeamanwhowasjustforcedtolettwostrangersintohisapartment.
IbarelyhavetimetoregisterStarfire’sbubblegum-pinklipglossbeforeshe’swrappingmeinabone-crunchinghugthatsmellsliketheinsideofaBath&BodyWorksminutesafteragaggleofpreteensrolledthroughhypeduponFrappuccinos.
“You.Are.Just.So.Cute!”Sherocksmehardbackandforthintimewithherpronouncement.
“Oh,”Isay.“Thanks.”
Whenshereleasesme,shekeepsoneofmyhandsinhers,herlong,baby-bluefingernailsslightlyclawingintome.“Finally,”shesaystearily.“AtfirstIthoughtyouwerethetallone.”ShejerksherheadoverhershouldertowardJulia,whosefaceplainlyprojects:Ihavealreadybeenthroughwhatyouarecurrentlyexperiencing.
MyeyesflicktowardDad,tryingtocommunicatethatIhavenoideawhothiswomanis.
ButmyfatherandIneverhadthetimetodevelopanythingresemblinganunspokenlanguage.
Hejustbeams.“Youhavenoideawhatitmeanstometoseemytwogirlstogether.”
Foronesecond,IgenuinelywonderwhetherStarfireisahalfsisterIneverknewexisted.
ButwhereasallDad’spreviousgirlfriendseasilycouldhavefitthatbill,StarfirehastobewithinadecadeofDad’sownage—thoughwiththekindoffillerandBotoxthatmakeitimpossibletotellwhethershe’stenyearsyoungerortenyearsolderthanhim.
“Shouldwegointothelivingroom,”Milespipesup,alreadyguidingDaddownthehallway.“DaphneandIwillgrabsomewineandsnacks.”
“Soundsgreat!”Juliachimesin,dutifullyloopinganarmthroughStarfire’s.
Starfire,forherpart,makesanotherwordlessbaby-talkcoointhebackofherthroat,andsqueezesmycheekbeforeshe’sdraggedoff,ahugegrinturnedoverhershoulderalltheway,sothatshekeepsbumpingintoJuliaandalmosttopplingoverinherfour-inchbluespikeheels.
Milesushersmeintothekitchen,whispering,“Theyjustshowedup.”
“Andyouletthemin,”Iwhisperback.
“Hesaidhewasyourdad!”hehisses.“Andthatyouwereexpectinghim!Ididn’tknowwhattodo.”
“Imean,intheloosestinterpretationoftheword,”Isay,“that’smyfather,butI’mneverexpectinghim.”
“AndStarfire?”heasks.
“ThemissingsixthmemberoftheSpiceGirls,”Isay.
“You’venevermether,”heguesses.
“Neverevenheardofher,”Isay.
Milessighsandturnstoopenthewinecabinet.Igrabacoupleofglassesfromtheothercabinet.WhenIturnback,he’slaughingtohimself,shakinghishead.“Shouldwetakebetsonwhoshowsupnext?”
“Atthisrate,”Isay,“Iwon’tbesurprisedifmydeadgreat-auntMildredclimbsthroughthewindowtonight.”
“Notevenaboutthewindowpart?”hesays.“Wassheacontortionist?”
“I’mjustassumingghostshavetheSantaClauseffect,wheretheycanturnintoJell-Oandshimmythroughtightspaces.”
“Youreadyforthis?”heasks,andwhileIhaven’ttoldhimatonaboutmydad,he’sclearlypickeduponenoughinthelastthreeminutes.
“No,”Isay.“ButonceImakeitthroughthefirstbottleofwine,I’llbebetter.”
Hesniffstheair.“AmI…smelling…”
Inod.“That’smydad.Hotboxinginourapartment.”
Hewinces.“Wantmetoaskhimtostickhisheadoutthewindow?”
“Bemyguest,”Isay.“Infifteenminutes,he’llforgetandlightupagainwhilehe’smidsentenceandyoufeellikeyoucan’tinterrupthim.Thesentencewilllasttwentyminutes.”
Hetouchesmyelbow.“Justtextmeifyouneedanout.”
Mybrowlifts.“You’llcauseadiversion?”
“IfIhaveto.”
Iturntowardthehall.“Heneverstayslong.Thisisprobablyathirty-minuteinterludeontheirwaysomewherebetter.We’llgetitoverwith.OrIwill—you’renotobligatedto—”
“I’llstay,”hesays.“Unlessyoudon’twantmeto?”
“No,Idefinitelywantyouto,”Iadmit.“It’sjustthatIabsolutelydonotexpectyoutoendurethis.”
Herunsahandovermyelbow,andIdomybestnottoshiver:“SomeoneoncetoldmeI’mverygoodwithstrangers.Comeon.”
Aswewalkintothelivingroom,Dadblowsoutapuffofsmoke.Julia’sstuffhasallbeenmovedintoatowerinthecorner,theairmattressthree-quartersdeflatedandballedupatthebottom,sothatourguestscansitonthecouch,twopairsofintenselywhiteteethfloatingagainstsun-bronzedskin.
“Theresheis!”Dadsays,followedbyahackingcough.
“HereIam!”Isetthewineglassesonthecoffeetablebeforeperchingontheveryedgeofthechairperpendiculartothecouch.“Andyou.AndStarfire.”
Starfirebeamsatme.DadbeamsatStarfire.MilesandJuliaexchangeabewilderedglance.
“Theseareforyou,”Dadsays,scootingforward.Hebalanceshisjointonthecornerofthecoffeetableandproducesan—admittedlybeautiful—bouquetfromdownontherug.“Wethoughttheylookedjustlikeyou.”
“Youraura,ofcourse,”Starfireputsin.“It’shardtojudgeinpictures,butJayJaywasdrawntothese,andwecomparedthemtothepicturehekeepsinhiswallet.”
Atmyblankstare,Dadchimesin,“Youroldseniorphoto!”
NewstomethatDadhasacopyofthat.I’mprettysureMomandIagreedtheyweresobaditwasn’tworthgettinganyprinted,andjustsentthefilefortheleastawkwardonetomyschooltouse.
“Thanks,”Isaystiffly,leaningovertoacceptthebouquet.
“That’ssomethingIlovedabouthimrightaway,”Starfiresaysdreamily,lookingupatDadasifahalofloatsabovehishead.I’veseenthatlookonplentyofGirlfriendsPast.“Henevershowsupempty-handed.”
Asakid,Ilovedthatabouthimtoo.
UntilIrealizedhisgiftswereconsolationprizes:Yes,Icanceledourspringbreakvisit,butmybuddygaveusticketstoanamusementpark!
Imissedyourchoirconcert,butisn’tthiscandymychocolatiergirlfriendmakesamazing?
Isetthebouquetonthecoffeetable,andJuliajumpsup.“I’llputthatinwater,”shesays,andfleesthescene.
Miles,geniusthatheis,startsfillingthewineglassesandasks,“So,how’dyoutwomeet?”Hesitsbackontotheotherchair,mimickingmyready-to-runposture.
“Starfireismylifecoach,”Dadsays,afteragulp.
Starfirenods,asmilestillstretchedtightacrossherlips.“Butweactuallykneweachotherbeforethat.”
“Apparently,weweremarriedinapastlife,”Dadsays,like,Canyoubelievethatcoincidence?
Starfirenods.“Severaltimes.”
“Oh,”Milessays.“Well.Congratulations.”
“IwasanheiressontheTitanic,”Starfireexplains.“AndJasonwasahandsomeartist,buthewasso,sopoor.Mysocialcirclesneverwouldhaveapproved.Butwehadatorridaffair,andhesavedmylife.”Shegoesbacktonodding,averyearnestbobblehead.
MilesandImakeeyecontact.Helookslikehe’stryingsohardnottolaughhemightthrowupinstead.
“Sojust,”Isay,“exactlytheplotofthemovie,then.”
Starfire’sheadcockstooneside.“Whatmovie?”
“Whatbringsyouintotown?”Miles,withtheassist.“YouliveinCalifornia,right?”
“That’sright.”Dadrelightshisjoint.“Butwe’reonour—”
“Excuseme,”Milescutsin,smilingpleasantly.“Wouldyoumindwaitingtosmokeuntilyou’reoutside?”Hesaysitsowarmlyandnaturally.Hereallydoeshaveasuperpower.
Justasunflappablyaffable,Dadsays,“Oh,sure!Ofcourse,”andtucksthejointbackinhisT-shirtpocket.
“So,California?”Milessays.
“Right,”Dadsays.“Butwe’redrivingacrossthecountrytocelebrate.”
“Celebratewhat?”Iask.
“Oh,Daffy,”Starfiresays,officiallythefirstadulttoeverabbreviatemytwo-syllablenamethatway.“Ourunion.”
Dadfrowns,avaguelookofhurtaroundhiseyes.“Didn’tyougetthecard?”
“Whatcard?”Isay.
“Thebirthdaycard,”hesays.“WhereItoldyouwegotmarried!”
“Youtoldmeinabirthdaycard?”Isay.
“Youdidn’tseeit?”hesaysagain,stilltheinjuredparty.
“Whenwasyourbirthday?”Milesasks,browfurrowing.
“EndofApril,”Isay.
Hefrownsatthat,nodoubtdoingthemath,realizingIwasalreadylivingwithhim.
“Imust’vemisplacedthecard,”ItellDad.
Actually,sincehisbirthdaycardsrarelycontainanythingotherthanmynameandhissignature,whentheycomeatall,I’doptedtoputitexactlywhereIputthemurder-housebeaniehe’dmailedmelastyear:inthetrash.
ThelastthingIneededwasanotherhalfheartedgesturefromamanwhosortoflovedme.
TheotherlastthingIneededwasareminderthatIwasturningthirty-threeandhadnooneatalltocelebrateitwith.
Starfireisstillsmilinglikeifsheletseventhecornersofherlipstouch,theapocalypsemightbetriggered.
AndaftereverythingsheenduredontheTitanic,whocanblameherforbeingsocautious?
“Soyou’repassingthrough,”Isay.“Headedsomewherefun?”
“Well,eventually,”Dadsays,“we’regoingtoStarfire’sfamilyinVermont.Butwefiguredwe’dstickaroundhereuntilMonday,ifyoucouldstandtohaveusthatlong.”
Myskinprickles.Mybloodrunscold.Iwonderifthisishowanimalsfeelwhenatornadoisbrewing.
I’dbracedforthistobeanoffensivelyshortpitstop.NowIrealizeit’ssomuchworse.We’reafreeplacetostaywhiletheybreakuptheirtranscontinentaldrive:Herearesomebeautifulflowersthatremindedmeofyou;canIsleeponyourcouch?
Thisapartmentisquicklybecomingthesetforaterriblesitcom.
Dad’sstilltalking,butI’mhearinghisvoiceasthewarbleofCharlieBrown’steacher.
“I’msorry,”Ifinallygetout.“Whatdidyousay?”
“We’reonnosetschedule,”Starfiresays.“Sowecanstayaslongasyouwant!”
Outofthecornerofmyeye,IseeJuliawalkingintotheroom,withtheflowersinavase.She,verysmartly,turnsandheadsrightbackintothekitchen.
Dadsays,“We’resohappytobehere,kid.Starfire’scousinSandrasayswehavetogoseetheduneswhilewe’rehere.”
“She’sapsychictoo,”Starfiretellsme,noddingenthusiastically.
“Who?”Isay.
“Sandra,”shesays.“She’sgotthegift.”
Toobadshedidn’twarnthemtherewasnospacefortheminourapartment.
“I’vegotabitmyself,”Starfiregoeson.“MytherapistsaysI’manexpath.”
“Youmeanempath?”Iask,momentarilydistractedfrommyoverallgoal.
Sheshakesherhead.“No,mine’stheotherkind.Iprojectpowerfulemotions.”
Itakeabeattoretracemystepstowherethisconversationwentofftherails.“Wedon’thaveaguestroom,”ItellDad.“Wedon’tevenreallyhaveacouchrightnow.Julia’sstayingwithus.”Iwavefeeblytowardthetowerofclothes,pillows,andbedding.
Dad’sdarkblondbrowsknittogether,alookofconfusion,probablyatbeingdeniedsomethinghehasn’tevenfullybotheredtoaskforyet.Thenheletsoutalaugh.“Oh,no,”hesays,shakinghishead.“Wewouldn’tdreamofimposing.”
Sincewhen?
“No,no,Igotusamotelroom,”hesays.“It’sawaysoutsideoftown,butwedon’tmindferryingbackandforth.”
Thisisasurpriseindeed.
“Waitasecond.”Starfire’seyeswiden.“Ithoughtthereweretwobedroomsinhere.”
“There…are?”Miles’seyesnarrow,likeifhefocuses,hemightbeabletoseeherlogicdriftingthroughtheroom.
“Andyoudon’tuseoneasaguestroom?”sheasks.
“Therearetwoofus,”Ipointout.
“Youtwodon’tsharearoom?”Dadsays,dismayed.
Forthefirsttime,Starfire’ssmilefalters.“Ohno.”Shealmostsoundslikeshe’sgoingtocry.ShelooksbetweenMilesandme.“Doyouwanttotalkaboutit?Wecanbe,like,yourmentors.Yourlovementors.”
“What,”Isay,asMilessays,“Love?”
Starfiredropshervoicetoawhisper,likesomehowthatwillkeeptherestofusfromhearing,andleansovertopatMiles’sknee.“Youtwowillgetthroughthis.”
“Getthroughwhat?”Milesshakeshishead,squintingagain.
Unfortunately,I’mnotaslostasheis.“We’renottogether.”
Heflincheswhenunderstandinghits.
“Ohno,”Starfirecries.“Youbrokeup?”Hershouldershitch.IgenuinelythinkthiswomanI’venevermetisabouttocryforarelationshipthatneverhappened.
“We’refriends!”Milesclarifies,alittletoofrantically.“Justfriends.Separaterooms.”
“Oh,phew!”DadeyesmeandjerksathumbatMiles.“Ilikethisguy.GladIdon’thavetodislikehimnow.Especiallyafterwhathappenedwiththelastguy!Soisanyonehungry?Wouldlovetohavealittlebelatedbirthday,kiddo.”
“Ofcoursewedon’twanttointrude.”StarfiredrapesamanicuredhandoverthecrookofDad’selbow.“Sinceyouweren’texpectingus.”
“Definitely,”Dadsays.“We’llworkaroundyourschedule,takewhatevertimeyoucanspareforacoupleofoldcoots.”
Starfirescoffsandswatshisarm.“Oh,youtakethatback,JayJay.You’reonlyasoldasyoufeel.”
“Thisonefeelsabouttwenty-twomostofthetime,”Dadtellsme,adorationsparklinginhiseyes.
Ittriggersaconfusingflurryofemotionsinmychest.
Asofteningtowardthisnewincarnationofhim,theonewithanage-appropriatepartnerandtheforesighttobookamotelroom.
Butalso,areawakeningoftheoldhurt.Thereminderthatmyfatherneverfoundapersonhecouldn’tlovemorethanhe’deverlovedmeorMom,aplacehedidn’twanttobemorethanhewantedtobeathome.
“Whatdoyousay,kid?”heasks.“Yougottimetoplaytourguideforyourdadandstepmom?”
Milesshootsmealook,browraised,waitingformetosignal,LeapoverthecoffeetableandlightsomethingonfirewhileIclimboutthewindow!
AndmaybeIshould—maybeDad’sjustsettingaboxofcupcakesatopatrou-de-loupboobytrap.
Buthe’shere.Withawife,andaroomalreadybooked,andforthefirsttimeIcanremember,he’saskingwhetherI’mfree,ratherthanassumingI’lldropeverythingbecausehe’sdeignedtoshowup.
“Isthereroomfortwomoreinourplans?”IaskMiles.
Hisheadcocks.Icantellhe’swaitingformoreofasignalthanthat,soIadd,“Wecouldprobablymakeitwork,right?”
Heholdsmygazeforasecond,givingmeachancetochangemymind,toscream“RyanReynolds!”atthetopofmylungs.
Idon’t.
Heturnsatamped-downversionofhisimpishlycharmingsmiletowardthem.“Youallbringbathingsuits?”
Juliapokesherheadbackintotheroomwithoutahintofshamethatshe’sobviouslybeeneavesdroppingfromonefootoutofsight.“Iknewit!We’regoingontheboat,aren’twe?”25
“Theboat”isanoldpontoonthatbelongstoafriendofMiles’s.Thehardwarestore/barbershopownerwherehegetshistools/haircuts.Mileshasanopeninvitationtousethepontoonwheneverit’savailable.IdriveandDadridesupfront,withMiles,Julia,andStarfirewedgedinmybackseat,MilesgivingverbaldirectionsratherthanusingaGPS,becausehedoesn’tremembertheguy’saddress.
I’dassumedwe’dbeboatingonLakeMichigan,buttherearedozensofsmallerlakesfurtherinlandfromthetwenty-two-thousandsquaremilesofLakeMichigan.We’regoingtooneofthose,alakeinthemoretraditionalsenseoftheword,withrusticcottagesliningthewaterandreedsswayingintheshallows.
WeparkdownalongwoodeddriveinfrontofagorgeousA-framethat’seitherhalfwaythroughbeingbuiltorhalfwaythroughbeingrenovated.Myguess,basedontheovergrowngrassaroundaparkedcampertrailerandoldtruck,isthelatter.Thatthisplacebelongstoado-it-yourselferwho’stakingtheirtime.Exactlythekindofpersonwho’doperateahardwarestore/barbershop.
“Youguysgoaheadandgetontheboat,”Milestellsusaswegetoutintothebuggyheat.“I’llgrabthekeysfrominside.”
“Ithoughtyourfriendwasn’thome,”Isay,buthe’salreadyboundinguptothebackdeck,slidingopenadoorthatwas,apparently,unlocked.JuliaandIpullthecooleroutofthetrunkandcarryitbetweenusdownthegrassyhillsidetowardthewater’sedge.
“Whatagorgeousdayforthis!”Starfiresaysbrightly.She’ssaiditseventimessofar.I’vebeencounting.
“Couldn’thaveaskedforbetterweather,”Juliaagrees,forthefourthtime.We’vebeentakingturns,andbynow,Ithinkshe’scaughtonandismakingagameoutofit.
“LikeMichiganrolledoutthered-carpettreatment,”Dadsays,clappingahandonmyshoulderrightasJuliaandIsetfootontheshortdockthatjutsintothereeds.Iwobble,butluckilymanagetoregainmyfootingbeforefallingoffthenarrowpierandtakingthecoolerandJuliawithme.
It’sseenbetterdays—oneboardismissing,withtwootherssnappedinthemiddle—buttheboatlookstobeingoodshape.NotthatIknowwhatmakesaboatingoodshape,butit’snotonfireoranything.
Dadkicksoffhisshoes,picksthemup,andhopsaboard,helpingeachofusdownbythehand.HepassesStarfiredownlast,andmakesabigshowofkissingherhand.ShegigglesandlooksbetweenmeandJulialike,Areyouseeingthis?Whataguy!
Itrytolookpleasantandvaguelyencouraging:Yes,IsawmydadGomezAddamsyou,andIthinkit’sgreat!
Itissweet,honestly.Againthatweirdmishmashofemotionsswirlsinmyribcage.
Ilikeseeinghimlikethis.Ialsoresentit,wonderforthemillionthtimewhyMomandIneverinspiredthiskindofattentionorcommitment.
“Gotit,”Milescalls,joggingdownthedock.Heuntiestheboatandjumpsin,startingtheengine,thenpullinghisshirtoff.
Starfiregaspsattheassortmentofdisjointedtattoosthisreveals.Myinitialblush-and-avoid-lookingtacticquicklydissolvesintolookingforagiantheartwithPetra’snameinit,butapparentlythat’snotoneofthemanytattoo-relatedcapital-CChoiceshe’scommittedto.
Ido,however,realizeforthefirsttimethatinadditiontohisPopeyeanchor,healsohasafull-onPopeyeonhiscalf.Thisdoessurprisinglylittletodampentheimpulsetocrosstheboatandrunmytongueoverhisskin.
“Whatbeautifulbodyart!”Starfirecoos.“What’sthisonemean?”
Shetoucheshisupperbicepsashe’sstartingtosteerusdeeperintothelake.Hesubdueshissmile.“Well,”hesays,“it’samermaid.”
Shenodswithwide-eyedintrigue.“And?”
“Ilikedhowitlooked,”hesays.
“It’sgorgeous.”Shegivesitafirmpat.
Thelakeissurprisinglyhopping.Overtheroarofourmotor,wecatchsnippetsofradiohitsblastingofftheboatswepass:TaylorSwift’s“CruelSummer”andSherylCrow’s“SoakUptheSun”andOtisRedding’s“(Sittin’On)TheDockoftheBay.”
Aftertenminutesofcruising,windinourhair,motorrattlinginourears,wefindagoodspottostopandrelax.Milesturnsonourradio,dropsanchor,andpassesoutcansofseltzerandbeerfromthecoolertotherestofus.JuliaandIslatherourselvesinsunscreen,butStarfirewastesnotimeshuckingherclothesoffandjumpingoffthebackoftheboat,ablurofhot-pinkone-pieceandawhoop!
Dadwhistlesandapplaudswhensheresurfaces.Juliapeelsoffhershortsandjumpsoutafterher.
“Isitcold?”Icalltothem.
“Sortof,”Juliashoutsback,rightasStarfiresaysjoyfully,“Itfeelslikerebirth!”
Withinafewminutesofcajoling,Dad’sgottenintoo,andthenhe’sbadgeringMilesandmefromthewater,whileStarfirebackstrokeswithimpressivegrace.
“Yougettingin?”Milesasksme,shieldinghiseyesagainstthesuntopeeratme.Itmakesthemomentfeelstrangelyprivate,intimate.
“Howdeepisit?”Iaskhim.
“Don’tbeachicken!”Dadcalls,theillusionofprivacyshattering.
Starfiremakesahyperrealisticchickensound.She’sreallyinherelementhere
“Whatexactly”—Istepuptothegateatthebackoftheboat—“wouldIbeafraidofinthisscenario?”
“Thefish!”Dadcries,likethisshouldbeobvious.
“Thefish?”Irepeat.
Dadaffectsalookofdisbelief.“Areyoukidding?Youwereterrifiedofthemwhenyouwereakid!Remember?Itookyoufishingandyouhadthatmeltdown?”
Idon’trememberevergoingfishinginmylife,butifIdid,I’mguessingthemeltdownhadlesstodowiththefishandmorewithhavingtopullametalhookfromitsmouth.“Areyousurethatwasme?”
Helaughs.“IthinkIremembermyowndaughter!Itookyoufishing,andweforgotsunscreen,andIknewyourmomwouldbemad,sowewenttothegrocerystoreandIgotyouthisbrightyellowsunhat.Matchedyourbathingsuit.YoulookedlikeTweetyBird,”hesays,shakinghishead.“Youwereobsessedwiththathat.”
Ithinkaboutthebeaniehesentme,wonderifheconflateditwiththehatfromthismemory.
Honestly,Iwonderifit’sevenarealmemory,orjustsomesceneinamovieheoverlaidmyfaceontoafterthefact.
“Youreallydon’tremember?”hesays.
Ishakemyhead.Thisclearlybothershim,butIcan’tthinkofanythingcomfortingtosay.Thefactis,themostmemorablepartsofmychildhoodaretheoneshemissed,hisabsenceexactlywhatgavethemtheirweight.
“Itwasareallyspecialday,”hemurmurs,treadingwaterinplace,mouthturneddowninafrown.
IhatethatIfeelguiltrightnow.Idon’twanttofeellikeDadcanstilltriggerthatinme.LikeallIwantistomakehimhappy,makehimproud,earnhisshine.
Milescatchesmyeyes,hissmilegone,hishandcuppedaroundhiseyesagainstthesun,creatingthatillusionofseclusionagain.
It’salooklike,Yougood?
Ormaybelike,I’mhere.
AndIknowhewon’tbeforever,ormaybeevenverylong,butithelpsknowingthatrightnowheis.Thatcanbeenough.
Iturntowardthewater,pullingmydressovermyshoulders,sunbeatingagainstthem.“Onthebrightside,”Isay,“sinceIdon’trememberthat,I’mdefinitelynotafraidoffish.”
Itossmydressatthebench,stepthroughtheopengate,andleapintothewater.
Thecoldrushesovermyhead,needlesthroughmyeverypore.
WhenIcomeup,whenthesunhitsthecrownofmyheadandIseeMilesstandingatthebackoftheboat,JuliaandStarfireandDadswimminginlazycirclesinthesparklingwater,IthinkofwhatStarfiresaid.
Itdoesfeellikearebirth.
Peoplecanchange,Ithink.
I’mchanging.
?WeeatdinneratJesse’sTable,afarm-to-tablespotwithadeckoverlookingthewater.I’mpink-cheeked-and-nosedfromthedayinthesun,whileDad’s,Julia’s,andMiles’stanshaveonlydeepened.Starfireisbrightredbutunbothered.“It’llturnintoatanbytomorrow,”shetoldmewhenIofferedheraloebackattheapartment,betweentheboatrideandtherestaurant.
Assoonaswe’reseated,Dadsweet-talksthehostintotakinganorderforabottleofwine.Whentheserverarrivesaminutelater,Dadasksforrecommendationsonappetizers,andshelistssixorso.Heordersoneofeach,“forthetable.”
Ifeelmyfirstpingofanxietyinhours,imaginingDadnonchalantlytellingourservertosplitthecheckevenlyattheendofthenight.I’mtryingtodothemathinmyheadtofigureoutwhetherIcancoverJulia’sandMiles’sportionofthesethingstheydecidedlydidnotorder.
Buteveryone’sinagreatmood,tipsyonthesunshineandwineandthebarbershopquartetpracticingonthegravelpatiooftheicecreamshoptwodoorsdown.
Bythetimewemakeitthroughtheappetizers,we’vepolishedoffthepinotblanc.Dadslipsofftousetherestroom(smokeinastall)andcomesbackannouncinghe’sorderedchampagnesowecantoastmybirthdayalongwithhisandStarfire’snuptials.
She’sbarelytouchedherfirstglass,insteaddevotingherfullfocustopepperingmewithquestionsaboutmychildhood.ItstrikesmethatMilesisright,thatthekeytobeingabletotalktoanyonemightjustbecuriosity.
Butitalsotakesakindoffearlessness,toinvitesomeoneintoyourspaceandasktobeinvitedintotheirs.Ican,alittletooeasily,imaginehangingupaneedlepointencouragingmetoBeMoreLikeStarfire
Evenwhenherquestionsleadtoyetmoreproofthatmyfatherwasn’tactuallyaroundformychildhood,sheshowsnovisiblesignsofdisappointment,justshootsafollow-upquestionmyway.
Itrytoaskherthingstoo,andsheanswerseasily—yes,shegrewupinVermont,shewasontheskiteamatherschool,she’sbeenavegetariansincebirth,shehassixsiblings,allofthembrothers—butsheendseveryresponsewithanewquestionforme
Meanwhileourserver,whoclearlylovesDad,bringsoutthreeoff-menuofferingsfromthechef.Onthehouse.
Whilewe’reeatingourmaincourses,JuliaandStarfirecomparetheirbirthcharts,andhavethekindofconversationaboutwatersignsthat’sindecipherabletononastrologypeople.DadasksMilesaboutwork,andexcitedlypitchestheideaofgoingfordinnertomorrowatthewineryonceI’moffwork.“Ifyou’renottoosickofit,”Dadsaystome.“Don’tknowhowoftenyoueatthere.”
“Wecangothereifyouwant,”Isay.
“Oh!AndwehavetogoseeDaffyatthelibrary,”Starfireputsin.
“YoushouldgoonSaturday,soyoucanseeStoryHour,”Juliavolunteers.
“What’sStoryHour?”Dadasks.
“It’sjustwhenIreadtoagroupofkids,”Isay.
“Shedoesthevoices,”Juliaadds.
“Doesshe?”Dad’seyeslightup.“Likethatonegalattheoldlibraryweusedtogoto!Whatwashername?Leanna?”
Hedefinitelyshouldknowhername,sincehebrieflydatedher.Afterward,Inoticedwestartedfrequentingadifferentbranch.
“Howdidyougetstartedatthelibrary,anyway?”Starfireasks.“Didyoualwayswanttodothat?”
Icouldn’tfeelmoreexposedifI’dunzippedmyskinandpouredmyinnardsontothetable.
“BetIknowtheanswertothatone,”Dadsays.
Ican’tdecideifthatmakesitbetterorworse.
Hesetshiselbowsonthetableandleansforward.“WhenDaphnewaslittle,shewasabig-timereader.AndIhadthisgirlfriendwhoworkedatabookstore,gotahugediscount.SoI’dalwaysbringbookswhenIcametovisit.
“ButmeandHolly—Daph’smom—neitherofusreallyhad‘disposableincome,’perse.SoIalwaysgotintroublewithher.I’dgetDaphnethefirstbookinaseries,orworse,thesecond,andthenHollywouldhavetobuyherthefirst.Shefinallytoldmeshewantedmetostopbringingpresents.ThoughtIwastryingtobuyDaphneoff.”
Herollshiseyesashesaysthis,butalsoshootsJuliaawink.“Maybeabit.Anyway,wecompromised.I’dtakeDaphtothelibraryeverytimeIwasintowninstead.You’dthinkI’dbroughthertoDisneyland.Putthisgirlinaroomfullofbooks,andshe’shappierthananyoneI’vemet.Neverunderstooditmyself,butitwascuteashelltowatchherstackupasmanyasshecouldcarryandslidethemontoadeskhigherthanherforeheadtocheckthemout.”
Starfireputsahandoverherheartatthis.
Myownisbeatingalittlefast,uncomfortably.
Histellingofitfeelssodifferentfrommyownmemory.Whatloomedsolargeforme,biggereventhanthemagicofbeingsurroundedbybrightcolorsandfreebooks,wasbeingexcitedtoshowhimwhatI’dfound.Wanderingthestacksinsearchofhim.Finallyspottinghimflirtingwithalibrarian,hardlyawareofmethere,waitingforhisattention
Oneofmyearliestmemoriesofjoy,andoneofthefirsttimesIrealizedI’dalwayscomeinsecond.
“Excuseme.”Ipushbackfromthetableandstand.“I’vegottousetherestroom.”
Iserpentinethroughthetablesonthedeckintotherestaurant,adjustingtothedimEdisonbulbchandeliersbeforecuttingovertothebathroomhallway.
Bothareoccupied,butit’snotthatIneededtopeesomuchasIneededtobreathe,whileIwaitoutthisconfusingtorrentoffeelings.Ileanagainstthegildedwallpaperandclosemyeyes,willingmyhearttoslow.
“Youokay?”comesasoftvoice.
Iopenmyeyes.Milesstepsuncertainlyintothehallway.
“Yep.Mm-hmm.Fine!”Isay.“Bathroom’sinuse.”
Henods.“ThenI’llleaveyoutoit.”Heturnsaway,andIfeelthisdesperation.
Toletitout,orjusttokeephimhereamomentlonger.“Ineverknowhowtofeelwhenhe’saround,”Iblurt.
Milesturns,considersforamoment.Hewalksbackandleansintothewallbesideme.“Somebodyrecentlytoldmethatfeelingsareliketheweather.Theyjustkindofhappen.”
Itrytoforceasmile.“Soundslikeshehasnoideawhatshe’stalkingabout.”
“She’sverysmart,”hesays.“Andhot,ifthat’srelevant.”
Theglowinmychestisn’tstrongenoughtobreakupallthedarkcloudschurninginthere.“He’sbeingsonice,”Isayweakly.
Milesthinksaboutthisforasecond.“Itseemslikeit,yeah.”
“SowhyamIupset?”Isay.
“Maybebecause…whenhe’snice,it’shardtobemadathim.”Hetakesmyhandgingerly.“Andyouare,sothenyoufeelbadaboutthat.”
“Maybe,”Isay.Then,“Maybeexactly.”
Hepullsmeintohischestandwindshisarmsaroundme.Warm,friendly,familiarMiles,anditsurprisesmehowmuchithurtstobethisclosetohim.HowitonlyseemstounderscorethatIwon’tbeanycloser.
“Wecanrunifyouwant,”hemurmurs.
“Dineanddash?”Isay.“I’mappalledatyou,MilesNowak.”
“Morelike,payonthewayout,”hesays,“andtakeaspeed-limit-abidingcabsomewheretheycan’tfindus.”
“Wecouldn’tdothat.JuliawouldendupalongfortheridetoVermont.Nextthingwe’dknow,she’dbetakingsteroidsandtrainingfortheWomen’sOlympicSkiTeam.”
“Shecanholdherown,”hesays.
“SocanI,”Iargue.
Hedrawsbacktolookintomyface.“Iknow,”hesays.“Ijustdon’twantyoutohaveto.”
Ilooktowardthedeck,blinkingbacktherisingemotion.“Thetruthis,heseemsdifferent.”
“Isthatbad?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.Ijust…”
Idon’twanttotrusthim.
Idon’twanttobedisappointed.
“Imademypeacewithhowthingshavealwaysbeenbetweenus,”Iadmit.“Ittookmealongtimetostopexpectingmorethanhe’dgiveme.”
“Thatmakessense,”Milessays,tuckingmyhairbehindmyear.
Idon’twanttogobacktofeelingunsteady.Idon’twantittohurteverytimeheletsmedown.
Ialreadyfeelitagain:theachingemptinesswheremydad’sloveshouldbe.Andthistime,Idon’thavemymomnearby,orPeterandtheCollinsestofillthegaps.
AndnomatterhowgenuinelyniceStarfireis,itdoesn’tchangethefactthatshe’sawomanwhopaidsomeoneactualmoneytorecounttheplotofTitanictoherasaprophecy,andsheisworthyofDad’slove,whenIneverhavebeen.
JustlikePetraisworthyofPeter’s.
JustlikePeterisworthyofthecommitmentofallthosefriendsfromwhomI’dworkedtirelesslytoearnapprovalsincewemovedhere.Theoneswhohadnotimeformesincethebreakup.StillworthyofSadie’slove,afterI’dstoppedbeingso.
Lifeisn’tacompetition,andneitherislove,butI’mstilltheloser.
AfrowncreasesMiles’sforeheadashecupsmychin.
Ishakemyhead.“Ijustwantittobereal.”
“What?”hesays.
“Thememorieshehasofus,”Iwhisper.“Thisvisit.Iwanttobelieveitallmeanssomething.”
“Maybeitdoes,”hesays.
Thebathroomdooropensbehindus,andhishandfallsawayaswepressourselvesagainstthewalltolettheemergingmanslinkpast.Ashegoes,hefinishestuckinghisdressshirtbackintohispantsandeyesuswithunbridledsuspicion.
“Heone-hundred-percentthinkswe’redoingadrugdeal,”Isay.
“Don’tberidiculous,”hesays.“Heatleastfifty-percentthinkswe’rehavinganillicitaffair.”
Webothsmileatourfeet.“Sowheredoyouwanttogo,”heasks.“Backtothetable,oroutthefrontdoor?”
“Table.”Itipmyheadtowardtheopenbathroomdoor.“Justgivemeaminute.”
“I’dgivethebathroomaminute,”hesays.“Thatguyhadthefaceofsomeonewhojustdidsomethingungodly.”
?Icatchourserveronmywaythroughtherestauranttothedeck.“Couldyoumakesureyouputthesharedplatesonmytab?”Iask.
“WishIcould.”She’sholdingherhandsupinsurrender.“Theoldergentlemanalreadypickedeverythingup.”
“Really?”Isay.“You’resure?”
“Hewasadamantthebillnotmakeittothetable,”shereplies.
Ithankherandwalkbacktomyseat,slightlydazed.AssoonasI’vesunkbackintomychair,acrowdofserversfilesthroughtherestaurant’sbackdoorontothedeck,carryingachocolatecakelitwithasparkler.
“Happylatebirthday,honey,”Dadsays,rightbeforethestaffbeginstosing.
“Thanks,Dad,”Isay,voicedisappearingintothechorusofvoices.
“It’snothing,”hemurmurs,squeezingmyarmatopthetable.Buthelooksrelieved,ormaybepleased.
Likemyhappinesshasmadehimhappy.Andsuddenlymyeyesarestingingandheatisrushingupthebackofmynose.Ifocusontheblue-goldsparksshootingoffthecakesoIwon’tcrack.
?Afterdessert,wepickourwaydownthedeckstairstothebeach.Milesbroughttowelsinabackpack,andwestretchout,waitingastheskydarkens,starsgraduallyprickingthroughit.Outonthewater,someonehasdecidedtoshootofffireworksfromtheirboat.
Ahum,agasp,asigh,ripplethroughthebeach’sstragglers.Onestreakoflightpops,explodesintoashiveringpurpleblossom.Twomorequicklyfollow,oneitherside,pinkandgold.
Kidsshriekandsquealandruncirclesaroundtheiradults,Popsiclesandicecreamconesmeltingdowntheirwrists.DadandStarfirestrikeupaconversationwithacouplearoundtheiragestandingnearus,andJuliaisdownontheground,takingselfieswithashaggyGreatPyreneessprawlinginthesand.Evenwiththesulfuricsmellhangingintheair,IcanstillpickoutthegingerykickofMilesbesideme.
“Goodnight?”heasks,afreshwaveoffireworksmakinghisfaceshimmerwithgreensandoranges.
“Greatnight.”
Hesmilesandfacesforward,thebackofhishandbrushingmine.Myheartfeelslikeapresentunwrapped,mybodyrelaxing.
Forthefirsttime,Iletmyselfreallyimaginethislasting.
Allofit.
DadandStarfire.AshleighandJulia.WaningBay.
Miles.
Icouldbehappyhere.Icouldbelong.26
IplanonsayinggoodnighttoDadandStarfireatourapartmentandsendingthemontheirway.ThenImakethemistakeofGooglingtheirmotel.
“Dad!”Isay.“Thisisfortyminutesaway,andthefirstthreereviewsmentionbedbugs.”
“Everythingclosertothewaterbooksupayearout,apparently,”hetellsme.
Iscrolldown.Thereviewsthatdon’tmentionbedbugsfocusinsteadoncockroaches.Yetanotherreviewercomplainsthattheirroomdidn’thaveabed.“Justarust-coloredoutlinewherethebedshould’vebeen,”Ireadaloudtothem.
“I’msureiftheygiveusaroomwithoutabed,they’llletusmoveforfree,”Starfirevolunteers.
IshootMilesafranticlook.
“Anyonewantwater?”hechimesin.“Daphne—wannahelpme?”
Webeelineforthekitchen,ignoringtheirprotestationsthatthey’refine,it’sbeenhourssincetheydrankthatwine,theyshouldgetontheroad,etc.
WhileMilespullsglassesdown,hesaysunderhisbreath,“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”
“Wecan’tletthemstayinthatplace,”Iwhisperback.
“Wecan,”hesays.“Butwedon’thaveto.It’suptoyou.”
“Whatotheroptiondowehave?”Isay.
“Icouldletthemusetheairmattress,andItakethecouch?”Juliasays,makingmejumpasshewalksintotheroom.“Not‘gettingwater,’then?”
“Workingonit,”Milessays;then,morequietly,“Justtryingtofigureoutwhattodoaboutthis.Idon’tthinkwecanasktwosixty-something-year-oldstosleeponanairmattress.”
“I’lltakethecouch,Juliacanstickwiththeinflatable,andtheycantakemyroom,”Isay.
“No,don’tberidiculous,”hesays.“Theycantakemyroom,andI’lltakethecouch.”
“Howisthatanylessridiculous?”Isay.“They’remyparents.Or…mydadandmy…Starfire.”
“Areyousureyou’reokaywiththis?”heasks.
“Fortonight,”Isay.“Tomorrowwecanlookforahotelthat’sless…”
“Infested?”Juliafinishes.
“That,”Iagree.
“Ifyou’resure,”Milessays.
Ihaven’tbeensureofmuchinthelastfewmonths.“Closeenough,”Isay.
?WhileMilestakeshisturninthebathroomqueue,IgetDadandStarfiresettledintomyroomwithfreshbedding.
“Reallyappreciatethis,kid,”Dadsays.“Wewould’vebeenokayatthemotel.”
“Yeah,well,thiswayyoudon’ttakebedbugstoStarfire’sfamily,”Isay.
Hegivesmeahuggoodnight,anawkwardkissatopmyhead,andwhenweseparate,Starfireiswaiting,armsoutwidetorevealherbaby-bluenightgown.
“Goodnight,Starfire,”Isay,acceptinghertightsqueeze.
“Goodnight,sweetie,”shesays.“Andifyouwant,youcancallmeMom.”
“Oh,that’s…I’llstickwithStarfire,butIhopeyousleepwell!”
Iclosethedoorbehindmeonmywayout.JuliaisintheprocessofdraggingherairmattresstowardMiles’sroom,andIhurryovertohelp.
Weagreeditmademoresensetoputherinthere,becauseifweleftthemattressinthecrampedlivingroom,there’dbenowayformetogetoffthecouchwithoutsteppingonher.
GivenhowmanytimesIcanpeeinonenight,thatseemedimpractical.
WeunrolltherumpledairmattressinfrontofMiles’sclosetdoors,andwhileshegetsthepumpgoing,Ibringhertangleofbeddinginfromthelivingroom.
“Thanksforbeingupforthis,”Itellher,whensheturnsthepumpoffandwestartmakingthebed.
“Noproblem,”shesays.“Honestly,I’mjusttakingthisasasignit’stimeformetogetbacktoChicagoandgettherestofmystuffandmycar.”
“HaveyoutalkedtoMilesaboutitanymore?”Isay.
“Whatistheretotalkabout,”shesays.
Ihesitate.“Didsomething…happeninChicago?”
Sheflopsdownonhermattressandpullsthequiltuptoherchin,herfacesteely.“Canyouturnofftheoverheadonyourwayout?”
“Sure,”Isay.“Sleeptight.”
Inthedarklivingroom,Imakeanestonthecouch.Thebathroomdoorcreaksopen,tendrilsoflightreachingtowardme.Milesstepsoutinacloudofsteam,hishairdamp,thelittlewetspotsaroundthecollarofhiscamelT-shirtmakingthefabricclingtohiminavaguelysuggestiveway.
“Icould’vemadeitmyself,”hewhispers,paddingover.
Igobacktotuckingtheblanketsin.“Whywouldyoumakemybed?”
“Becauseit’snotyourbed,it’smine,”hesays.
“Sayswho,”Isay.
“Saysthepersonwhoownsthecouch,”hesays.
IstopwhatI’mdoingandfacehim.Thebathroomlightlicksattherightsideofhisfacewhileshadowcoverstheleft.“Takemybed,”hesays.
Igrabapillowandfluffit.
“You’dbedoingmeafavor,”hesays.“JuliaandIhaveneversharedaroominourlives,andforallIknow,sheyodelsinhersleep.”
Hepullsthethrowpillowoutofmyhandsandstepscloser.“Daphne,”hesays,“wouldyoupleasedomethehonorofsleepinginmybed?”
Everysingleoneofmynerveendingsprickle.Iknowhedidn’tmeanithowitsounds.
SoIrespond,verynaturally,“StarfiretoldmeIcouldcallher‘Mom.’?”
Mileschokesoveralaugh.“Doesitmakeyoufeelbetterorworsethatshesaidthesamethingtome?”
“Itmakesmewanttobuyheradictionary,”Isay.
Heswallowsasnortoflaughter.
Whenitsettles,allthat’sleftisthispullbetweenus,knittingustogether.
Throughthewalls,Dadgivesahackingcough,thefaintsmellofweedseepingthroughthedoor,andthespellbreaks.
Someinvisibleclocheliftsfromaroundus.Realityrushesbackin.
“Sleepwell,”Itellhim.
Heholdsanarmout,gesturingmetowardhisroom.“Youtoo.”
AndIdo.
Idreamaboutfireworks,aboutcoolhands,theraspofajaw,thetasteofgingerandsmellofwoodsmoke.
?AfterworkonFriday,ImeetDadandStarfireatabreweryMilestoldthemabout.
WithAshleighrecoveringfromhertriptoSedona,JuliahavingflownbacktoChicagoearlierthatafternoon,andherbrotheralreadyclockedinatCherryHill,it’sjustthethreeofus.I’mgratefulthatMilesrecommendedaplacewithgiantJengaandaboccecourtonthepatiosowehavesomethingtodootherthanstaredirectlyintoeachother’seyes.
Theyfillmeinontheirdayexploringthedunes,forwhichStarfirehasdonnedagauzy,dramaticallypatternedmaxidressthatmakesherlooklikeoneoftheRealHousewivesonadesertvacation.
Sheshowsmeroughlytwohundredpicturesofsand,beforeDadgentlyturnstheconversationtowardmyday.
“Itwasprettystandardstuff,”Isay.“WehadaPuzzleSwapthismorning.Onepatronshowedupwithacustompuzzleshe’dhadmadeofherthirty-year-oldboudoirshots,andanothertriedtowalkoutwiththreeStarWarspuzzleshiddeninsidehistrenchcoat.”
“Soundslikeyou’vegotquiteacastofcharacters,”Dadsays,tossinghisfinalbocceballoftherounddownthesandylane.
“Thelibraryis,like,thesinglebestcrosssectionofhumanity,”Itellhim.“Youmeetallkindsofinterestingpeople.”
“AndhereIthoughtyouwereinitforthefreebooks,”Dadteases.
I’msurprisedhownormalthisfeels.Howniceitistoimaginethisversionofmyfather—theonewhoasksquestionsaboutmywork,whonotonlyshowsupformybirthday,butthinkstotelltheservertobringacakewithasparklerstuckinit—stickingaround.
Andyes,theattentionfrompaidstrangers,forcedtosingonmybehalf,isfairlyfarfromanygiftI’deverwant,butitstrikesmeasthekindofthingnormaldadsdo.Year-roundfathers,whomeasuretheirkidsondoorjambsandteachthemtoridebikesanddrivethemtotheirfirstE.R.visit.
He’sstillthedadI’vealwaysknowntoo:theonewhomanaged,todayatthedunes,tojust“bumpinto”someonewhoownsanentirehotelonMackinacIslandandbondoverasharedloveoftheGratefulDeadtotheextentthatthehoteliergaveDadhisphonenumberandpromisedtohookhimandStarfireupwithfreeroomsanytimetheywanted.
Buthe’salsoasking,“What’syourfavoritethingyoudoatthelibrary?”
Andhe’slisteningwithinterestasItellhimabouttheRead-a-thon,aboutthesponsorshipsI’vegotten,abouthowhappyHarveywasaboutthecashdonationsMileshashelpedmerackup.
“Yourpassion!”Starfiresays,handtoherheart.“Justlikeyourfather’s!”
Andhe’sgivingherhandasqueeze,saying,“No,she’swaybetterthanheroldman.She’salwayshaddirection.”
Idon’ttotallyunderstandit,whyhisprideinmematters.Butitdoes.Itmatters.
Afterdinner,hesuggestswevisitMilesatCherryHill,soweleaveourcaratthebrewerytopickuplaterandtakeacabupthepeninsula.
Thewineryisbustling.
Mileswavesatusfrombehindthebar,buthe’stoobusytocometalk.HemurmurssomethingtoKatya,whoflagsusdownattheveryendofthebar,slidinganopenbottleandthreeglassesover.“Onthehouse,”sheshoutsoverthenoise.
Wetakeourbottleandglassesouttothecirculartablesonthelawn,theskyturningperiwinkleattheedgeswhilethesunholdsonforafewmorebreaths.
Iscanthelawn.“Noopentables.”
“Chairsarebadforyouanyway,”Starfirereplies,acuriousbutconfidentpronouncement.Sheremovesherbedazzledsandalsandlowersherselftotheground.DadandIfollowsuit.Withthesitting,nottheshoeremoval,butthegrassissointoxicatinglycoolthatIdon’tblameherforwantingtofeelitbetweenhertoes.
Dadpoursthewine,thenpassesoutourglasses,andtherewewatchthecolorsmeltacrossthesky.
“Icouldseeushere,Star,”Dadsays,andshesighs.
“Metoo.WeshouldaskKarenwhatshethinks.”
“Karen?”Isay.
“Ourpsychic,”Starfiresays.
“TheonewhotoldyouabouttheTitanic?”Iverify.
Shenods.“That’swhyweweresosurprisedaboutyouandMiles.KarentoldusyouandMileswouldgothedistance.She’sneverbeenwrongbefore.”
NotsurehowStarfirehasconfirmedthatherpastlifewasindeedanOscar-winningfilm,butIletitgo.
Evenasthelawnclearsandthetablesemptyandtheskygoesdark,westayhalf-reclinedonthegrass,watchingthestringlightspopon,listeningtotheoccasionalbatflappast.
WhenMilesclocksout,hebringsusahalfbottleofredleftoverfromhisshift,andpourseachofusasmallglass.
Dadproposesatoast:“Toourgracioushosts.”
Starfireadds,“Tomybeautifulnewfamily.”
Ifeelatwinge.
Ofguilt?LikeI’mbetrayingMomifIletDadbackin?
Ormaybejustfear.ThatI’mdoingwhatIsworeIneverwould:makingspaceinmyheartforsomeonewhomexperiencehastaughtmenottotrust.
Peoplechange,Ithink.
Ican
Dadcan.
Milesshiftsinthegrassbesideme,hiskneebrushingminelikeaquestion.Areyouthere?Areyouokay?
Icanbe.
Icanbehere,inthemoment,insteadofwatchingforsmoke,readytorun.
Iliftmyglassintotheringwe’veformed.“Tofamily.”27
SATURDAY,AUGUST3RD
14DAYSUNTILTHEREAD-A-THON
TwothingshappenSaturdaymorning.
First,AshleighcallsoutsickandLandonhastofillinforher.Second,astormrollsin,drivingeveryoneinWaningBayinside,andmost,itwouldseem,oftheunder-eightcrowdintothelibrary.
I’mkeptrunningrightupuntilit’stimetostartgatheringStoryHoursupplies,atwhichpointtheautomaticdoorswhooshopen,carryingadistantrumbleofthunderandasidewayssheetofraininside,alongwithMilesNowak.
Hestopsonthematinsidethedoorstorustlehiswethair,likeadogshakingoutpostbath,andIsuppressadeeplycharmedgrin.
Whenhelooksupandcatchesmewatchinghim,though,hedoesn’treturnthesmile.Minedissipatesasheapproachesandsetsacuponmydesk.“Broughtyoutea.”
“Thanks.”
Icantellhe’swaiting,soItakeasip,thespicysweetnesszingingfromthebackofmytonguetothebaseofmyspine.
“Delicious,”Iconfirm.“Didyoucomeallthewayheretobringmethis?”
Hegivesaflimsygrin.“Icameallthewayheretohearastory.”
Ileanaroundhim,halfexpectingtoseeanostrich-feather-cladStarfireandmyCanadian-tuxedoedDadintow.
Milesglancesdownathishandsbracedagainstthedeskandclearshisthroat.“Ah.So.”
“They’renotcoming,”Isay.“Arethey?”
Heinhalesslowly.Mystomach’ssinking.Idomybesttointerceptit.
It’snotabigdeal.Ifanything,it’sarelief.IalwaysfeelawkwardbeingobservedbynonlibrarypeopleduringStoryHour.NowIcanfinishmyworkdayinpeaceandmeetDadandStarfireattheaxe-throwingbarshewassoexcitedabout.
MilesisstilllookingatmelikeI’mapuppywhosepawhe’sjustaccidentallystompedon.
“It’sfine,”Iassurehim.“I’mreadingabookaloudtosomekids.It’snotmyBroadwaydebut.”
“No,Iknow,it’s…”Hisgazecutsovermyshoulderandbacktomeagain.“Youshouldprobablygogetsetup,right?”
Thewayhesaysit,Icanfeelthegapwheresomethingunsaidhovers.
Myheartspeeds.“Whatisit?”
“Nothing,”hesays.“Itcanwait.”
“You’refreakingmeout,”Isay.
“That’snotwhatI’mtryingtodo,”hesays.
“Butit’swhatyou’redoing,”Isay.“Justtellmewhat’sgoingon,orIwon’tbeabletoconcentrate.”
Heleansawayfromthedesk,handsgrippingtheedge,andblowsoutabreath.“Ididn’tthinkthisthrough.”
“Miles.”
“Theyleft,Daphne.”
“Left?”Isay.“Who?”
“Yourparents,”hesays.“YourdadandStarfire.Theygotalast-minuteinvitationtomeetsomefriendsupinMackinac.”
Iglancetowardmyphone.It’sonthedesk,faceup.Nonewmessages.Noexplanation.
Ofcoursethereisn’t.Thereneveris.Theexplanationisimplied:somethingbettercamealong.
Thereisnoreasonformetofeelsurprised.Thereiseveryreasontofeelnothing.ThisiswhatIshouldhaveexpected.
Last-minuteinvitation,Milessaid.
TomeetsomefriendsupinMackinac
The“friend”hemadeyesterday,nodoubt.SomeguywhoownsahotelandlikestheGratefulDead.Atleast,that’smyguess,ifIhavetomakeone.AndIdo.BecauseDaddidn’ttellmehimself.
Milesmurmurs,“Heleftyouanote.”
Iflipmyphonefacedown,searchingfortoday’sStoryHourbooksamongthemess,butmyhandsfeelclumsy,likemybrain’sjustlearninghowtooperatethem.
“Itoldhimtocall,”Milessays.
Ifindthebooks,thesmallestbitofreliefseepingintomeatthefeelingofsomethingsolidinmygrip.“Nothisstyle.”
Milesreachesacrossthedeskandcurlsonehandaroundmywrist,runninghisthumbovermyveins.“I’msorry.Ishould’vewaitedtotellyou.”
Ican’thelpasnort.“No,really,Miles.It’sbetterthatIknownow.”
OtherwiseIwould’vekeptwaitingforhimtoshowup.
Waiting,waiting,waiting.
“Youshouldgettowork,”Isay.
Idon’twanttobeseenlikethis.
Iwanttobeleftalonewithmyembarrassmentandhurt.
Intheend,itwasrelativelyeasytoletgoofPeter,toaccepthisactionsasproofofthetruth:thatourrelationship,ourlifetogether,hisfeelingsformewereneverquitewhatI’dthoughttheywere.
AndIstoppedlongingforhimwhenIacceptedthis,becausehowcouldImisssomeonewhodidn’texist?
Sowhycan’tIseemtodothesamethingwithmyfather?Whycan’tIstopmissingthedadIneverhad?
Whyishethisconstantdullacheinmyheart?
Iknewhewouldn’tchange.ButapartofmekepthopingIhadchangedenoughthathecouldn’thurtme,orthatthisnewiterationofmewouldbetheoneworthstickingaroundfor.
ThatI’dfixedwhatever’ssobrokeninmethatIcan’tbeloved.
Iclearmythroat.“Gotowork,Miles.I’mokay.”
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Youcanbefine.
Hisfingersloosen.Hestepsback.“Icalledoff.Ithoughtyou’d…”hetrailsoff.
“Idon’tneedyoutobabysitme,”Isnap,thentrytosoftenmyvoice:“Trustme,thisisn’tanythingnew.Pleasego.”
Hestudiesmeforalongbeat.Thenheleansbackfromthedesk,lettinghishandsslideclearofit.“Yeah.Gotit.”
Andthenhe’sgone.
Atleastthistime,Iwastheonetosaygoodbyefirst.
?WhenIgethome,Milesisinhisroomonthephone,hisvoiceraisedinfrustration,almostbrittle.
“Idon’tcare,”hesays.“Youshouldn’thavedonethat.”
Hisvoicedropstoanindistinctmurmur,thenfallssilent.IrealizeI’vebeenstalledinthehallway,eavesdropping,onlywhenhisbedroomdoorswingsopenandI’mbusted.
Hedrawsupshort.
Mychestachesatthesightofhim,soscruffy,somessy,sofamiliar.Iwanttohidefromhim,andIwanttobeheldbyhim.IwanttoapologizeforearlierandIwanttonevertalkaboutitagain.
“Hi,”Iscrapeout.
“Hi,”hesays.
Aladenmomentpasses.
“Istilldon’twanttotalk,”Isay.
Henods.
“Idon’tevenwanttothink,”Igoon.Whatistheretothinkabout?Mydadisexactlywhohe’salwaysbeen,andI’mwhoI’vealwaysbeentoo.
Forjustonenight,I’dliketopretend.I’dliketobesomeoneelse.Nottheuptightone,orthedamagedone,ortheonewhogetsleft.
Nottheonewaiting,orporingoverDad’snotelikeit’sanoldtreasuremapandifIcanjustinterpretthefadedscribbles,everythingwillmakesense.
Iswallowhard.“Willyoutakemesomewhere?”
Miles’sbrowliftsinsurprise.“Wheredoyouwanttogo?”
Iswallowhard.“Just…somewhereI’veneverbeen.”
Somewherethatwon’tremindmeofPeterormyfatheroranyothertimethatIwasn’tenough.
Isay,“Ifyou’rebusy—”
Milescutsacrossme:“I’llgetmykeys.”
Forthefirstfewminutesinhistruck,hetakesmyrequestnottotalkliterally.
Ibreakfirst,myvoicethick.“I’msorryIwasrude.Itwasniceofyou,torearrangeyournighttotrytomakemefeelbetter.”
Ataredlight,helooksover.Hetakesabreath,thencloseshismouth,likehe’sjustdecidedagainstsayingsomething.
“What?”Iask.
“Nothing,”helies.
“Comeon,”Iurgehim.“Tellme.”
“It’sjust…”Heshakeshishead.“YoualwaysassumeI’mbeingsoselfless.Likeithasn’toccurredtoyouImightwanttohangoutwithyou.Sowhenyouturnmedown,Ihavetofigureoutifyoujustdon’tfeelthesameway,orifyouthinkyou’redoingmesomekindoffavor.AndInevercan.”
Myheartfeelsrug-burned.Mythroatisfull.I’mnotsurewhattosay.
Behindus,someonehonks,andMiles’seyesreturntotheroad.Thelight’sgreen.Hedrivesthrough.
?Wepullover,abendintheroadshieldingusfromview,andforesthemmingusinontheleftandright.“Wherearewe?”
Heopenshisdoor.“Somewherenew.”
Iclimbout,tryopeningmymapapponmyphone.Idon’thaveservice.
“Thisway.”Milesleadsmeintothewoods,thegroundsandyandpine-dusted.It’salongwalk,halfanhouratleast,beforethetreesgivewayandblue-greenwaterappearsaheadofus,stretchingfartherthanIcansee,athinbandofdarkerbluewheretheskymeltsintothewateratthehorizon.
Thesunhangslowandfiercelybright.Iturnmyheadintothewindtolookuptheshore.Inthedistance,apaleoutcroppingofrockjutsintothewater,blockingthiscovefromview.Scragglytreestwistupfromthestoneatodd,whimsicalangles,allofitaswhiteassand.
“Wow,”Ibreathe.
Mileshumsagreement.
Iturntheotherway,mygazefollowingthebeachuntilthewoodscurveoutandcutanythingelseofffromviewonourrighttoo.
Noone.Justus,andacoupleoftime-bleached,hollowed-outpiecesofdriftwoodstrewndowntheshore.
“This,”hesays,“ismyfavoritebeach.”
Itouchmycollarbone,alumprisingthroughmythroat.Thewindriffleshishair,hisbeardthickagain,andthelightcatchinghisdarkeyesmakesthemspark.
Myheartthrashes,likeit’stryingtogetitselfupaboveawave.LikeIcoulddrowninthesightofhim.
Ilookawayandstarttowardthegleamingwater.
Iundothebuttonsonmytop,stepoutofmyshoes,andpeeloffmypants,leavingitallbehindinatrailonthedampsand.
Istepintothewater,bracedforcold,butafterthismorning’sstormmovedoff,thedaywashotandit’sleftthelakebalmy.Thetiderocksintomyshins.Iwanttosubmergemyselfcompletely,butthere’sasandbarhere,soIbreakintoajog,thewaterslowingmyprogress,mythighsburning.
Milesstandsatthewater’sedge,shieldinghiseyesagainstthelight.“Areyoucoming?”Ishoutbackoverthewater’sroar.
Iseehimlaughbutcan’thearit,andIfeelrobbedofthesound.
Hetakesoffhisshirtandpants,andcomestowardmeineasy,lazystrides.
Hepicksupspeedashereachesme,watersplashinguptomythighsandstomachashecatchesmearoundthewaist,hoistsmeoffmyfeet.Ishriekwithsurprisedlaughter,andhecarriesmedeeper,myarmslockedoverhis.
“Don’tdropme,”Isay,voicefadingintothecrashingofthewater.
Heswingsmeintohisarms,carryingmeoutrightinsteadofsimplyhaulingmealong.“Never,”hesays.
Witheverystep,thewatersplashesagainstus,andthenwe’reinsodeepthatit’slappingatme,pouringoverMiles’sarmstothreadacrossmystomach.Hestopsandswaysmebackandforth,mytoestrailingoverthewarmsurface.
Iclosemyeyes,andeverysensationamplifies:thesunbeamsdrenchingmyface,Miles’sarmscrookedbeneathmybackandknees,thewayhisbreathpresseshisstomachagainstmysideoneveryinhale,thelazysquawkofseagullsinthedistance,andthegritofthesandonmyfeet,andacompletekindofsafety.
Likebeinginawomb.Likelyingonaquiltintheyardofouroldhouse,theonewesharedwithDad,onasummerday,legsticklingasaroly-polyclimbedoverthebackofmycalf.Likebeingtuckedbackinthelibrarystackswithnoonearoundandagoodselection.
Iletmyeyesopen,andnowthesightofhim—thatmessyhair,hissun-freckledfaceandscruffyjaw,thosechocolate-browneyes—itcutsthroughmyveins,athousandwakesfromathousandlittleboatswithMilesontheirsails,headedstraighttowardmyheart.“Thanksforbringingmehere,”Imurmur.
Hiseyessettlesoftlyonme.“Ialreadytoldyou.Ididn’tdoittobenice.”28
Wedrivehomewiththewindowsopen,pinethickintheairandwindhowling.
Ataredlight,Mileslooksacrossthedarkcab,setshishandonmineontheseat.Myheartbeatslikeahummingbirdatthebackofmythroat.Iturnmypalmuptohis,lethisfingersslidebetweenmine.
Weholdontoeachotherthewholewayhome,acrossthesidewalktoourbuilding,upthestairs.
Hegetsthedoorunlocked,pullsmeintothedarkapartment,pushesmeagainstthedoor.
Ourbreathisshallow.Myheartisbatteringinmychest.
We’rerightupagainsttheledgewe’vebeenslidingtowardallsummer,andI’mstilltryingtotalkmyselfdownwhenhekissesme.
Arough,breathlesskissthatturnsmylegstoliquid.AkissthatbreaksthrougheverylastbitofwillpowerIhad.Myhandsslipupthebackofhisneckintohisstill-damphair,andhishipslockwithmine,monthsofneedthrummingbetweenus.
Thekissdeepens,histongueinmymouth,histeethonmylip,hisgroanslippingdownmythroattocurlupinmylowbelly.Hishandslidesdownmychesttocupmethroughmydampshirt,andIhavenomorepatience.
Ireachforthebuttonsonhispants.Hehelpsmeundothem.Ipullhisshirtoff.Hedoesthesamewithmine,bothcastonthefloor.Wecrashbackintooneanother,moveintothekitchen.Hewalksmebackagainstthecounter,hisroughhandsslidingaroundmetoundomybra,pullitoffme,thenpinmyhipsbacktothecounterwhilehelooksatme.
“Gorgeous,”hesaysraggedly.
Ipullhimtome,gaspatthefeelingofhischestflushagainstmine.Heliftsmeontothecounterandstepsincloser,ourbodiesmovingrestlesslyagainsteachother,tryingtofindeverylastbitoffriction,mythighstightagainsthiships.
KissinghimissodifferentnowthatIknowhim.NowIunderstandthatthebreezy,carefreeMilesIfirstmetisonlyhistopmostlayer,thathisnonchalantwayofmovingthroughtheworldisaproductofself-control,butbeneaththatsurface,hewants
Thelastbiteofcheesecake.
Thefinalsipofwine.
Thebracingcoolofthelake.
Tobekissed.
Tobeheld.
Tobeprotected.
Hewantsitall,eventhethingshe’dneverlethimselfaskfor,orwon’tlethimselfhave.
Hishandsiftsacrossthebackofmyheadandwindsintomyhairasourkisscoarsens.
Thethrillsgoingthroughmybellymakemefeellightweight,helium-filled.Ourteethclink.Abreathlesslaugh,hisormine,andthenadeeperkiss.Myhandsdownhisback,mynailsscrapingoverhisgoose-bumpedshoulders.
Ilovehowhisskinfeels,howit’sdryfromexposuretotheelements,andthesmellofthewineryneverquitewashesaway.
IwanthimtoknowthatIloveit,soItellhim,inawhisperjustbeneathhisear,andhenuzzlesintomythroat,letshishandgrazedownmychest,rollingagainstmeuntilIcanbarelybreathe.
Thenhelowershimselfbetweenmyknees,hishandslightagainstmylegs,hismouthwarmandheavyonmylowstomach,thecreaseofmyhip,andthen,eyesslantinguptomine,betweenmythighs.Ileanbackintomypalms,breathquickeningashebrushesmyunderwearaside,presseshismouthtome,murmursmynameinalowgravelthatmakeseverythinginmepulltaut.Iworkmyhipsagainsthim,hishandsskatingaroundtoguidemymovementuntilIfeellikeIcan’tbreathe,can’tsee,likemyheartmightcrackthroughmyribsifIcan’thavemoreofhim.
“Condoms?”Iwhisper.
Hiseyesslicetomine,darkandinky.“Doyouwantto?”
Iknowwhathemeans:notDoyouwanttouseacondombutDoyouwanttodosomethingthatrequiresacondom,andIalmostlaugh,becauseIcan’timagineitbeingmoreobviouswhatIwant
“Ido,”Isay,“aslongasyoudo.”
Hestands,squeezingthebackofmyneck.“Stayhere.”
Whenhecomesback,hetossesthestripofthemonthecounterandpullsmebacktohim,afierce,hungrykissaswescrabblewitheachother’spants.Igethisofffirst,wrapahandaroundhim,andhisheadbowsintomyshoulder,hismusclesgoingtightinawaythatthrillsme.Igentlypushhimbackbytheshoulder,oureyesconnectingasIslideoffthecounter,kneelinfrontofhim.
“Youdon’thaveto,”hemurmurs.
“Iwantto,”Itellhim.AndIdo,likeIneverhavebefore.HishandfluttersintomyhairasItakehiminmymouth,araggedsoundscrapingoutofhisthroat.Hemoveswithme,myhandsclimbinguphisthighs,tohiships,guidinghim.
“Daphne,”hesaysgruffly,shakinghishead.“Nomore.”
Whichisgood,becausehearinghimthisturnedonismakingithardformetokeepgoing.Hepullsmebackup,ourmouthsmeltingtogetherashishandsskimdownme,peelingawaymypants,thenmyunderwear.Forthefirsttimewe’reentirelybaretogether,andit’sexhilaratingandterrifyingandsensualhavinghisarmswrappedaroundme,ourthighstangledtogether,feelinghispulseinsomanydifferentplacesashebendstosweepakissalongmytrapezius,thenanotheratmytemple,thenfinallyasoftkissonmylips.
Forseveralseconds,we’retender,delicate,butsoontheneedwinsout.Heturnsmebythehips,pushesmeagainstthecounter,andwedgeshimselfbetweenmythighs,teasingmeuntilI’mpracticallycrying,pushingmyselfbackagainsthim,pleadingwithhim.
Ihearthetearoffoilpackaging,andstraineagerlybackagainsthim,andsecondslater,finally,he’spushingslowlyintome,andIamcryingout,mywholebackalivewithgoosebumpsashishandsdragdownme,settleatmyhips,guidingmebacktohimfeverishly.Heslidesonehandaroundmywaisttonestlebetweenmythighsaswemovetogether.
Thecounter’sedgedigsinmywaist.Hisfingertipsscoreintomyhip.
“More,”Isay.There’snosuchthingasenough.
Hewithdrawslongenoughtoturnmebacktohim.Weclamberbacktogetherforseveraldizzying,desperateseconds,andthenwe’reonthekitchenfloor,andhe’sbitingmeandI’mlickinghim,andmythighsarewoundaroundhiswaist,ourskinslickwithsweat,hishipsbuckingintome.LikeI’vewanted.LikeI’veneeded.
IrealizeI’vesaiditaloudwhenheanswers.“YouhavenoideahowbadlyI’vewantedthis,Daphne.HowmuchI’veneededyou.”
“Miles,”Ibeg.Itfeelslikemorethanjustmybodythat’sabouttocomeapart,likemyheartissplittingattheseams,andit’saterrifying,vulnerablefeelingtobreakinfrontofhiminthisway,tobesounexpectedlyandwhollyathismercy.
Hishandscomeuptocupmyface,ourbodieskeepingpace.“Iknow,”hewhispers.“I’vegotyou.”
SoIletgo.Ibreak,everylastknotcomingundone,andhebitesdownonmyshoulderasheshuddersintometoo.
Thewavesofsensationroarthroughme,thesoundofourbreathrushingintomyears,andlightdancingacrossthebackofmyeyelids.
Thewavesdrawback,ourheartsstillthundering,andheslidesoffofme,pullsmeintoacurlagainsthischestaswecatchourbreath.
Iflinganarmovermyeyesasaludicrouswaveoflaughterovertakesme.
“Daphne?”Milessays,voicehoarsewithalarm.“What’swrong?”
Hemovesmyarmdownsohecanmeetmyeyes.
“Nothing,”Igetout.
“Thenwhyareyoulaughing?”hesays,dubious.
Ihardlyunderstandmyownreaction.“BecauseI’mhappy,Iguess.”
Hissmilewidens.Heleansdowntokissme,asweetbrushofhislipsthatlingers.I’msmilingtoo,ourteethlightlyclinking.Hebrushesmysweat-streakedhairawayfrommyforehead.
“You’reamazing,”hesaysquietly,whichmakesmelaughagain.Hecastsasleepysmilesidelongatme.“What’ssofunnyaboutthat?”
Isay,“YoujustmakeitsoundlikeIdidacrobatics.”
“Youmighthave,”hesays.“Iblackedoutforafewsecondsinthemiddlethere.”
Iturnmyfaceintohischest,chortling.Hishandsweepsdownmyspineandbackup,tuckingitselfatthebaseofmyneck,beneathmysweatyhair.“Iactuallydid,”hesays.
“IthinkIdidtoo,”Iadmit.
“Whywasitlikethat?”hesays,whichmakesmelaughmore,aheavy,relaxinghumofemotionthroughmyheavy,relaxedlimbs.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.
There’salongsilence,hishandmovinglazilyovermyhair,ourbreathinsync.Thenheasks,“Areyouhungry?”
Forsomereason,thismakesmyheartfeellikeit’sabouttoburst.“Starving.”
?ItakeaquickshowerandputonpajamaswhileMilesstartsmakingbananachocolatechippancakes.WhenI’mdone,Itakeoverwhileherinsesofftoo,thenpadsbackintotheroominnothingbutapairofsweatpantsandonenewhickeyIhavenomemoryofgivinghim.
“Ohmygod.I’msorry,”Isay,touchingthespotonhiscollarbone.
“Don’tbe.”Hetakesthespatulafrommewithonehandandbrushesthehairawayfrommyneckwithhisother.“You’regoingtobewearingturtlenecksforweeks.”
Heflipsthelastcoupleofpancakesontothewaitingplates,andweeatthemthere,standingup.Thenheslideshisemptyplateawayontothecounterandasks,“Doyouwanttotalkaboutitnow?”
“Talkaboutwhat,”Isay.
“Yourdickdad,”hereplies.
“Maybeyoudidn’tnotice,”Isay,“butthat‘dick’isessentiallyuniversallyloved.”
“Bystrangers,”Milessays.“Bypeoplewhodon’tknowhimorneedanythingfromhim.ExcusemeifIdon’tfindthatimpressive.”
“Well,youwouldn’t,”Isay.“Becauseeveryoneinstantlylovesyoutoo.I’mtheoneherepeopledon’twantaround.”
Heshakeshishead,frowning.“Doyouknowhowoftenyoudothat?”
“Dowhat?”Iask.
“Actlikemyopiniondoesn’tmattertoyou,”hesays.
Myjawdrops.“Ofcourseitmatters.”
“EverythingIsay,”hereplies,“it’slike,Oh,ofcourseyou’dsaythat,Miles,you’rejustnice.Or,Youdon’tgetit,becauseyou’reyou,or,mynewfavorite,You’rejustlikemyassholedad.”
“That’snotwhatImeant,”Isay.“Atall.”
“Yousaidnoonewantsyouaround,”hereplies.“Whataboutme?”
“Whataboutyou?”Isay.
“Mewantingyoudoesn’tcount?”heasks,browsknittedtogether.
Afieryheatwave,aseriesofthem,oneafteranother.
Mewantingyou.
Mewantingyou.
Mewantingyou
“Itcounts,”Isay.It’sterrifyinghowmuchitcounts.Isetmyplateaside.“Whataboutyou?”
“Me?”hesays.
“Iheardyourphonecall,”Iconfess.
He’squiet,thoughtful,forseveralseconds.“Itwasmydad.”
Istart.“Yourdad?”
“He’sbeentryingtocallmenonstop,”hesays,“fromphonenumbersthatIdon’thaveblocked.SohecouldtellmetogetJuliatocallhimback.”
Igawk.“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Turnsoutthey’vebeentalking,”hesays.“WhichI’mguessingshedidn’ttellmebecausesheknewitwouldstressmeout,waitingforhimtofuckheroveragain.Whichhedid.HefiguredoutwhereJulesworked,becauseshestillletshimfollowheronsocialmedia—whichIwarnedherabout—andhetoldourmom.
“Sheshowedupattherestaurant.UpsetJuliabadenoughthatshewalkedout.Gotfired,blockedmydad,andgotonanairplanehere—notnecessarilyinthatorder—andnowhe’sharassingmetotrytogethertoforgivehim.”
“Ohmygod,Miles,”Isay.“That’sterrible.”
“I’msorry.”Herubsthebridgeofhisnose.
“Why?”Iask.
Heshrugs.“Idon’twanttodumpthisonyou.”
“You’renotdumpingitonme,”Ipromise.
“I’musedtokeepingallofthisseparate.Andnothingis,withyou.You’remyroommateandmybestfriendandthewomanIjustsleptwith.”
Myeyesburn.Itrytoblinkawaythefeeling.
He’slookingatmelikehe’stryingtostrainsomethingoutofme.“Daphne?”
“You’remybestfriendtoo.”Itcomesoutasathroatywhisper.“That’swhytodaywassohard,whenmydadleft.”
Mythroattwists,myvoicewobbling:“Becauseyousawit.Anditmakesmefeelpathetic.Evenmoresobecausethetruthis,ifheturnedaroundandcamerightbackhere,I’dbethrilled.I’dforgivehimagainandagain,justhopingthateventuallyI’dactuallymeansomethingtohim.I’dcallandbeghimtocomeback,ifIthoughttherewasachancehe’dsayyes.ButIcan’t,becauseIknowhewon’t.AndIdon’twanttohearthat.Idon’twanthimtoprovethatI’m…”
I’mtryingtofindalternatewords.
Becausejustsayingthesefeelslikecodifyingthetruthintoexistence.
It’spainfultopushthempasttheknotinmythroat,butholdingtheminalltheseyearshasn’tmademefeelbetter,hasn’tmadethemlesstrue,hasn’tstanchedthebleedingornumbedthepain.“ThatI’mnotworthit.”
“Hey.”Miles’sarmscomearoundme,hisheatandspicygingerscentsoakingintome.
“Apartofmeisjustwaiting,”Irasp,“forthemomentwhenyouseewhateveritisthatdrivespeopleaway.AndIdon’twantthat.Idon’twantyoutostopwantingmearound.Ithinkitmightbreakmyhearttobesomeoneyoudon’tlike.”
“Fuck.Daphne.”Hishandscomeuptomyface.“Doyouwanttoknowwhyyourdaddoesn’tstickaround?”
Tearsstingthebackofmynose,butInod.It’sthequestionI’veneverbeenabletostopasking,nomatterhowbadlyithurts.
“Becauseyouseehim,”Milessays.“Andhecan’tstandit.AndPeter’sthesameshitwithadifferentoutfit,soboredwithhimselfheconvincedhimselfthatbeingwithsomeonelikePetrawouldturnhimintosomeoneelse,without,like,havingtobebraveenoughtotryacid.”
“Hewasboredwithme,Miles,”Isay.
“Ifitwasaboutyou,”hesays,“hecould’veendedit.Insteadheblewuphislife.That’sabouthim.I’vebeenthatguy,adozentimes,withadozenpeopleIdidn’tdeserve.It’seasytobelovedbytheoneswho’veneverseenyoufuckup.Theonesyou’veneverhadtoapologizeto,andwhostillthinkallyour‘quirks’arecharming.
“It’seasytobearoundpeoplewhodon’tknowyou.Butassoonassomeonestartstofigureyouout—assoonasyoucan’tbeperfect—it’seasiertomoveon.Findsomeonenewtobethecool,fun,laid-backonewith.”
“Sothat’sit?”Myvoicecrackles.“Imakepeoplefeelliketheirworstselves.”
“Daphne,no.”Hepullsmeinagainsthim,hisfaceburiedinmyneck.“God,no.”Whenhedrawsback,tensedimpleshaveprickedhisscruffyjaw.“Look,I’vealwayswantedtobethatfun,easypersonwithnobaggage,evenwithPetra.Butafterawhile,someoneeitherfinallyseesyouortheydon’t,andeitherwayitfuckingsucks.Becauseiftheyseeyou,andit’snotwhattheysignedupfor,thenthey’reoutofthere.Andiftheyneverseeyou…it’sworse.Becauseyou’rejustalone.
“AndIlovedPetra,”hesays,“butdeepdownIknew,assoonasthingsstoppedbeingfun,she’dbegone.Andshewas.Shefoundsomethingmoreromantic,moreperfect,justmore.Ithinkyou’rethefirstpersonwho’sreallyseenme.PastwhatIwantpeopletosee.
“Youmakethepeopleyoucareaboutfeellike…”Hepauses.“Likeyouwantallofthem.Notjustthegoodparts.Andthat’sterrifyingtosomeonewho’sspentalifetimeavoidingthoseotherpiecesofthemselves.”
“Idon’twanttoscarepeopleoff,”Isay,throataching.
Heshakeshishead.“It’sworthbeingscared.Trustme.You’reworthit.”
Hekissesthecenterofmypalm.Heatgathersinmybelly.Itbuildsbetweenus.Juststandinghereinthekitchenwithhimisinthetopthreemosteroticmomentsofmylife.
Iliftmyface,andhebrusheshisnosebackandforthagainstmine.“You’reworthit,Daphne,”hesays,handsoftonmyjawandeyesclosed.
“Miles?”Iwhisper.
“Hm?”
“Ido,”Isay.“Idowantallthosepartsofyou.”
Hiseyesopen,molten,warm.“Good,”hesays.“Theywantyoutoo.”
Thenhekissesme.It’sperfect.
No,betterthanthat.It’severypartofhim,atonce.
“Myroomoryours?”Iaskhim.
“Yours,”hesays.“First,yours.”29
SUNDAY,AUGUST4TH
13DAYSUNTILTHEREAD-A-THON
IsleeplateonSunday,andwhenIdowake,Milesisstillinmybed,onearmoverme.
Istretchmysorelimbsineverydirection,andhestirs.Throughasmile,oneeyeopen,hecroaks,“Hey.”
Myheartfluttersdrunkenly.“Hey.”
Hesnugglescloser,settinghischeekagainstmystomach.“Whattimeisit?”
“Noon,”Itellhim.
“Shit.”Hetipshisfaceuptolookatme.“Areyouhungry?”
“SinceImetyou,”Isay,“constantly.”
?Wespendthedayinadreamydaze.Wedrinkourteaandcoffeeontheruginfrontoftheopenwindows,sunshineonourfaces.Whenwefinish,wemakerefillsanddoitagain.
Forlunch,wewalkdownthestreettoasandwichshop,eatonabenchbythebiketrail.Everythingfeelsimpossiblynormal,easybetweenus.
WegotoMiles’sfavoritewalk-upsoft-serveplaceandgeticecreamcoveredinroughlychoppedcandybars,eatitaswewandertohistruck.WedrivetotheSundayfarmers’marketandbuywhatweneedtomakecauliflowertacos.Orwhatheneeds,rather,becauseIhavenoideawhatI’mdoing,justfollowinghisdirectionswhileaverysadbuthauntinglybeautifulGlenCampbellsongplaysonhisBluetoothspeaker,thewindowsstillopen,abreezerustlingthroughtheapartment.
Afterweeat,hepullsmeintohislapatthekitchentableandkissesmelikehe’sinnorush,likewehaveallthetimeintheworld.
Anditfeelstrue.Likethereisnoworld,nopassingtime.
“Wanttosleepover?”heteases,brushinghisnoseagainstmine.
“AmIinvited?”Iask.
“Openinvitation,”hesays.“Anytimeyouwant.”
Inhisroom,wetangleinhiswoodsmoke-scentedsheets,handsinhair,nailsravingoverskin.Whenhepushesintomeatlast,Iaccidentallygasp“wow,”anew-to-mereactiontosexIexpecttomakehimlaugh.
Milesjustnodsasifagreeing,sneaksahandundermyneck,andkissesmeagain,sotenderlyIcouldalmostcry.
ThenI’malittlebitworriedIactuallyamgoingtocry,whichisalsoanewexperience,butmyheartjustfeelssoraw.
Likethewholedayiscatchinguptome,orthelastfourmonths,ormaybelonger.Decadesoffeelingbracedagainsttheworld,andnowIcan’tfindthatsensation,thelayerbetweenmeandeveryoneelse,andit’sterrifyingandfreeingandintense.
Wemoveslowly,heavily,andeverytimeoneofusreachesatippingpoint,weturn.Rearrange.Findnewwaystoholdeachother,tomovetogether.Lyingonoursides,himbehindme,hisarmdrapedovermyhipandhishandtuckedbetweenmythighs,hemurmursmyname,likeit’sanexclamation,thesoundyoumakeafteraperfectsipofwine.
Iknewbeingwithhimlikethiswouldbegood,andfun,andmaybeevenfunny,butI’msurprisedhowmychestkeepstwinginglikemyfeelingshavetoomuchweight,andmyribcagemightcrackunderthem.Ikeepcatchingmyselfjustbeforethewordscantipovermylips:Iloveyou
It’stoosoon.It’stoocomplicated.Foronce,Idon’twanttobeanywherebutinthismoment,notthinkingaboutwhatitallmeansorwhereitmightgo,andhemakesthateasy,thissunlitman.
Mileskissesmyshoulder,myneck,myjawastheintensitybuilds.HenoticeswhenIstarttolosecontrol,tomovefaster.Heholdsmyhipstightandbuckstomeetmehardanddeep,andI’veneverfeltanythingquitelikethisbefore.
Likethere’snoboundarybetweenus,likehe’sinmymindandheartandsoul,andIwanttokeephimthereevenasIknowthismomentcan’tlast.
We’recresting,andwhenwedo,we’llfloatbackdownintoreality,intoourtwoseparatebodies.
Butrightnow,he’sentirelymineandI’mhis.
?InthenightIgetuptopee,andwhenIcomeback,Milesissplayedoutinthemiddleofthebed,armoutstretchedlikehe’dbeenreachingformeinhissleep.
Seeinghimthere,litbythemoon,sendsacrushingtendernessthroughme.
Itiptoethroughthechillyroom,climbintobedasgracefullyasIcan,buthestillwakesenoughtosleepilydrapeanarmaroundmywaistandhaulmeintothewarmnookofhisbody.“Youweregone,”hemurmurs.
“NowI’mback,”Iwhisper.
Withalow,drowsyhum,hekissesmyshoulder,anddriftsbacktosleep.30
MONDAY,AUGUST5TH
12DAYSUNTILTHEREAD-A-THON
Inthemorning,Idon’twakeMiles.
AsmuchasIwouldliketospendthemorningmakingout,wewereuplate,andI’llseehimwhenhepicksmeupfromworkanyway.He’dtextedKatyalastnighttoseeifshewantedhisshift,andshe’drepliednotatallbutIneedmoneysoI’lltakeit,andsowe’ddecidedtogetdinneranddriveuptoadarkskypark.
WhileI’mdressing,IspotthenotefromDadsittingonmydresser.WhenIwasyounger,Iwould’vereaditoverandover,scouringforproofthathelovedme,orcluesaboutwhatI’ddonetodrivehimoff.Today,Ijusttossitintothetrashonmywayout.
IfeellikeBelleinthebeginningofBeautyandtheBeast,walkingaroundwithashit-eatinggrin,greetingeveryonelikeit’sthefirstdayoftherestofmylife.I’dbelessobviouswearinganI’veHadGreatSexsandwichboard.
IstopatFikaforteaandorderAshleighalattetoo.WhenJonahhandsitbacktome,arealizationhitslikeagong,reverberatingthroughmybones.
Ashleigh
IwassupposedtopaintwithAshleigh.
Onmywayoutthedoor,Iopenmycalendarandscanforherbirthday.
Only,IneveraddedAshleigh’sbirthdaytomycalendar.I’vebarelyaddedanythinginweeks,justlikethewhiteboard’sgonetothewayside.
Anicyfistpressesagainstthebottomofmystomach.ItwasthispastSaturday,I’mpositive.
Shecalledinsick,Irememberthen,whichtriggersanothernauseatinglurchinmygut.ShewassickonherbirthdayandIdidn’tevencheckinonher.
HowcouldIforgetabouther?HowcouldIletthishappen?
IpracticallyruntherestofthewaytoworkandgetthererightasAshleigh’slockingherhatchback.
AsIjogtowardher,somethingflashesinhereyes,tooquicklytoread,andmyheartturnsoverpainfullyasherexpressionsettlesbackintoneutrality.
Icometoastop,chokeout,“Hey.”
Whenshedoesn’tsayanything,Iholdhercoffeeouttoher.Shelooksatit,herhandtighteningonherpursestrapforasecond,beforegrudginglyacceptingit.
“I’msosorry,”Iblurtout.“AboutSaturday.Ijust—mydadwasintown,andthenheleftreallyabruptly,andIwascompletelydistractedandMilesandI—god,I’mreallysorry.”
Shesnorts,shakesherhead.“Youknow,”shesays.“Itwasyourideatodosomethingformybirthday.Youinsisted.Andweirdly,youevengotmeexcitedaboutit.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“Youshouldn’thavebeenhomesickaloneonyourbirthday.Iunderstandwhyyou’reupsetwithme.”
“Iwasn’tsick,”shesays.“Itookthedayoff.”
“Younevertakethedayoff,”Ipointout.
“WhichiswhyIdid,formybirthday.Istayedhomeandgotreadytopaintmybedroomahorrendousshadeofpink,justbecause,andwatchRealHousewiveswithmyfriend.”
Myfaceheats.“I’msosorry,Ash.Whydidn’tyoucallme?”
Shescoffs.“What,morethanthoseninetimes?Callmeold-fashioned,butonceIhitthedoubledigits,Istarttofeelataddesperate.”
“Ohmygod,”Igroan.“Thebeach!Wedidn’thaveservice.”
“We,”shesays.
Mythroattightens.“Ireallycan’tbelieveImissedit.”
“It’sfine,”shesays.
“It’sobviouslynot,”Isay.“It’sunbelievablyshitty.”
“Seriously,Daphne,don’tworryaboutit,”shesays.“Iknewyouwereawe-girlandnowyou’vegotawe.Astheinternetlikestosay,whensomeonetellsyouwhotheyare,believethem.”
“Ashleigh!”Icry.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Miles,”shesays.“That’swhoyoublewmeofffor,right?”
Myheartfeelslikethere’saperforatedlineformingdownitsmiddle,aforcetuggingateachside.“I’mnotawewithMiles.We’renot…that.”
“Maybenot,”shesays.“ButclearlysomethingchangedwhileIwasinSedona,andwhateveritisthatthetwoofyouaredoingnow,youdon’tneedmeanymore.”
Herwordsknockmeback.
IsthatwhatIdid?IsthatwhoIam?
Apersonwhotreatspeoplelikelooselypenciled-inbackupplans,incasenothingbettercomesalong?
Ifeelsick.
Worse,I’mabouttocry.
Itrytoreinitin,butmyvoicecrackles:“You’reright.Itreatedyoulikeafallback,andthat’sshitty.I’msorry.That’snotwhatyouaretome.”
Shedropshereyestotheconcrete.“Look,I’mtryingtobeontimetowork,soifyoudon’tmind,I’mgoingtojust…”
“Yeah,”Iscratchout.“Ofcourse.”
Shewalksawaywithoutlookingback.
Myheartbreaksalittle,andIhavenoonetoblamebutmyself.
?Afterwork,IstaggermydeparturesothatAshleigh—whobarelysaidfourwordstomeallday—isn’twalkingoutatthesametimeasme.
Milesisn’thereyet,soIpacealongthecurb,tryingtoburnoffthecortisolfloodingmysystem.
Afterawhile,Igositonthesun-hotbenchandtrytoread.Foronce,Ican’tseemtoescapeintoabook.MymindkeepsgoingbacktoAshleigh.
ApartofmejustwantsthecomfortofbeingwrappedupinMiles’sarms,everythingelsetemporarilyobliterated.Butthenagain,that’showIgothere.
Iletmyselfgetabsorbed,again.
Still,I’llfeelbetterwhenhegetshere.I’llfigureoutawaytomakeituptoAshleigh,toproveI’mnotthatperson.Iwon’tletmyselfbe.
Icheckthetime.Twentyminuteslateandnowordyet.WithhowoftenMilesforgetshisphoneorletsitdie,that’snotahugesurprise.
Ipullmylaptopoutandangleitagainstthesun.I’mstillconnectedtothelibrary’sWi-Fi,soIpullupmyRead-a-thonchecklistandkeepworking.
Theparkinglotempties.Thestreetlightspoponasthesunbeginsitsslowplodtowardsunset.
Fortyminuteshavepassed,andapitopensinmystomach.
IsnapmycomputershutandcallMiles,tryingnottopicturehimunconsciousinaditchonthesideoftheroad,orinanyotherofamillionworst-casescenarios.
Thecallringsouttovoicemail.
Itypeeverythingokay?andhitsend,thenstartpacingagain.
You’rebeingridiculous,Itellmyself.He’sfine
Icheckmyphone.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Ninetimes.
Finally,onthetenth,myphonevibrates.Inearlythrowitinmyhurrytogetiteyelevel.
shitdaygotawayfrommesorrybutyaallgoodhereu
Itakeittomean,Allgoodhere,you?
Whichbegsthequestion,whereishere?
Atfirst,I’mjustsorelievedhe’saliveandwell—orelsekidnappedbysomeonewhotextsexactlylikehim—thatIliterallysitdowninthemiddleofmypacing,rightonthelibrary’slawn,andsayaloud,“Thankgod.”
Butthen,slowly,anewfeelingsimmersthroughme.
ThisisMiles,Iremindmyself.He’llhaveanexplanation.
I’mbackslidingtowardthepitI’vefoundmyselfinahundredtimesbefore,waitingonsomeoneIknowinmygutisn’tcoming.
Butinthelengthofourfriendship,Mileshasneverstoodmeup.
Thethingshesaidtheothernight—aboutthemeninmylifenotwantingtobeseen,runningassoonastheyare—playback,likeasiren,awarningImissed.
Itdoesn’tmakesense.I’mmissingsomething.
Ihammeroutanothertext:Ithoughtyouwerepickingmeup.
Milestypesforasecond,thenstopswithoutsendingamessage.
Mybodygoeshot,myskintootight.SuddenlyIneedtomove.Ineedtogetaway.Ican’tstayhereanothersecond.
Igrabmystuffandwalk.Leavetheparkinglot.Thesunhasstartedsetting,butI’llmakeitbackbeforedark.
Excepttheideaofgoinghomenauseatesme.
Inatemporaryfitofdeludedambition,IpullmyphoneouttoGoogleCrossFitgyms.MaybeIcouldburnoffthisanxietybythrowingtires,orwhatever.
Milesiscalling.
Itrytoanswer,butI’vejustmissedthelastring.Acarhonks,andIrealizeI’vestoppedinanintersection.Iwaveanapologyandrunacross,dialinghimback.
Straighttovoicemail.
Hemustbeleavingmeamessage.AsIpowerwalk,Ieyethescreeneveryfewseconds,waitingforthemessagetobuzzin.InsteadIgetatextalert:yasorrysomethingcameupimreallysorry
Threesorriesdeepandnoclosertoanexplanation.
Atthispoint,Ifeelstupidandalittleangry.
Itakeadeepbreath.
ThingscomeupWedon’toweeachotheranything,Itellmyself.Wemadenopromises.
Butthetruthis,Milesmademefeelsosafe,andnowIfeelcompletelydiscarded.
Thisiswhatyouget,avoicetauntsinmymind.
Whenyoumakeallthesamemistakesagainandagain.
Whenyouchoosethewrongpeopletotrustandletdowntherightones.
Whenyouletsomeoneinwho’stoldyouineveryconceivablewaynottorelyonthem.
Trustpeople’sactions,nottheirwords.
Don’tloveanyonewhoisn’treadytoloveyouback.
Letgoofthepeoplewhodon’tholdontoyou.
Don’twaitonpeoplewhodon’thurryforyou.
Instantly,Ifeelsotired.Exhausted.AsbadlyasIdon’twanttogohome,there’snowhereelseformetogo.
I’vejuststartedbacktowardtheapartmentwhenmyphoneringsagain.
Myheartsoarsinanticipation.He’llhaveanexplanation,somethingthatmakessenseofallofthis.
Exceptit’snothimcalling.It’sanunknownnumber.
Ianswer,justincase,tryingtosoundcool,calm,collected,andoveralldiametricallyoppositehowIactuallyfeel.“Hello?”
“Hi!”achipper,femininevoicesays.“IsthisDaphneVincent?”
“Um.”Isniff,modulatemyvoice.“Who’sthis?”
“Myname’sAnika.I’mcallingfromtheOceanCityPublicLibrary.”
Ittakesthreefullsecondsformetomakesenseofwhatshe’ssaying.
“Wewerereallyimpressedbyyourrésumé,”shegoeson,“andwe’dlovetosetupavirtualinterview.”
Ipresstheheelofmyhandtomyforehead.Theworldkeepsspinning.
ThisiswhatI’vebeenwaitingfor,hopingfor.
“Hello?”shesays.
“Sorry,”Istammer.“Yes,I’mhere.”
“Wouldyoubeavailableforaninterviewsometimeinthenexttwoweeks?”shesays.“Assumingyou’restillinterested.”
ItfeelslikeI’mswallowingarock.
“OfcourseIam,”Iforceout.
I’mnotevensurewhichpartI’magreeingwith—whetherI’mavailable,whetherI’minterested.
Butit’stheonlyanswerthatcouldpossiblymakesense,right?
TheescapehatchI’vebeenwaitingfor,rightwhenthewholehouseofcardsisfallingdown,andIshouldfeelhappy,oratleastrelieved,butallIcanfeelisthiswhole-chestache,yetanotherlossofsomeone,something,Ididn’tevenhavetobeginwith.
“Fantastic!”shesays.“Couldyoujustsendusyouravailabilityandwe’llsetsomethingup?”
Iclearmythroat.“I’llcheckmycalendarassoonasIgethome.”
Home.Iignorethepinginmyheartatthatword.
It’sjustanapartment.It’sneverbeenmine.31
TUESDAY,AUGUST6TH
11DAYS
Milesdoesn’tcomehomethatnight.
IknowbecauseIdon’tsleep.
I’mnotwaitingforhim,though.I’mthinkingaboutAshleigh.Mentallydraftingandrevisingapologies.WonderinghowImanagedtodotohertheexactthingIhatemost.Ialwaysidentifiedwithmymom,butinthissituation,IknowwhoI’veactedlike,andit’snotHollyVincent.
Iwanttohideathome,skipworkTuesday,butthere’stoomuchgoingon,andIcan’tleaveAshleighorHarveyinthelurch.
SoIarriveafulltwentyminutesbeforemyshiftstarts,havingorderedfull-blownespressofromFika,whichhasmemovingatwarpspeed.
“Youbuymeathree-piecesuit?”Harveyasksashemoseysthroughthefogtomeetmeatthelockedfrontdoors.Hetipshisheadtowardtheoversizepaperboxinmyarms.
“Pastéisdenata,”Iexplain.“Portuguesecustardtarts.ForAshleigh’sbirthday.”
Theideacametomearoundtwoa.m.Byfour,I’dfoundabakerythathadthem,fortyminutessouthofhere.Atfive,Iwasonmyway.
Harveystaresatme,concerned.“YoudoknowAshleigh’sPersian,notPortuguese,right?”
“What?Iknow,”Isay.“ShejusttoldmeshefantasizedaboutmovingtoPortugal,so…”
Herearsback.“What’sinPortugal?”
“Pastéisdenata,”Isay.“Andbeautifulbeaches,Ithink.”
Heshrugstohimselfandunlocksthedoors.“Well,I’mgladyouremembered,becauseIforgotherdoughnutsathomeyesterday,andthegrandkidsatethem.”
Inside,Isettheboxonhersideofthedesk,thenbusymyselfupdatingdisplayssoIcanmissherarrival.
Allday,wemanagetododgeeachother,theboxofpastriesgraduallyemptyingasshe,Harvey,andacoupleofherfavoriteregularspickoverthem.
WhenIcomebackfromlunch,she’ssittingathercomputer,andflicksaglancemyway.“Hi,”Isaytentatively.
“Hello,”shereplies.
Itakemyseatandtrytofocus,despitethenoxiouscloudofawkwardness.EventuallyIsettleintoarhythm,andthenLandonarrivestorelieveAshleighfortheeveningshift.
“Sweet!Goodies!”hesays,oneearbudalreadyin,theotherblastingfromaroundhisneckasheslipsbehindthedesk.
“Daphnebroughtthem,”Ashleighsays,gatheringherthings,“formybirthday.”
“Acouplepeoplewentinonthem,”Iautomaticallysay.
“Stillcan’tlieforshit,”shesays,withoutavertinghergazefromhercomputer.
“CanIhaveone?”Landonasksher.
“Ofcourse,”shesays.“I’mleavingthemforthenightcrowdtofinishoff.OtherwiseMulderwilleatallofthemandturnintotheMaskbybedtime.”
Landonleansovertopluckapasteldenatafromthecenter.“TheMask?”
“Youngpeople.”Ashleighgrabshergreenpleatherbagandeyesme.“Thanks.For…whateverthosethingsare.”
“Pastéisdenata,”Itellher.“Portugal’sfamousbreakfasttreat.”
Ican’ttellifshe’scaughtoffguardinagoodway,orjustconfused.Maybeshedoesn’tevenrememberourconversationaboutPortugal.
“Andit’smypleasure,”Iadd.
Shenods,anacknowledgmentwithnovisibleemotionattachedtoit,thenjogsherbaghigherandleaves.
?Anemptyapartmentgreetsme,again.
Allmylife,thismoment,thisfeelinghasbeenaconstant:doinghomeworkatakitchentablewhileMomwasatnightclass,planningprogramsontherugwhilePetertookaclientoutfordrinks,sittingonthebleachersatschoolwhileeveryotherkid’sparentshoweduptotakethemhome,DadalreadyhalfwaytoasoundbaththataTraderJoe’scashierinvitedhimto.
Maybeit’stimetojustmakepeacewithit.Maybecertainpeoplearedestinedtobesolitarycreatures.MaybenomatterhowhardItry,I’llendupbackhere.
Idropmybag,kickoffmyshoes,andshuffleintothediningroom.Theapartmenthasbeenthoroughlycleanedsincethismorning.
Thebreakfasttableisclearedofjunkmailandwaterglassesandbagsfromthepharmacy.Nowthere’sjustasmallwhiteboxwrappedingoldtwine,andbesideit,ascrapofpaper.Inextraordinarilymessyhandwriting:SorryImissedyou
Awaveofdéjàvurocksme.
ItwaseasytotossDad’snoteinthetrash.Iknewexactlywhattoexpect.Withthis,Ican’thelphopingforsomethingmore.
Islidethetwineoff,poptheboxopen,andstarttolaugh.
Fudge.
Aboxoffudge.Sounderwhelmingastoborderonabsurd:SorryImissedyou,here’ssomechocolateandcondensedmilk.
Butthefunniestpartis,IdidtheexactsamethingtoAshleigh.
Thehystericlaughterisabouttotumbleintooutrightcrying,when,miracleofallill-timedmiracles,myphoneringswithacallfromDad.
“Isthisajoke?”Idemandoftheuniverseand/oremptyapartment.
Idon’twanttotalktohim.
Idon’twanttotalktoanyone—I’devenrejectedacallfromMomonthewalkhome,becauseIhadn’tdecidedyetwhethertotellherabouttheMarylandjobornot.ItoldmyselfIdidn’twanttogetherhopesup,butthetruthis,Idon’twanttogetmineanyhigherthantheyalreadyare.
IjustneedtogetthroughtheinterviewandtheRead-a-thon,andseehoweverythingshakesout.
IsendDad’scalltovoicemailandpullupmyRead-a-thonchecklist,desperateforadistraction,andscanthelistofsupplieswestillneed.
ThenIstartdraggingtheremainingweddingstuffoutofthecloset,sortingoutwhatIcanrepurposeforthefundraiser—napkins,plates,flamelesstealights—andwhatIshouldjustdonate.Therest—thedressandeverythingelsesellable—isstillatAshleigh’s,onemoreproblemIcan’tthinkaboutrightnow.
Itakeaquickbreaktoorderdinner,thendivebackintosortingandpackinguntilIhearapoundingatthedoor,thedinnerIhavenoappetitefor.
“Youcanleaveitthere!”Ishout,jumpingupandsprintingdownthehallway.IlookaroundforasweaterIcanpullonovermysportsbra.“IalreadypaidandtippedwhenIordered!”
Noanswer.
Thenthescrapeofathroatbeingcleared.
“It’sPeter.”
IhonestlyalmostblurtoutPeterwho?whilepullingmycardiganoffthecoathookandontomybody.
Thenitclicks,likeabulletintoabarrel.
Peter
Iopenthedoor,halfexpectingtohavemyonlyworkabletheorydisproven.There’snowayPeterCollinsishere,onmydoorstep.
Exceptheis.
“Hi,Daphne,”hesays,withawoefulsmile.“CanIcomein?”
“Um…”
“Justforaminute,”hepromises,hisgreeneyesglossyandbrowfurrowedinthatcontrite-yet-hurtwaythatusedtomakemykneecapsmelt.Notthathehadmuchoccasiontouseit.
Peterhadalwaysbeenreliable.Ialwaysknewwherehewas,whentoexpecthim.Betweenoursyncedcalendars,ourphones’locationsharing,ourrigidschedule,ourunspokenagreementtosendtheLeavingthebarnow,seeyousoonandRantothestoreformoremilkwhileyouwereintheshowertextmessages,therewasn’tmuchspaceforfights.
Ineverhadtoask,Whenareyoucominghome?Ineverhadtoworryhewouldn’t.
Until,ofcourse,hedidn’t.
I’mtooshockedtoargue.Iwidenthedoorandhestepsinside,lookingaroundwithabjectwonder,likeI’mleadinghimintoanaccursedancientpyramidandnotasmall,eclecticallydecoratedapartmentinsidearenovatedmeatpackingfacility.
“Itlooksdifferent,”hesays,“fromthelasttimeIwashere.”
Ishoothimalookovermyshoulder.Boldmove,mentioningthelasttimehewashere.Toseehisthen-best-friend-now-fiancée.
Imakeanoncommittalsoundandleadhimtothelivingroom.
Thewholetime,I’mkindofwishingI’djuststartedlaughinginhisface,refusedtosayasingleword,andjustkeptlaughinguntilheslunkaway.
Igesturetowardthelesscomfortableofourtwochairsandhesits,waitsformetodothesame.Idon’t.
Hiseyeswanderoverthetrailofweddingdetritus.“Youstillhavesomuchstuff.”
“Takinganotherloadtothethriftstoretomorrow,”Ilie.
Hewinces.Istare.
Afterseveralawkwardseconds,hesays,“Youlookgreat,Daph.”
Idonot.“I’mprettybusy,Peter.”
Thecornersofhismouthtwist.Iseeaquestionformingonhislips,butheshakeshishead,apparentlydecidingtoletitgo.
Anotherfewawkwardsecondspass.Hisgazemeetsmine,holds,smolders.
Iturntorefoldacoupleoftablecloths.“I’mgoingtokeeppackingwhileyoutalk.”
“I’msorry,Daphne,”hesays.
“Yeah,youtoldmethat,”Isay.
“No,Imean,I’msorry.”
Thechairscrapesback.Iturntofindhimmarchingtowardme.Istillhaveanivorytablerunnergrippedinmyhandswhenhegrabsthemandholdsthembetweenus.“I’msosorry,”hesays.“Iwasstupidandshortsighted.Itwasalljustaboutchasingarush,andhonestly…IthinkIwasafraidofthecommitment.Ofmarriage.”
Ihalflaugh.“Soyougotengagedtosomeoneelse?”
Heshakeshishead.“We’renottogether.Wecalleditoff.”
Foramoment,I’mspeechless.
Itfeelsalittlelikealow-gradeearthquakejustrumbledthroughtheroom.
“Shecalleditoff,”Isay.
Hehuffs.“Itwasmutual.Webothrealizedhowstupidwe’dbeen.IthinkIknewwithinaweek,honestly,butI’dalreadymadesuchawreckofthings,IfiguredIneededtoseeitthrough.”
Bloodrushesthroughmyears,dimminghisvoice.
Ifeeldizzy.Plentyofphysicalsensations,buthardlyanyemotionalones.
“Soyouknewitwasamistake,”Isay,gatheringmywits,“andyouweregoingto…what?Justmarryheranyway?Yourippedupmylifeandthenyouweregoingtodestroyherstoo?For…forfuckingpride?”
Hisjawdrops,hurtfloodinghisfeatures.I’venevertalkedtohimlikethis.It’sclosetothingsI’vescreamed,inmydarkestlate-nightfantasyspeeches,butitdoesn’tactuallyfeelgoodtosay.
Itdoesn’tfeelgoodtohurthim.
Becausetruthfully,Idon’tfeelhurtbyhimrightnow.
Wronged?Sure.Hurt?No.He’snotcapableofthatanymore.
Istepback.“I’msorry.Idon’twanttobemeantoyou.”
Heshakeshishead.“Ideserveit.”
“Youdo,”Isay.“Butstill,Idon’twanttotreatyoulikethat.Ijust…It’shardtotakeanyofthisseriously.It’shardtotrustwhatyousaynow,afterallthelying.”
“Lying?”Hisbrowscrunches.“ItoldyouassoonasanythinghappenedwithPetra.IknowIactedlikescum,butIneverlied.”
“Youtoldmetherewasnothingbetweenyou,”Isay.“Foryears.Youinsistedshewastotallywrongforyou—”
“Shewas,”hecutsin.“That’smypoint.”
“—andthatyoucouldneverbewithher,”Igoon.
“Daphne,that’swhatI’msaying,”hecounters.“Icouldn’t.Ican’t.”
“Andthatyou’dneverseenherlikethat,”Ifinish.
“Ihadn’t,”heinsists.“Notreally.WhenIsaidallofthattoyou,Imeantit.Everyword.AndnowIknowit’strue.It’sjust…wewerebarrelingtowardourwedding,Daph.AndIfreakedout.AndPetrafreakedouttoo,becausesheknewtherelationshipbetweenherandmewasprobablygoingtochange.Wegotconfused.AndIknowitmakesnosense,becauseIwasreadytomarryyou,sothetimeforthatkindofconfusionshouldhavebeenwaypast.YouhavenoideahowsorryIam.I’llspendmywholelifemakingituptoyou.Tryingtogetbacktohowperfectweweretogether.”
“Peter,stop,”Isay.“Weweren’tperfect.Obviously.Orthiscouldn’thavehappened.”
“Fine,”hesays.“Maybeweweren’t.Butyouwere.Youwereperfectforme,andIthrewitaway.Imissyourcutelittlegiggle,andImissgoingtovisitCooperandSadiewithyouandgettingbrunchatHearth,andgoingtothegymtogether,andhavingdinnerwithmyfamily.God,myfamily,Daphne.Theymissyoutoo.
“Iwassodeluded,Ithoughtthey’dbeonboardwiththewholePetrathing.Andherparentswerethrilled,butmine…theyknowmebetterthanallthis.Theyknewitwasamistakerightaway.You’repartofmyfamily,Daphne.Youbelongwithme.”
Ashe’ssayingit,Ifeelthetelltalepricklebehindmynose,theheatcoursingintomycheeks.TearsaresurfacingandIcan’tstopthem.
Takingthisasencouragement,hemovescloser.“Wecangetourlifeback,”hewhispers.“It’snottoolate.”
Ican’thelpbutlaughalittleasIdabmyeyeswiththetablerunner.
Itistoolate.
Thelifehe’sdescribing—itisn’toneIwant.
It’srightinageneralsense,andallwrongintheparticulars.
Asteadypartner.Afamily.GoodfriendstotaketripsandshareboozybrunchesandthrowHalloweenpartieswith.Ahome.
ButIdon’twantPeter’stoo-bighouse,whosemortgagedoesn’thavemynameonit.
AndIdon’twantPeter’sfriends,whodon’tcareaboutme.
AndasmuchasI’ddreamedofbeingapartofPeter’stight-knitfamily,IrealizenowI’dalsonevercriedinfrontofthem,nevercomplainedaboutworkoropenedupabouthowhardIfoundittotrustnewpeople.I’dneverevenusedacursewordinfrontofthem.Theirperfectionhadn’tdrawnmein—ithadintimidatedme.Ispentourwholerelationshipauditioning,thesamewayIalwaysfeelwhenI’mwithDad,prayingI’mdoingenoughtomakethecut.
AndI’mnotsurewhyIwastedallthattimeandenergy,becausewhenIthinkaboutfamily—thatthingI’dalwayslongedfor—it’sneverbeenaNormanRockwellpaintingthatIpicture.
It’smeandMom,onthecouch,eatingmicrowavedcorndogswhileDialMforMurderplaysonTV.It’srunningoutfromthelibraryatnighttohercar,agreasyboxofLittleCaesarspizzainthepassengerseat,herjoking,Ithoughtwe’ddoItalian
It’sbeingpulledawayfromwatchingthefrostmeltonthelivingroomwindowtomakestovetophotcocoafromapacket,andthatlasttighthugattheendoftheairportsecurityline,andpackingupcardboardboxes,knowingI’llalwayshavewhatIneed,nomatterhowmuchIleavebehind.
Mylife,fivemonthsago,waspictureperfect,butitwasn’tthepictureIwanted.
AndIdon’twanthim.
I’mtotallyoverhim
IfanypartofmehadwonderedwhetherthisthingwithMileswasjustadistraction,arebound,oranactofvengeance,thatpartisbrutallydispelled.
Becauseevennow,inmymisery,nopartofmejumpsatthechancetogobacktohowthingswerebefore.
“I’msorry,Peter,”Isay.“Idon’twantthat.”
Hisvoicewobbles.“Youcan’tmeanthat,Daph.”
“Ido,”Iwhisper.
Thecornersofhismouthtwitchdownward.Iwonderifhe’sthinkingthesamethingIam,thattheseareironiclastwordsforourrelationship.
Ittakeshimseveralseconds,severalnodsandthroat-clearstoregaincontrol.
Thenhestartstowardthedoor.MyhostinggenekicksinandIfollow,walkhimoutofmyhomeandlife.
Heopensthedoorandstepsintothehallway,buthedoesn’tleave.Insteadhestandsthere,maybeconsideringaHailMary,ormaybeafuckyou
Finally,hefacesme.“Ifyouneedsomeplacetostay,youcancomehomewhileyou’relooking.I’lltakethecouch.”
Hereadstheblankexpressiononmyface,andIseeaflickerofsomethinglikesmugnessinhisnot-quite-smile.
“They’llgetbacktogether,”hesays.“Youknowthat,right?”
Istareathim,determinednottosayanything,evenasasinkholeopensinmylowbelly,everythingcollapsingasitfallsthrough.
“Healreadyspentalldayhelpinghermovehershitout,”hesays.
“What?”Idon’tmeantogivehimthesatisfaction;itjustslipsout.Andhepouncesonit,almostsmiling.
“Yesterday,”hesays.“Likefiveminutesafterweendedthings,he’sthere,movingherout.Youhonestlythinkthey’redonewitheachother,Daphne?”
Ituckmyelbowsagainstmysidestokeepfromshaking.
Tohidethatmyinsidesfeellikeahurricane.Notthecalmeyeofastorm,buttheviciousedges,tearingeverythingtoshreds.
He’swrong.Hehastobe.
Evenifhe’snot,itdoesn’tmatter.
That’snotwhyI’mnotgettingbackwithPeter,thoughInowunderstandthat’swhathethinks.
ThatI’dneverturnhimdownunlesstherewassomeoneelse.ThatI’dalwaysratherbewithsomeonethanbymyself,evenifthatpersoniscompletelywrongforme.
Eveninthisbleakmoment,Ifeelaspikeofsomethingcoolandbright.
Hope,orrelief,oratinytendrilofjoy,thethinnestsilverliningofajet-blackcloud.Becausehe’swrong.
Idon’twanttobeapartofthewrongwe.I’dratherbeonmyown,evenifithurtsrightnow.
SomedayI’llbeokay,someday.
“Goodbye,Peter.”
Ishutthedoor.32
WEDNESDAY,AUGUST7TH
10DAYS
Ishould’vecheckedtheweatherbeforeIleftforworkonWednesday.ButwhenIheardMilesmovingaroundhisroom,Iranforthefrontdoor.
Ididn’thavethetimeorenergyforaseriousconversation.
SoIleft.Withoutcarkeys,orajacket,oranumbrella.
Atthelibrary,thingswereabitlessfrostybetweenmeandAshleigh.Hercurtpolitenessfeelsevenworse.We’vefullyrevertedtocoworkers.
AndnowI’mwalkinghomeinpouringrain,eventhoughsheofferedmearide,becauseIdidn’twanthertofeelobligated.
Istopatanintersection,andasoft-topJeepflashesitslights,signalingthatIcancross.
Idarttothefarsideofthestreet,managingtostompthroughthreeoilypuddlesintheprocess.
AsI’mpassingthecar,ithonks,andIjump,readyingmyselfforadebaucherouscatcall.
Thewindowslidesdownandthedriverleansacrossthepassengerseat.
Amessyheadofdarkhair.Anupturnednose.Ascruffyfacethatmakesmyheartfeellikeit’sbeendouble-bouncedonatrampoline.
“Thoughtyoumightneedaride,”Milessays.
AllIcanthinktosayis,“Didyougetanewcar?”
“Longstory,”hemurmurs.“Tellyouontheway?”
Idon’twanttobefuriousanddevastated.Iwanttobeindifferentanddignified.It’shardtobeeitherwithsewerrathairandmascarastreakstoyourjaw.
“YoucanjusttakemetoCherryHillandI’llgetacab,”Isayawkwardly,climbingin.“Noneedforyoutobelatetowork.”
MyteethinstantlystartchatteringfromtheAC.Milesturnstheheatknoballthewayup,thewindshieldfoggingattheedgeswherethewiperscan’treach.
“Theywon’tbeslammedyet,”hesays.“It’sfine.”
“It’snotworthgettingintrouble,”Isay.
Ataredlight,helooksoveratme.“Iwastryingtomeetyouatthelibrary,buttherewasanaccidentonTremaine.”
Ifocusontheworldofblue,green,grayoutsidethewindows,keepinghimsafelyinmyperiphery.“Thanksanyway.”
“Daphne?”
“Hm?”
Hepullstothecurb.“Canwetalkforaminute?”
Oureyestentativelymeet.Ilookaway,stomachdroppingwhenIspotthetaffy-greencottagetwohousesdown,likeacrueljoke:Youthoughtyoucouldbedifferent,wantsomethingdifferent,butyou’reyou.
“Daphne,”hesaysquietly.“Canyoulookatme?Iwanttoapologizetoyou.”
“Forwhat?”Mygazejuddersback.
“Youknowwhat,”hesays.
“Idon’t,”Isay.“AllIknowis,Iwaitedanhourforsomeonewhodidn’tshowup.Therest—whyyoutotallydisappearedfortwenty-fourhours—that’sjustaguess.”
AguesslooselydrawnbyPeter,inthemostpainfulwayconceivable.
“Soifyouwanttoapologizeforsomething,”Isay,tryingtoleanintotheanger,awayfromtheache,“you’regoingtohavetoexplainwhatitis,exactly,thatyoudid.”
“Ipanicked,”hesays.
Thereitis.
I’mstillthewomanwithtoomanyexpectations,andMilesistheguywhopanicswhenthey’resetonhim.
“Ididn’ttattoomynameonyouwhileyouweresleeping,”Isay.
“Iknowthat,”hereplies.
“So,what?”Iask.“Youchangedyourmind,andinsteadofjusttextingme,youleftthestate?”
“Ididn’tleavethestate,”hesays.“Iwokeupand—somethingcameup.Afriendneededhelp,andIlosttrackoftime.”
Somethingcameup.
Afriend.
Somethingbetter.Someonebetter.
He’snotadmittingwhoitwas.
Anditshouldn’tmatter,thesamewaywhateverDadwroteinthatnotedoesn’tmakeadifference.MilestellingmeheditchedmeforPetrawon’tchangeanything.
ButIwanthimtosayit.Iwanttopushashardaspossibleagainstallthebruisesinmyheart,untilitchangesme.UntilIlearntostopfuckingeverythingup.
“Who?”Iask.
Hescrubsahanduphisforeheadthroughhishair,shakeshishead.
He’dbedoingmeafavor,puttingmeoutofmymisery,droppingaperiodattheendofthissentence.“Please,”Iplead.
Hebreathesout.“Petra.”
Somepartofme,Irealize,washoldingontothepossibilitythatPeterwasmisinformed,oroutrightlying.Ididn’tknowitwasthere,thatemberofhope,andIhatemyselfforit.
Mythroatclosesoff,mychesttightening.Inod.Andnodandnod,tryingtothinkofevenonethingtosay.
“Shejustneededtoborrowmytrucktomovesomestuff,”Milessays,voicefraying.“AndlikeIsaid,Igotcaughtup.”
Caughtup.TherewillalwaysbeaPetra.Someonemoreinteresting,someonemorefun,someonewhoneedsless,oroffersmore.
“AndthenIsnappedoutofit,”hesays.“AndIrealizedhowbadlyI’dfuckedup,andIleft.Tradedcarswithhersoshecouldusethetruckandbookedit—andIhadthisbigplanforhowtomakeituptoyou.Asurprise.ButIcouldn’tmakeithappen.ItriedandIcouldn’t,soIcamehomewiththisstupidfuckingboxoffudge,andIknowit’spathetic,andit’snotenough—”
“Miles.”Iclosemyeyes,rubbingmyheelsagainstthesocketsasIorganizemythoughts.“Idon’tneedabetterapologypresent.”Myhandsfalltomylap.“Thisismyfault.”
Hebalks.“What?No,it’sdefinitelynot.”
“YoudidexactlywhatIshould’veexpected,”Isay.
Hejerksback,asifIslappedhim.“Whatthefuckisthatsupposedtomean?”
“I’mnottryingtobehurtful,”Isayquickly.“I’msayingyou’reoffthehook.”
“Offwhathook,Daphne?”hedemands.
“Youtoldmeyoudon’tdoexpectationsorobligations,”Isay.
“Isaidtheymakemepanic,”Milesreplies,soundingvaguelypanickednowtoo.
Iturninmyseat,thewindshieldwipersstillsqueakingagainsttheglass,rainpatteringtheroof.“Andyoudidpanic.Eventhoughyoudidn’twantto.AndIdidexpectsomething,eventhoughItriednotto.”
“Good!”hehalfshouts.“Expectsomething!Youwanttoputmeonahook?Putmeonthehook.Ifreakedout,Daphne,butthatdoesn’tmeanIdon’tloveyou.”
Mystomachlurches,heartclenchinglikeafist.Myskingoesfromfieryhottoclammyandcold,andthatwordlodgesitselfbetweenmyribslikeapoison-tippedarrow.
Ineeditout,knowthewoundwillgushwhenit’sgone,butdon’tcare.
“No,”Istammer.
“No?”Milesgivesahoarselaugh.“HowisthataresponsetowhatIjustsaid?IjusttoldyouIloveyou,Daphne.”
“AndI’mtellingyouno.”Iundomyseatbeltwithtremblinghands.“Youdon’tgettosaythattome.Youdon’tgettodisappear,andthenshowupandbuymefuckingfudgeandpickmeupfromwork,andtellmeyouloveme—”
“Idoloveyou,”hecries.
Mybreathcomesfast.“Youcan’tjustthrowthatouttherelikeitmakeseverythingbetter.Ididn’tneedanIloveyouoraboxoffudgeorwhateverbigplanyouhadtomakeituptome.Idon’tevenlikesurprises!Noneofthatstuffmatterswhenyoudon’tshowupforthelittlethings,andifyoulovedme,you’dknowthat.”
Ifumblewiththelockonthecardoor,shoveitopen.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Milesasks,hisvoicewrenchingupward.
“I’mgettingout,”Istammer.
“Why?”hesays.
It’smostlystoppedrainingnow.Evenifithadn’t,thestormwouldn’thavestoppedme.
“Youknowtheworstpart?”IforceoutasIturnbacktohimonwaterylegs.“Iwasn’tevenworriedwhenIwalkedoutofworkandyouweren’tthere.Ididn’tworryforthefirsthour.AndwhenIdid,itwasforyou.That’showmuchItrustedyou.”
HowsafeI’dfelt.
Hislipspart,thehardlinesofhisfacegoinglax.“And,what?”hesays,hisvoicesothinit’snearlyawhisper.“Allofthat’sjustgonenow?”
Thesoftnessinhiseyesandvoicemakesmefeellikesomethinginsidemyribcageistearing.Idon’twanttohurthim.
Ijustdon’twanthimtohurtmeeither.
Ican’tletmyselfbeabsorbedintothis.
“There’sajob,”Iblurt.“Closetomymom.I’minterviewing,nextweek.”
Hismouthfallsopenagain,hiseyesoilydark.Hepresseshislipstogetheragain,swallows.“Sothat’sit.You’releaving.”
“Thatwasalwaystheplan.”Thewordsquiveroutofme.Isteelmyselftogoon:“Weknewthiswouldn’twork.Nomatterhowmuchfunwehavetogether.”
Hisfeaturesflashfirstwithhurt,thenacceptance.Afterasecond,hesays,“Gotit.”
Thecloudsoverheadarebreakingup,andthetearsareworkingtheirwaydownmyface.“Storm’sover,”Iwhisper.“I’llwalkfromhere.”
Helooksbacktothesteeringwheel,andquicklywipesatthecornerofhiseye,whichmakesmyheartfeellikeit’sshattering.
Ishutthedoorandturnaway,listeningtohisenginereceding,unabletowatchhimdisappear.
Afteraminute,Istarttowalk.Thefairy-talecottage’sdrapesareopen,itswindowsaglow.
Inside,threepeopleamblepast.Ablazer-wearingwomanslightlyaheadofayoungcouple,arminarm,laughingatsomethingshesaid.
ARealtorsellingacoupleonthelifetheycouldhavethere.
Thelatenightsbinge-watchingTheX-Filesonthecouchtheypickedouttogether,theearlymorningsmakingtoastwhilethey’restilltootiredtospeak,thekidswhowillearntheirfirstscarsinthebackyardandbadlypracticeinstrumentsatinconvenienttimes,andthewaytheirfavoritecandle’sscentwillgraduallyinfusethewallssothateverytimetheycomebackfromatrip,exhausted,anddumptheirbagsinsidethedoor,they’llsmellthatthey’rewheretheybelong.
Allthosemomentsthroughoutthedays,weeks,monthsthatdon’tgetmarkedoncalendarswithhand-drawnstarsorlittlestickers.
Thosearethemomentsthatmakealife.
Notgrandgestures,butmundanedetailsthat,overtime,accumulateuntilyouhaveahome,insteadofahouse.
Thethingsthatmatter.
ThethingsIcan’tstoplongingfor.
There’sonlyoneplacethatfeelingexistsforme,onlyonepersonwithwhomIbelong.
?“Honey?”Momanswersrightaway.“What’sup?”
“You’rebusy,”Isay.
“No,no,holdonasecond.”Thevoicesfade,thencutoutassheclosesadoor.“What’sup?”
“Mom.You’reclearlyinthemiddleofsomething,”Isay.
“I’mnevertoobusyforyou,”shesays.“Tellmewhat’sgoingon.”
Wheretostart?“Dadcametovisit.”
“Oh,shit,”shesays.“That’swhathewantedyouraddressfor?Ithoughthewasjustmailingyousomething.”
“Same,”Isay.“Butno,hewasstoppingby.”Ileaveoutthewithhisnewwifepart.He’soutofherlife,andsheprefersitthatway.
“I’msorry,”shesays.“Ishould’veaskedyou,buthejustwantedtoconfirmtheaddress.IfI’dhadanyidea—”
“No,Mom,it’sfine,”Isay.“Iwould’vetoldyoutogiveittohim.”
Shehesitates.“So,howwasit?”
“Great,”Iadmit.“Andthenterrible.”
“Sotheusual,”shesays.
“Basically.”
“He’salwaysbeengreat,forawhile.”Shesighs.“I’msorry,sweetheart.Iknowitsucks.”
“Itdoes.”Tearswellinmyeyes.“Itsuckssomuch.”
Afterapause,shesays,“Youdeserveabetterdad.IwishIcouldgivethattoyou.”
“Youdid.”Iwipemyeyesdry,butmyvoiceistearierthanever.“You’vealwaysbeenmymomandmydad.Andmybestfriend.You’vealwaysbeenabsolutelyeverythingforme.”
“Oh,baby,”shesayssoftly.“Iloveyoumorethaneverythingelseonthisplanetcombined.Butnoonepersoncanbeeverythingweneed.SometimesIcouldn’tevenreallydoagoodjobatbeingyourmother,letalonethoseotherthings.”
“Youwereperfect,”Isay.“Youwereamazing.”
“Amazing,maybe,”shesays.“Butfarfromperfect.DoyouknowhowmanyschoolrecitalsIfellasleepduring?”
Isniff.“No.”
“Howevermanyyouhad,”shereplies.
Ichortle.“That’slikedriftingofftothetuneofforty-fivestreetcatsinheat.”
“Iwouldn’tknow!”shesays.“Inmydreams,thefifth-gradeclasssangbeautifully.”
Isinkontomyrug,faceinmyhands,quiveringwithlaughter.
“IfIcoulddoitagain,”shesays,afterasecond,“Iwouldn’thavemovedyouaroundsomucheither.”
“Youdidwhatyouhadto,”Isay.
“Ithoughtsoatthetime,”shesays.“Butthetruthis,Ithinkwebothcould’vebeenhappierwithless.Wewere,inthatfirstapartment,justthetwoofus,remember?”
“Ido.”Warmthbrimsinmychest.Thatplacehadthinwallsandleakypipes,butMommadeitfeellikeanadventureweweresettingouton.WewerethekidscampingoutintheMetinFromtheMixed-UpFilesofMrs.BasilE.Frankweiler,orthetitularchildrenfromTheBoxcarChildrenlivinginthetitularboxcar.
“IwasjustsoscaredIcouldn’treallydoitonmyown,”shegoeson.“AndsomanydecisionsImadewerebasedonthefearofwhatcouldgowrong,insteadofmyhopesforwhatmightgoright.Everytimethatfeargottripped,Ipickedyouupandmovedyouaway,ratherthanfacingthepossibilityofdiscomfort.Inevertookanychances.”
“Youwerearealist,”Itellher.
“Honey.”Shelaughs.“I’macynic.Andacynicisaromanticwho’stooscaredtohope.”
Itfeelslikeanaildrivenintomysternum.
“IsthatwhatIam?”Iaskher.
“You?”shesays.“You,mygirl,arewhoeveryoudecidetobe.ButIhopeyoualwayskeepsomepieceofthatgirlwhosatbythewindow,hopingforthebest.Life’sshortenoughwithoutustalkingourselvesoutofhopeandtryingtododgeeverybadfeeling.Sometimesyouhavetopushthroughthediscomfort,insteadofrunning.”
IknowrightthenwhatIneedtodo.AsbadlyasIwanttorun,thisismymess,andfirstIhavetofaceit.
“Thanks,Mom,”Isay.
“WhatdidIdo,exactly?”sheasks.
“You’rehere,”Isay.“Wheneveritcounts,you’rehere.WhenIgrowup,Iwanttobeyou.”
Shelaughs.“Oh,godno.Justbeyou.Thebestyou.Themostyou.”
WhenIgetoffthephonewithher,ItextHarveyrightaway:ThinkyoucantalkAshleighintoanimpromptupokernightnexttimeMulder’swithDuke?33
FRIDAY,AUGUST9TH
8DAYS
AshleighbeatsmeintoworkonFriday.
Shedoesn’tlookupasIroundthedesktotakemyspot,orwhenIpickupthepaperFika-stampedcupalreadybymymouse.
Onitsside,someonehaswrittenAshleigh’sname,thoughsomehowspelledmuchmoreincorrectlythanifthebaristahadsimplygonewithAshley
Outofthecornerofhereye,shecatchesmesniffingit,andherpink-paintedlipscurl.“It’snotpoisoned,ifthat’swhatyou’rewondering.”
“Iwasmoreworriedabouturine,”Ijoke.
“Well,afteryoutasteit,letmeknowifyouthinkthere’stoomuchcardamominmydiet.”
Itakeanothersniffandasip.Spicy-sweetperfection.“Thankyou.”Ichancealookherway,buthereyesaregluedtohermonitor,nailsclackingagainstherkeyboard.
“Afewofuswentinonit,”shedeadpans.
“Givethemmyregards,”Isay.
She’snotreadyformorechitchatthanthat,itseems,sowefallintoquietlyworkingatourseparatestations.Still,it’sastart.Frombackintheoffice,Harveygivesmeaknowingwinkandathumbs-up,confirmingtomorrownight’splanisinmotion.
?OnSaturday,IwaittwohoursafterourshiftendsbeforepunchingAshleigh’saddressintomyGPS.
Itleadsmenorthupthepeninsula,thentowardtheshore,thefinalrightturnrapidlyapproaching.
Iduckmyheadtopeeroutthepassengerwindowandslamonmybrakesasabreakinthefoliagerevealsalow,squathousetuckedbackfromtheroad.
Thecarbehindmehonks,andIputonmyblinkerasIeaseontotheflagstonedriveway.Itcurvesbackanddowntoasleekmidcenturypseudo-mansion.
Behindit,thebayglitters,theviewuninterruptedapartfromafewpinetrees.
I’dassumedAshleighneverwantedtohangoutatherplacebecauseshepreferredtokeephersociallifeseparatefromherlifeasamom.NowIwonderifshewasjustplayingcoyaboutbeingabsolutelyloaded.
Iparkinfrontofthebrightorangedoubledoors,eachslottedwithastackofnarrowrectangularwindows,andmotion-sensorlightsflickon.Despitethelittlesignpicketedintotheplanter,HarveyhasassuredmethatAshleighdoesn’tactuallyhaveasecuritysystem.
Infact,he’sprettysureshefoundthesigninsomeone’strashafterDukemovedout.
Thesparekeyisexactlywherehesaiditwouldbe,underanemptypotaroundthesideofthehouse.
Twonightsago,whenwehatchedthisplan,HarveyandIwerebothsosurethiswouldonlydelightAshleigh.NowI’mlesscertain.Iam,essentially,breakingandentering.
Istepoverthethreshold,preparedtoboltifthealarmsounds.Itdoesn’t.
Itakeoffmyshoesandwanderdeeper,theterrazzoentrywaygivingwaytoahallwayontheright,followedbyamassivechef’skitchenwithflushwalnutcabinetsandaSputnikchandelierspanningtheisland.Ontheleft,there’sasunken,seventies-stylelivingroomwithasemicircularcouchwoundaroundafireplace
Ifollowthehallwaytothefirstbedroom:aguestroom,I’dguess,basedontheblandpseudo-coastaldecor.ThenextroomiscoveredwithRPGfranchisepostersanddrawingsofanimecharacters.
Attheendofthehall,Ireachabedroomnearlythesizeofourapartment,completewithawalk-inclosetthatfeedsintotheensuitebathroomofmydreams.
Ifthatweren’taclearenoughindicatorthatthisisAshleigh’sroom,there’salsothetarp,paintbuckets,andpaintrollerssittinginonecorner,unused.
Thereisn’tmuchelseintheroom.Abed,adresser,asidetable.IwonderwhetherDuketookmostofthefurniturewithhim.There’sasadnesstothisspacethatIdidn’texpect.
Itfeelslikeaplacethatusedtobehome.
Ihopeitcanbeagain.Ashleighdeservesthat.
Isetmystuffdown,grabtheunopenedrollofpainter’stape,andgettowork.
?It’stherapeutic,paintingalongthebaseboardsandceiling.AndtheMiles-inspiredsad-girlplaylistblaringfrommyphonegivestheexperienceacatharticedgetoo.
Ittakesanhourjusttotapeeverythingoff.ThenIdothefirstcoatoftheuppercut-inandstepdownfromthestepstoolIfoundinthegaragetoadmiremyhandiworkbeforestartingthelowercut-in.
I’mnearlyfinishedwiththefirstcoatwhenathroatclearsbehindme.
Iwhirlaround,brandishingmypaintbrushlikeit’sasword.
Ashleighstandswithherarmscrossed,onejet-blackbrowsharplyraised.
“You’reback,”Isay.
“Andyou’relisteningtoAdele’sgreatestandsaddest,”shereplies.
Igrabmyphonefromthestepstool’scupholderandhitpause.Onscreen,IseethebeginningofatextfromHarvey:Sorry,Ididmybestbut…
“Ispokernightoveralready?”Iask.
“TherandomlyscheduledpokernightthatsuddenlyhadtobethisSaturday,becauseeveryothernightthismonthwasbooked,foreveryone?”Ashleighsays.“Thatpokernight?”
Igrimace.
“Ionlywenttoseewhatthehellwasgoingon,”shesays.“Nexttimeyouwanttokeepasecretfromme,youshouldknowhowterribleHarveyisatlying.Andyou.Youwereweirdatwork.”
She’sright.Ishould’veseenthiscoming.
Afterafraughtsilence,shesays,“Youlooklikeshit.”
“Thankyou?”Isay.
Shesmiles.Peskyhopeclimbsmyribcage.
“Ifyouhateit,”Isayquickly,“I’llpaintitallback.AndIdon’thavetodoitwhileyou’rehere,even.Orifyouloveit,IcanfinishitwhileyougowatchRealHousewives,orwhileyou’reoutorwhatever.”
Herrazor-edgedbrowliftsagain.“Sothisispenance.”
“ThisismefollowingthroughonwhatIsaidI’ddo,”Isay.“Late,obviously.Andyou’renotobligatedtoforgivemebecauseofit.It’snotatrade.AndIknowanover-the-topgesturedoesn’tmakeupforbeinggenerallyshitty.Iwouldloveitifyouforgaveme,butifyoudon’tfeellikeyoucan,forwhateverreason,Iunderstand.”
Hertonguerunsoverherbottomteeth.Slowly,shesaunterstowardme,hergreeneyessharpandlipspursed.Shestopsrightinfrontofme,armsstillcrossed.
Thenshegrabsme.Hugsme.Uncomfortablytight,almostpainful,ultimatelyperfect.“I’msorrytoo,”shesays.
“Forwhat?!”Icry,alarmed.
“Imayhaveoverreacted,”shesays.“It’sjust,sometimesIfeellikethewholelastdecadewasawashforme,minusMulder.LikeI’mstartingoverfromscratch,andsoeverythingneedstobeexactlyrightassoonaspossibletomakeupforlosttime.Ijustgotsoexcitedtohaveanew,realfriendship,andIputtoomuchpressureonit.”
Ishakemyhead.“Ihurtyou.Ididtheexactthingweliterallybondedoverhating.Idon’tthinkyouoverreacted.”
Shedrawsback.“Youdiddothat,butIcould’veleftyouavoicemail,ortextedyouorsomething,whenIrealizeditwashappening.Instead…”Shesighs.“InsteadIwaitedto,like,bustyou.”
Seeminglyinahardrightturn,shesays:“ItoldyouI’dpickedoutamarriagecounselorformeandDuke?Eventhoughhewouldn’tagreetogotoone?”
Inod.
“Well,bythetimeourfirstappointmentrolledaround,we’dsplit,butitwastoolatetocancelwithoutpayingafee.SoIwent.AndIthoughtIwasshowingupto,like,complainabouthim.WhichIdefinitelydid.”
“Ofcourse,”Isay.
“ButIkeptgoing.AndIrealizedIhadthistendency.Tosetuptests.Like,HowlongcanIbeintheroombeforehelooksupfromhisphone?Or,IfIdon’tsayanything,willheeverdothelaundry?Or,IfIneversuggestwegettogetherwithfriendsordoanythingfun,willhebetheonetomakeplans,ordoesitallfallonme?
“Whichmadesense.Iwastiredofhavingthesameconversationsoverandoveragainandnevergettingdifferentresults.So,yes,youwentintothelove-bubbleslow-fadewithMiles,butletheamonguswho’sneverdonethatthrowthefirststone,orwhatever.Mypointis,you’renotmyex-husband,andthiswasn’tyourfour-hundred-and-twentiethstrike.Youblewmeoff.Bigdeal.Ithappens.”
“WhathappenedtoWhenpeopletellyouwhotheyare,believethem?”Isay,stillwaitingforatrapdoortoopeninthefloor.
“Allyouractionstoldme,”shesays,“isthatyou’rehuman.Whichisgood,becauseIdon’tthinkIhaveitinmetobefriendswithsomeonewho’sperfect.NomorethanIhaveitinmetobefriendswithsomeonewhosaysonethinganddoesanothertentimesamonth.I’mgoingtohurtyouatsomepointtoo.Idon’twantto,butit’llhappen.Ihaveakid!Ihaveawholelife!Justlikeyou
“ButIdon’twanttolosethisfriendshipoveronefight,justbecauseI’mscareditcouldhappenagain.You’rebecomingkindofimportanttome,Daphne.”
“Kindof?”Isqueakout.
“Kindofreallyimportant,”sheamends.
IonlyrealizeI’mcryingwhenIseethealarmsplashacrossAshleigh’sface.“Hey!”Shegrabsmyarms,nailssinkingintomybiceps.“It’sokay!Really!”
“Idon’twanttobeapersonwhodoesthattopeople,”Isay.“Maybethat’swhat’swrong.Maybethat’swhyIcan’t…Ican’t—”
“Daphne.Chillforasecond,”shesays,somehowsternwithoutbeingunkind.“Tellmewhat’sgoingon.”
Ishakemyhead.“We’retalkingaboutus.Icandealwiththeotherstufflater.”
“Honey!”Shetugsmeovertositatthefootofhervelvet-upholsteredbed.“Friendstalkabouttheotherstuff.”
WhenImeethergaze,herbrowisgroovedwithconcern.Ifeelanintensecrushofloveforherthen,andfreshshamethatIcouldeverforgetthisperson’sbirthday,regretthatImissedoutonwhat,honestly,would’vebeenanamazingSaturdaynight.AftereverythingwithDad,I’dwantedsobadlytoescapemyself,mylife,thatIforgotaboutallthebeautifullittlepiecesofitI’vebeenacquiringlikeseaglasstheselastfewmonths.Thingsthatnoonecantakefromme.
Isniff.“It’sreallyokay.Ifeelbetterjusthavingeverythingoutintheopenbetweenus.”
“Hey,”shesays.“Rememberme?Ashleigh?Ialwayswanttotalkaboutit.Sobackup.Isthisorisitnotaboutyoushittingwhereyoueat,withregardtoMiles?”
“Therewasnoshittinginvolved,”Isay.“I’mnotthatadventurous.”
“Holyshit!”shecries,atthenonverbalconfirmation.Shescootsforward,droppinghervoice.“Ithappened!Howwasit?Didhejuststarelovinglyintoyoureyesthewholetime?Heseemslikealoving-starer.”
Mycheeksheat.“No,wedidn’tmakeunblinkingeyecontactforfortyminutesstraight.”
“Fortyminutes?”sheshrieks.
“Notallatonce!”Ihurrytoadd.“Itwasmorelikeaveryintensefifteenminutes,acooldownperiod,andthenamorewell-pacedthirtylater.”
“Okay,nowthissurprisesme,”shesays.
“Trustme,”Isay.“I’mwellawareofhowlittlesenseheandImake.”
Shescoffs.“No,youtwomakeperfectsense.Ijustwould’veimaginedMileswouldbesoovereagerthathe’dsailstraightthroughtothefinishline,withnodecorum.”
“Therewasdecorum,”Isay.
“Hot,charmingguysneverlearnhowtoworkforit,”shemuses.
“Heworkedforit.”ImmediatelyIwanttotakeitback.
I’veneverhadthiskindoffriendshipbefore,thesortyouseewomenhaveinmovies,wheretheyspareeachothernoneofthegoryorlustydetails,thebestfriendwhoteachesyouhowtoputinatamponatthirteen,ortextsyoufromthebathroomthenightshesleepswithsomeoneforthefirsttime.
SadiewastheclosesttothatIevergot,butshe’dgrownupwithbrothersandalwayshadmoreguyfriendsthangirls.Shewastalkativeandfunny,butneveropenaboutthingslikethis.
AndascloseasI’vegottentoAshleigh,I’malsoworriedthisisabetrayal.Idon’tknowhowMileswouldfeelaboutmesharingthis.IhavethesomewhatludicrousthoughtthatIshouldhaveaskedhimwhenwelasttalked.
Actually,it’snotludicrous.Icaneasilyimaginetheconversation,hownotweirditwouldfeeltoask,CanItellAshleigh?
Whichonlymakesmefeelmoreemotionallyhungoverandconfused.EverytimeIthinkofMiles,Ithinkofwhathesaid,andmyheartstartsracing,mywholebodyrespondinglikeI’mbeinghunted.Nofight,pureflight
“Ishouldn’tbetalkingaboutthis,”Isay.
“Maybe,”shesaysgently,“youneedto?”
Imustlooksuspicious,becausesheadds,“Iswear,I’msayingthisasafriend,notthefriendlyneighborhoodgossipmonger.”
“Ineedtotalkaboutit,”Irelent.“Justnotaboutit.Ifeellikethatshould’vestayedprivate.”
Shepantomimeszippingherlipsshut,buthasn’tevenfinishedwhenshechimesin,“Butforwhatit’sworth,everythingyou’vesaidhasonlymademeloveandrespecthimmore.”
“Milesisgreat,”Isay.“Ijustdon’tthinkMilesandIaregreatforeachother.”
“Why?”Ashleighasks.“You’reunbelievablyhappywhenyou’rearoundhim.That’skindofthemainthingthatmatters.”
“I’mexactlythekindofpersonhecan’thandlebeingwith,andhe’sexactlythekindwhocoulddestroyme,”Iexplain.
“Honey.”Ashleightouchesmyhand.“That’showitworks.That’slove.”
“Igettoosweptupinhim,Ash,”Isay.“Ialmostletmyselfgetabsorbedagain,andforwhat?Iknowbetter.”
“You’rebeingtoohardonyourself,”shesays.
“Heran,Ashleigh.”Myvoicebreaks.“Hewassupposedtopickmeupfromworkthenextday,andhejust…nevercame.”
Hermouthfallsopenasshetakesinmymeaning.
“Ididn’thearfromhimforhours.UntilItextedhim.”
“Oh,god,Miles,no,”shegroans,likehe’sheretoreasonwith.
“Andthen,Petercameby,”Isay.
“Holyfuck!”sheyelps.
“HeandPetrabrokeup.”
Anothershockedgasp.“No,”shesays,aghast.“Milesdidn’t…”
“Hesayshewasjusthelpinghermoveherstuffout,”Isay.“ButPetersaidthey’reonthepathtorekindling.”
“WhatinSatan’sballsack?”shedemands,then,thinkingbetterofit,says,“Look,Peter’sbitter,andMilesisaniceguy.Ofcoursehehelpedhermoveout.”
“Iknow,”Isay.Hewouldn’ttellmehelovedmeifheintendedtogetbacktogetherwithPetra.Maybeit’snaive,butIreallybelievethat.OrmaybeIjustwantto.
“That’snotthepoint,”Isay.
“It’scertainlyapoint,”Ashleighsays,“ifnotthepoint.”
“There’sajob,”Iblurt.“Nearmymom.IthinkIhavearealshotatgettingit.”
Sheassessesmeforalongbeat.“Shit.”
“Iwantedtotellyourightaway,but…”
Shelooksdownatherhands.“Iwasicingyouout.”Shesighsandsqueezesmyhands.“Whenyoumove,justdon’tforgetaboutme,okay?”
“Trustme,Icouldn’t,”Isaytearily,andImeanit.“Icouldbarelyhandlethislastweekwithoutyou.Idon’twanttodothatagain.”
“Couldn’tagreemore.”Hereyesdriftuptothecut-in.“Whatadisgustingcolor.”
“Ittruly,trulyis,”Isay.
Hersmilegrows,eyesdroppingtome.“WanttoputontheTVandkeepgoing?”
“Doyou?”Iask.
“Ithinkit’llbefuntohaveanuglyroomforawhile,”shesays.“Dukecouldn’tabideugliness.Ordogs.”Sheperksup.“MaybeIshouldgetadog.”Shelookstomeforfeedback.
“Ithinkyoushoulddoexactlywhatyouwanttodo,”Itellher.
“Let’srobabank,”shesays.
“Ithinkyoushouldgetadog.”34
SATURDAY,AUGUST10TH
7DAYS
Later,inthekitchen,pickingoveraplateofpizzarolls,AshleighinvitesmetostaywithheruntiltheRead-a-thon.
“Ihaven’thadaroommateotherthanDukeinalongtime,”shesays.“Andthishouseisfuckinghuge.It’dbefun.”
“Speakingofthesizeofyourhouse,you’venevermentioned…”Itrailoff.
“ThatIliveinaBondvillainlair?”Ashleighsays.
Whichgivesmepermissiontomoreopenlycallaspadeaspade:“Thatyou’rerichasfuck.”
Shesnorts.“Iamnot.Dukehascookiemoney.”
“Cookiemoney?”Irepeat.“LikeheknockedoveraGirlScoutstruckandstartedablack-marketoperation?”
“Like,he’stheheirtoacookiefortune,”shesays.
“Ididn’tknowcookiescouldhavefortunes,”Isay.“Imean…otherthan…fortunecookies.”
“Oh,yeah.”Shepopsanotherpizzarollinhermouth.“Anythingcanhaveafortuneifyou’regreedyenough.”
Atthelookonmyface,sheadds,“Imean,obviouslynotDuke.Hecould’vefoughtmeforthehouse,andhedidn’t.ButI’mpositivethatifyougofarenoughbackthroughhisfamilytree,someonemadeadealwiththedevilor,like,killedsomeonetogettheirhandsonasecretrecipe.”
“IlookforwardtotheirHBOdrama,”Isay.
She’squietforamoment.“YoushouldletMilesknowyou’restayinghere.”
“It’snotlikethatwithus,”Iremindher.
“Youdon’twanthimchargingintotheFBIoffices,claimingyou’vebeentaken,doyou?”sheasks.
“Taken?”Isay.“Likekidnapped?”
“Idon’tknow,whateverhappensinthosemoviesyoutwoareobsessedwith,”shesays.“Like,heldatgunpointandforcedtorobamuseumwithyourhighlyspecializedskillset,orwhatever.”
“Right,I’mgoingtobe‘taken’bysomeonewhoneedstheinsidescooponchildren’sliterature.”
“Justlethimknowyou’restayinghere,”shesays.
“Fine,”Igroan.
StayingwithAsh,Itypeout.Herepliesalmostinstantly,k.
“There,”Itellher.
“Good.”Ashleightipsherheadtowardthebackdoors.“Now,let’swatchsomethinggory.”
“RealHousewives?”Iguess.
“This,”shesays,“mustbewhatit’sliketobeaproudmother.”
“DidyouforgetaboutMulder?”Isay.
“Justforasecond,”shesays.“He’sbacknow,though.”
?OnMondaynight,whileMilesisatwork,Irunbacktotheapartmenttopacksomeclothes.Asidefromourdifferencesinpersonalstyle,Ashleigh’sbothshorterandcurvierthanIam,andeventheslouchyjerseydressshelentmeforworktodaymanagedtohangfrommychestliketwodeflatedballoons.
Tuesday,onourwayin,wehitupadrive-throughcoffeekiosknearherhouse.She’snotamorningperson,andwebarelyspeakuntilwegettowork,atwhichpointherfirstrealwordsofthedayare,“Wow!Maybeyoushouldmoveinwithme.Icouldbeontimeeveryday.”
“We’refourminuteslate,”Ipointout.
“Whichisfourminutesearlierthanusual,”shesays.
“IfImovedinwithyou,”Isay,“Idon’tthinkourfriendshipwouldsurvivethat.”
“I’mnotsurewewouldevensurvivethat,”shesays.“It’dbelikesomederangedeightiessitcom,withavaguelyhauntedlaughtrack.”
“What’sthisaboutyoumovingintogether?”Harveyasks,emergingfromhisoffice,muginhand.
“We’renot,”AshleighandIbothsay.
“Relievedtohearthat,”hesays.“It’smanageableforoneofyoutobelateeveryday,solongastheotherisearly.”
“Andwhichofusiswhich?”Ashleighasks,feigningignorance.
Afterwork,wegrabburritos,thenpickupMulderfromafter-schoolbandpractice.“ThisismyfriendDaphne,”shetellshimasheclimbsintothebackseatofherhatchbackwithatrombonecasenearlyasbigasheis.“Daphne,thisisMulder.”
“Hi!”Iwave.
Iexpectasulkypreteennonresponse,butdespitehisoverallaestheticprojectingthis,henodspolitelyandsays,“Nicetomeetyou,Daphne.”
“Youtoo!”Isay.
“She’sstayingwithusforacoupleofdays,”Ashleightellshim.
“Cool.”Hepullsahandheldvideogameoutofhisbackpack.Sheasksabouthisday,andheconfirmsitwas“soboringhealmostdied”andalsothat“RickyLandispukedinfirstperiod,andTinsleyG”—therearetwoTinsleysinhisfirstperiod—“wassogrossedout,shethrewuptoo.”
Then,withouttakingabreath,heaskswhat’sfordinner,andAshleighhoiststheburritobagintotheair.
Aminutelater,headds,“Aren’tyouguysalittleoldforsleepovers?”
Ashleighlooksdismayed.Icackle,untilshetellsMuldertoguesshowoldIam.
Guilelessly,hesays,“Idon’tknow.Forty-five?”
Andthenshe’scackling.
“That’solderthanyourmom,”Ipointout.
Hejustshrugs,goesbacktoplayinghisgame.
OnWednesday,afterwork,IshutmyselfintotheguestroomtodoavideointerviewwithAnikaandClay,theOceanCityLibrarydistrictmanagerandbranchmanager,respectively.“Howsooncouldyoubeouthere?”Anikaaskswithasunnysmileaswe’resayingourgoodbyes.
Myheartshootsupintomythroat,butmyvoicestayseven.“AssoonasIfulfillmytwoweeks’notice.”
AnikaandClayexchangeasmile.I’mrarelythemostconfidentpersonintheroom,butI’mninety-ninepercentsureI’vegotitwhenClaysays,“We’llbeintouchassoonaspossible.”
WhenIleavetheguestroom,Ashleigh’swaitingformeinthehallwithchampagne.
“Idon’twantyoutogo,”shesays,“butIwantyoutobehappy.”
ByThursday,I’mactuallyaheadofschedulefortheRead-a-thon,buttheschoolcallsAshleighatworktocomepickupMulderearly,becausehe’sfinallycaughtthestomachbugthat’sbeengoingaround.
TheverylastthingIneedistogetsickrightnow,andIdebategoingbacktotheapartmentforthenexttwodays.InsteadIdoublemyhandwashing.
BymiddayFriday,MuldertextsAshleighthathehasn’tgottensickatallthatday.Sofar,neithershenorIhaveanysymptoms,sothingsarelookingup.
UntilIrememberIforgottograbacoupleofbagsofTargetdollar-sectionprizesI’dbeenstockpilingundermybed.
ItellmyselfthatMileswillalreadybeatworkwhenIgetthere,butthetruthis,Icutitclose,temptfate.
Iftheuniversewantsustorunintoeachother,we’llrunintoeachother.
He’snotthere,though.
He’ssothoroughlynottherethatIwonderifhe’sbeenstayingelsewhere,athoughtIimmediatelyregret,becausenowit’sboundtorecurwhenI’mlyingintheguestbedtonight.
Justbecausetheapartmentisspotless,nolampson,noscentofweedwhatsoever,doesn’tmeanMileshasbeensleepingsomewhereelse.
Peter’swordsechothroughme:They’llgetbacktogether.Youknowthat,right?
Irefusetoletthethoughttakehold.PartlybecauseIdon’tbelieveit,andpartlybecauseIhavenomentalspace.
It’snotdarkoutyet,buttheshadesaredrawn,everythingcastinshadow.Imakemywayintomyroom,notbotheringwiththelights,anddigtheTargetbagsoutfromunderthebedframe.
WhenIstandtogo,somethingdrawsmyeyestothecornerofmydresser,thepartofitnearesttothedoor.
Asmallwhitebox.
Myheartlurches.I’mfairlysureit’stheboxoffudge,minusthenote,butIopenitjusttobesure:chocolate.
I’mabouttodropitinthetrashwhenIcatchsightofDad’snotecrumpledthere.
Nopartofmeisitchingtoreadit,butI’malsothinkingaboutwhatMomsaid,aboutnotwastingtimetalkingourselvesoutofhope,andavoidinganythingthatmighthurt.
IcanseenowhowmuchtimeI’vespentdoingthat.
IstoppedtryingtomakefriendsI’dhavetomoveawayfrom.IletSadie’sandmyfriendshipfadeawayratherthanriskconfrontingheraboutitandlearning,onceandforall,thatIdidn’treallymatter.
WhenPeterdumpedme,mylifeshrank,notjustbecauseofhimbutbecauseofme.Ididn’twanttogoanywhereImightrunintohim.Ididn’twanttoberemindedofmybrokenheart.
And,nottoexcuseanyofhisshortcomings,butIhadn’tknownDadwasmarriedbecauseIhadn’tevenreadmybirthdaycard.
IthinkaboutAshleightoo,andherex,howhewasfinewiththingsbeingjustokay,tooscaredtogodeeperinsearchofgreatnesswhenitmeantriskingchange.
Idon’tknowwhetherI’lleatthefudge,orreadmydad’sletter,butIstuffbothinthebagofDollarSpotprizestotakebacktoAshleigh’s.ThenIleavemyroom.Iturnintothelivingroom,andIcollidewithsomethinghardenoughthatredscorchescrossthebacksofmyeyelids.
Notsomething.Someone
Ashadowyfigure.
Iscream.
Thentheyscream.
There’sabriefclumsyscuffle.Neitherofusseemstotallysurewhetherwe’reattackingortryingtogetaway.Thenavoiceyelps,“I’llfuckingendyouifyoudon’tleave!”
Ordinarily,thisisthelastthingI’dwanttohearfromsomeonemovingaroundinthedarkinmyapartment.Inthisinstance,coolreliefrushesfrommyheadtomyfeet.
“Julia?!”Isay.
“Daphne?”Juliacries.
Iscuttlesidewaysandflickthelightson.“You’reback?”
“You’reback,”shesays.
“Ididn’tgoanywhere,”Isay.
“Tellthattomybrother,”shesays.Heathitsmycheeksandears.AhandgoestoJulia’ship.“Wait,I’mmadatyou.”
“Hetoldyou?”Iask.
“Thatheprofessedhislovetoyou?”shesays.“Might’vementionedit.Whatwasmoresurprising,though,washearingyoudidn’ttellhimyoufeelthesameway.Whichyoudo.”
“Julia,”Isay.“It’scomplicated.”
Shesquints,headcocking,theNowaktilt.“Isit,though?”
Anawkwardsilenceunfurls.
Finally,shesighs.“IguessIalsoneedtothankyou.”
“What?Forwhat?”Isay.
“Milestoldmeyou’dbeenpushinghimtobehonestwithme,”shesays.“Abouthowhefeltaboutmemovinghere.”
“Youguystalkedaboutit?”Isay.
“Wedid,”sheconfirms.
“Howwasit?”Iask.
“Horrible,”shesays.“Iwassoupset.Crying.Mad.Thewholething.”
Iwince.“I’msorry.”
“Andthenwekepttalking,”Juliacontinues,“andIunderstood.It’sexactlythesamethinghedidwithyou.”
“I’mnotfollowing.”
“Ialwaysthoughtitwasamazing,howMilesmanagedtoescapeourchildhoodwithoutbecomingsuspiciousofeveryone,”shesays.“Butthenhewastalkingaboutwhathappenedwithyou—howhemessedupanditconvincedhimhecouldn’tbewhoyouneed,yadda,yadda,yadda.AndIrealized,allthatshitourparentsdid?Itmightnothavemadehimmistrustotherpeople,butitsureashellmadehimmistrusthimself.”
Myhearttightensandtwists.
“Hecan’tseehimselfclearly,”shesays.“Theymadehimfeellikeallheeverdoesisletpeopledown.”
I’veseenit,overandoveragain—thatself-doubt,themistrustofhisownfeelings,thefearoflettinganybitofdarknessoutofhimself.
“HereIam,keepingallmyproblemssecretsohewon’trushintofixthem,”shesays,“andhetellsmehe’sscaredhischildhoodbrokehim.Thatbecauseofit,hecan’tbethebrother,orfriend,orwhateverthepeoplehelovesdeserve.”
Iswallowhard.“Whatdidyousay?”
“Itoldhimthat,becauseofmychildhood,Iknowhecan.Healwayshas.”
Alumpofemotionclimbsmyesophagus.
“Anyway.”Hergazefalls.“I’msureyou’vegotalottodo.”
Iswallow.“Welcomeback,Julia.”
“Thanks,”shesays.“It’sgoodtobehome.”35
FRIDAY,AUGUST16TH
1DAY
IreadDad’snoteinthemiddleofthenight.
Hey,kiddo,
Sorrytotakeofflikethis—gotaonce-in-a-lifetimeoffer.Can’twaittotellyouallaboutitonourwaybackthroughtown!WillyoubearoundinOctober?WouldlovetoseewhatanUpNorthFalllookslike.Missyoualready.
Love,Dad&Starfire
He’sthesamedadasever.Theonewhosaysonething—Iloveyou;Imissyou;we’llstickaroundaslongasyou’llhaveus—butdoesanother.
Butthat’snotwhatbothersmeabouttheletter.
Whatbothersmeisoneword—October—andthelow,yearningacheIfeelbetweenmyribswhenIreadit.
Istarttocry.Andthen,ofcourse,Icallmymom.
“Calmdown,”shesays,whenIstartblabbering.“Tellmeeverything.”
Finally,Ido.
?It’sstilldarkanddampwhenImeetHarveyatthefrontdoorsonSaturdaymorning.We’rebothdresseddowninanticipationofthelongdayahead.He’swearingaHowardsweatshirtandathleticpants(nottheRedWingsones),whileI’minstretchyknitpantsandabaggycardigan.
“Youmanagetogetanysleep?”heasks,unlockingtheautomaticdoors.
“Alittle,”Isay.“You?”
“Notmuch,”hesays,“butadrenalinewillcarryusthrough.Andifnot,wecantaketurnsnappingintheoffice.”
Inside,thefluorescentlightstaketheirsweettimeflickeringon.
Ifeelapangoflonging.Nostalgia,Iguess,foreverylibraryI’veeverloved,andthelittlegirlwhodreamedofthis:beingthefirstpersoninandthelastoutofabuildingbrimmingwithbooks.Andfeelinglikeitbelongedtomeinaway,andItoit.
Ahome,whennowhereelsefeltright.
Harveytakesadeepbreath.“Don’tyoulovethewayitsmells?”
“So,somuch,”Isay.
“Thatrightthere,”hesays,“iswhyIcan’tretire.IfIcouldliveinthisfeeling,Iwould.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“Thekidswillbelivingmychildhooddreamtonight,stayingoverinalibrary.”
Helooksover.“Youdidwell,Daphne.Reallywell.”
IwonderifI’mglowing.Probablyit’stooearlytoglow.ProbablyIlookliketheghostofamilkcartongonesour.
“Let’sgettowork.”
TheFantasyteamarrivesfirst,readytotransformonecornerofthelibraryintoalow-budgetapproximationofacastlewiththeirprepaintedbutcher-paperbackdropsandpapier-machédragon,itssinuousbodysegmentedintofourlittlearcshapes,arrangedinarowsothatthefloorlookslikewaterthecreature’sswimmingthrough.
Itis,bynatureofbeingmadeoutofpaperbyanamateur,utterlyandwonderfullyhorrifying.Ifthisthingcametolife,itwoulddosowithgruesomescreamsatfindingitselfsentientyetanatomicallyimprobable.
Iloveitsomuch.Thekidsaregoingtoloseit.Eventheonesoldenoughtorolltheireyes,likeMaya.
Once,inseventhgrade,Momtookmetoamidnightlaunchpartyforafantasyseries.Theypassedout“wands,”whichwerejuststickstheyprobablyfoundinthebrushbehindthelibrary.Itwassilly.Itwasalsomagical.Ichoseatwigwithpalegreenlichencrawlingoverit,andMomchoseonethatwasbonewhite.IfeltlikeIwasascloseasI’deverbetotruemagic.
Thatfeelingofcuriosityandaweandwonder.ThatwaswhereImademyhomeeverytimewemoved,asensationthatcouldn’tbetakenaway.
Ashleighshowsupeightminuteslate,breakfastburritosinhandforbothmeandHarvey.ShekeepsthingsrunningatthedeskwhileheandIcoordinatethewavesofdrop-offsandvolunteercheck-ins.
Aroundtenthirty,theSci-FiandContemporarycrewsshowup,quicklytakingovertheircorners,hangingtheirtinfoilUFOsfromthedrop-tileandtheirpaintedquoteandcoverpostersfromR.J.Palacio,JasmineWarga,JacquelineWoodson,andJeffKinneyoverintheContemporaryarea.
Atonep.m.,theHorrorteamarriveswithfauxcobwebsandlightlyspookyhauntedhouseparaphernalia.Theypiecetogethertheirsetinoneofthetwocommunityrooms,safelytuckedawayfromthelittlestreaders.
Aroundthree,thePictureBookvolunteersdescendontheStoryNook.Oneofthem—alocalseamstress—hasmadeagiantstuffedVeryHungryCaterpillartobewonbythetopreaderoftheunder-sixcrowd,mostofwhomwillgohomebeforedark,whilethosewitholdersiblingshangonabitlonger.
Theday’sfirstcrisishitsatthreethirty-two,andit’sadoozy.
I’moutfront,helpingShirley—theever-stickythree-year-oldLyla’sgrandmother—managedrop-offs,whenAshleighcomesbustlingoutside,sweatyfromexertion,gianttopknotwobbling.Shegivesmealooklike,Weneedtotalk,andIexcusemyselftofollowAshleighafewyardsawayfromthecoveredwalkwayatthefrontofthelibrary.
“So,”shesays,keepinghervoicelow,“don’tfreakout.”
“Threemagicalwords,”Isay.
“Landoncaughtit,”shesays.
Ishakemyhead.“Caught…?”
“Thestomachbug,”shesays.“Hecan’tcometonight.”
“Okay.”InodasmybrainspinsthroughitsownversionoftheRead-a-thonGoogleDoc.Landonwasgoingtobeintheothercommunityroom,theoneforrefreshments.Hewasalsosupposedtogopickupalotofthoserefreshments.
Andbeour“techguy.”Setuptheprojectorandscreen,runthevideosandlivestreams.
“That’snotall,”Ashleighsays.
Myeyessnapbacktoherface.Thecornersofhermouthpullwideinanexaggeratedgrimace.“Threeothervolunteershavecalledinsicktoo.”
“Shit.”
Ishouldhavepreparedforthis.
Inaway,Idid.Ididn’tputacaponvolunteers.Themore,thebetter.Butourversionofmoredidn’taccountforlosingfourpeople,threeandahalfhoursbeforestarttime
I’mtryingtocomeupwithaplan,buyingmyselftimewithanevenlyspacedout“Okay…okay,”asifsomebrilliantsolutionisintheprocessofbeingbirthed.
Backunderthewalkway,someonecallsmyname.
“I’mgoingtotakecareofit,”Ashleightellsme.
“How?”Isay.
“Don’tworryaboutit,”shetellsme.
Atmysnort,shesays,“Fine!Worryaboutit.Butalsotrustme.I’llfigureitout.Yougofocusontheotherninemillionthingsyouneedtodo.”
Anothervolunteerwalksoutthefrontdoors,scansthelawn,andheadsstraightformewithalookofabjectpaniconhisface.
“Go.”Ashleighshovesme.“Youputoutyourfires.I’vegotthisone.Tonightwillbeamazing.”
“Ineedittobe,”Isay.
Shesetsherhandsonmyshouldersandlooksmeintheeye.“Daphne.Rememberwhothisisfor.”
“That’swhyIwanttogetitright.”
“Igetthat,”shesays.“ButifI’velearnedanythingfromparenting,it’sthatitmatterswaymorethatyou’representthanthatyou’reperfect.Justbehere,reallybehere,andthekidswillloveit.”
Myshouldersloosen.“Icandothat.”
“Ofcourseyoucan,”shesays.“You’reDaphneFuckingVincent.”
“Aww.”Itouchmychest.“Youknowmylastnameandmymiddlename.”
?Twentyminutesuntilgotime,fromthecomfortofapaper-linedtoiletseat,Icheckmyphone.
Dadhascalledthreetimesinanhour.
Mystomachplummets.
Idon’twanttocallhimback,especiallyrightnow,butI’mmoreanxiousaboutwhatmighthappenifIdon’t.
Iflushthetoilet,washmyhands,leavethebathroom,andstepoutsidetomakethecall.
Theearly-eveningskyhasasummeryglow,theheatdenseexceptwhenthebreezebillowsoffthewater.Isweepmyhairoffmyneckintoabunandhitthecallbutton.
“Heeeey,kid,”Dadsays.
Ibypassmyownhello.“Iseverythingokay?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”hesays.
“Istheresomekindofemergency?”Then,tohisnonresponse,Isay,“Youcalledmethreetimes.Weretheypocketdials?”
“No,no,no,”hesays.“Ijustwantedtowishyouluck.Orbreakaleg,orwhateverisaproposforthissituation.”
“Whatsituation?”Iask.
“Yourbig…thingtonight,”hesays.“Thelibrarything!”
Ican’tthinkofasinglethingtosay.
“Sorrywehadtohightailitoutofthere,bytheway,”hesays.
“It’sfine,”Isay.“Ididn’texpectanythingelse.”
Dadlaughs.“That’swhatItriedtotellhim.Isaid,Iknowmykid,andshedoesn’tgethunguponthatkindofthing.Heseemstothinkyou’resomekindofhigh-strungneurotictype.Imean,hemust,orhewouldn’thave—”
“Wait,wait,”Isay.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Yourboyfriend,”hesays.
“Peter?”
“Thenewguy,”hesays.“Miles.”
Imassagemybrow.“Dad,Ialreadytoldyou,Milesisjustafriend.”
“Well,that’swhatIthought,”hesaysbrightly,likeI’vejustprovedapointforhim,ormaybewonhimabet.“Butthewayhewastalking—”
“Dad.Istilldon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
Amomentofsilence.“Hedidn’ttellyou?”
IhaveneithertimenorenergytoplayTwentyQuestions.“Tellmewhat.”
“Thathewasdrivinguptoseeus,”hesays.
“Drivinguptoseeyou?”Irepeat.
“Twoweeksago,”hesays.“Afterweleft.I’vebeentryingtogetaholdofyousincethen.”
I’msolost.IguessIamgoingtoplayTwentyQuestions.“Cameupwhere?”
“Theisland,”hesays.“Mackinac.Guessheleftmeavoicemailfirst,butwhochecksthose?”
Me,Ithink.
Mom.
Probablyahugepercentageoftheworld.
“Anyway,hecameupandchewedmeoutaboutushavingtoleaveearly,”DadsayswithadistinctairofCanyoubelievethat?
It’sacreativeuseofthephrase“havingtoleave.”
Asifheweredrivenoutoftownatgunpoint,ortookanemergencyflighthometobewithadyingpet.
“KidtriedtoguiltusintodrivingallthewaybackdowntoyoubeforeweheadedouttomeetStarfire’sfamily.Reallyupsetherwiththethingshewassayingaboutme,Daph.Shedidn’ttalktomeforlikehalfthenextday.Causedallsortsofproblems.”
“Wh-whendidyousaythishappened?”Isay,stillreeling.
“Well,heshoweduptheMondaybeforelast,”hesays.“Andmissedthefinalferryback,sowehadtoaskChristopherifhecouldstaythenight.Prettyuncomfortablesituationheputusin.”
“Christopher?”Atthispoint,Ireallyjustneedabuzzertohiteverytimehesayssomethingthatelicitsaseriesof????fromme.
“Ourbuddy!”Dadsays.“Theonewemetatthedunes,who’sgotthisgreathouseupthere.Andahotel.Houseisputtingitlightly,though.Idon’tknowifthisguyisreallyaninvestorlikehesaidorifthatwascodeformobdon,but…”Hewhistleshisamazement.
Well,ifyourdad’sgoingtoditchyouforsomeonehejustmet,andthere’snohostagesituationinvolved,hecouldatleasthavethedecencytostayinamansionpaidforwithcocaineandshakedowns.
“Dad,Ihavetogo,”Isay.“Myevent’sstartinganyminute.”
“Right,right,Iwon’tkeepyou,”hesays.“JustwantedtotellyoucongratsandIloveyou.Youalreadyknowthat,though.”
IfIhadthatbuzzer,Imighthititnow.
IfIhadmoretime,Imightask,Doyou?Doyoureally?
InsteadIpushoutabreathless“Yeah,”andendthecall.
Mondaynight.That’swhereMileswas.Mondaynight,andTuesdaymorning.
That’swhereMileswent.Unshakablycool,invariablywell-liked,chronicallyfineMilesdrovetwohourstoconfrontmyfather.
Suddenlythesemi-patheticboxoffudgemakessense.
Itwasaconsolationprize,justnotinthewayIthought.
He’dtried.I’dtoldhimhowIfelt,howIwantedmydadtocomeback,andhe’dtriedtobringhim.
AndmaybeIshouldbemadheoverstepped.ButIdon’tfeelmad.Ifeelraw.Ifeelliketheboundarybetweenmeandtheworldisstretchingthinner,makingmetenderandvulnerable,awaterballoonfittoburst.
Whywouldn’thehavejusttoldme?
ButIknowtheanswer.
IknowMiles,andheknowsme.
Ilooktowardtheroad,thesparklingbandofbluewater,thescragglybeachtreesblurringbehindawalloftears.
Heknowsme.
Helovesme
Itwasn’tjustaprettyword,thrownoutinaconvenientmoment.Itwastrue.Anditmakesmefeelbrave,beinglovedbyhim.ItmakesmesafeenoughtodothethingInevercould.
IwipethetearsawayandredialDad.
“Youforgetsomething?”heasks.
“Ionlyhaveaminute,”Isay.
“Metoo,”hegoeson.“StarandIaregoinggolfing—metsomeonewhoownsacourse!”
“I’mnottryingtohurtyou,”Istart.“Ijusthaven’tsaidthisbeforeandIdon’tthinkIwillifIwaittoolongtryingtofigureoutabetterwayofsayingit.”
IthinkDadfeelstheseismicshift.Hedoesn’trushinwithajoke.Mylastbreathfeelsliketheoneyou’dtakebeforesmashingasledgehammerintoawall.
I’dtemperedmyexpectations,packedthemtightintobricks,builtafortresstoprotectme.Butkeepingeveryglimmerofhopeouthasisolatedmetoo,andIwanttobeseen.Iwanttobeloved.Iwanttolivewiththehopethatthingscangetbetter,evenif,intheend,theydon’t.
“Youwereashittydad,”Itellhim.“Youwereneverthere.Ispentsomuchtimejustwaitingforyou.Andwhenyoudidshowup,itwasneverwhenyousaid.Youneverstuckaroundaslongasyoupromised.Andbecauseofyou,thewholeworld…mywholeworldfelttotallyfuckingunpredictable.Andmaybeyoureallydoloveme.ButIdon’tknowthat.HowwouldI?I’veneverbeenyourpriority.I’mapitstop.
“Andthatguyyouthinkdoesn’tknowme”—Ichokeuphere,needasecondtoforcetheemotiondown—“hedidn’teventellmehetriedtogetyoutocomebackforme.Becauseheknewitwouldkillme.Andhewasn’tgoingtoletyoubreakwhat’sleftofmyheart.SonowIgetit.WhyMomusedtomakeexcusesforyou.Shewasn’tprotectingyou.Shewasprotectingme.ButI’mgrownnow.Shecan’talwaysguardmefromyou.It’smyjobtoprotectmyself.Nothide,notjusttrytostopfeelingthis…thisconstantache.Ican’tkeepdoingthis.Idon’twanttobeapersonwhoexpectstheworst.Somethinghastochange.Sothenexttimeyoucometotown,askmefirst.Andifyouwanttoleave,don’tbeacoward.Don’tmakethepeoplewholovememakeyourexcuses.Youcantellmetomyface,orwecanbedonewiththis.”
Pin-dropsilence.
Then,finally,hemurmurs,“Oh,Daphne.”
ThedoorswhiskopenbehindmeandAshleighpopsherheadout.“Youready?”
“Youhavetounderstand—”
“I’vegottogo,”Itellhim.“I’llcallyouwhenit’sagoodtimeforme.”
Ihangupandsquaremyshoulders.“Ready,”Isay.36
Istepupinfrontofthereferencedesk.
I’veneverheardthelibrarylikethis,soraucous,hummingwithenergy—andthisisjustourvolunteers.
Ashleighcupsherhandsaroundhermouth.“Listenup,people!Thisisourchildren’slibrarian,Daphne,andshe’sgoingtowalkusthroughprotocolbeforethekidsgethere.”
Theroomquiets.Icanonlyseethefirstseveralrowsofvolunteers,Humaandherhusbandamongthem.
Isteadymyofficechairandclimbontoit.“Firstofall,thankyouallforbeinghere.”
Rowdyapplauseeruptsfromthebackoftheroom,alongwithahigh-pitchedwhoop!
IrecognizeJulia’svoicebeforeIspother,standingjustbeyondtheStoryNook,withahandfulofotherlast-minutevolunteers.
Elda,thecheesemongerMilesintroducedmetoattheprom,onceagaindressedlikeaneightiesfairygodmother.
BarbandLenore,inmatchingtracksuits(tinyBarb’spink,tallLenore’slavender).
Katya,withthebabybangs,fromCherryHill,andapersonwithashavedheadandseptumringwhoIrecognizebuthaven’tmet.
Andjustbehindthem,aheadofmessydarkhair,softbrowneyes.
Myheartseemstounzip.
Milessmilestentatively,anapologyofasmile:ShouldIbehererightnow?
Youshouldalwaysbehere,myheartanswers.
Mynervoussystemagrees,afeelinglikesomestovetop-warmedcarameldrizzledoverme.
IwishIcouldtakebackeverythingIsaidtohim.
Ispentsomuchtimeaccustomingmyselftoonekindofsurprise—thekindhingingondisappointments,hurts,smallabandonments,andemotionalbartering—thatI’dstoppedconsideringtheremightbeanyother.
Asurprise,itturnsout,isdifferentwhenitcomesfromsomeonewhoknowsandlovesyou.
Besideme,Ashleighcoughs.IhavenoideahowlongI’vebeenstaringathim,feelinglikeImightburstintoconfettiortears.
“Itmeanssomuchtome,”Isay,voicealreadyhoarse.Itearmygazefromhimandsweepitovertheaudience.“Tobepartofacommunitylikethis.Tome,librarieshavealwaysrepresentedthebestofhumanity.Thewayweallshareknowledgeandspace,and…andhowwefindwaystolookaftereachother.It’snotaperfectsystem,butit’spowerful.IknowtherearealotofotherplacesyoucouldbeonaSaturdaynight.”
Mythroatconstricts.“Therearen’twordsforhowspecialthisis.Thatyou’veshownupforthekids,andWaningBay,andme.”
IletmyselflookatMiles,justforaninstant.“Itmatters.Somuch.”
Hislipspart,hisbrowsmoothingout.
Foramoment,it’sjustthetwoofus.
Iclearmythroatandpivot.“So,everyonesigneduptoworkinregistration,you’llbeoverherewithAshleigh…”
Thisishowtimeworks.
Thethingsyouwaitmonthsforblinkpast,liketheflashofastrobe,hugeswathslostinthedarkbeatsbetween.
Eldarunsourrefreshmentsroom,which—thankstoherlast-minutedonations—hasmovedfromsleepoverfaretoabizarremixofcupcakes,potatochips,MountainDew,andtop-tiercharcuterie.Theparentsarethrilled.
Thecheesemongeristhrilled.
Butnoone’smorethrilledthanHarvey.
AtfirstIthinkit’sapurelycheese-basedjoyElda’sinspiredinhim,butevenashersuppliesdwindle,hekeepsdoublingbacktothecommunityroom.Iwatchthemlaughingtogetherthroughthewindows,andthinkagainthatsometimestheunexpectedisbetterthanwhatyouplan.
Thesameuniversethatdispassionatelytakesthingsawaycanbringyouthingsyouweren’timaginativeenoughtodreamup.
Everyhour,onthehour,thekidslineupforprizes,thenskipandrunandtumblebacktotheirreadingspotsofchoice,orelsetothenooktowatchavirtualauthorvisit.InLandon’sabsence,Katya’sfriendBanks,thepersonwiththeshavedheadandseptumring—who,itturnsout,workspart-timeatFika—runstech.
Milesisostensiblyontrash-and-cleanupduty,thoughatonepointIcatchhimintheSci-Fiarea,theFontanatripletsdanglingoffhimlikehe’stherotatingpillaratthecenterofahigh-flyingswing-setcarousel.
JuliaandanothervolunteerrunthePictureBookcircleforthenot-yet-readers,andHumahelpskidsintheContemporarysectionchoosetheirnextreads.
Thenthere’sMaya.
TuckedbackintheFantasycorner,onside-by-sidebeanbagswithEthanfromtheYABacklistbookclub.Theyaren’tspeaking,justsilentlyreadingthesameAliceHoffmanbook,TheRulesofMagic,while,overbythestudytables,Maya’smomchatswithEthan’sdads.
Maya’sandmytwo-personbookclubmightbecomingtoanendsoon,Irealize,andI’mtemptedtofeelabitsad,butI’malsosoproudofher,forsteppingoutsideofhercomfortzone.
AndI’mproudofmyselftoo,feellikeI’vehonoredthetwelve-year-oldgirlIwas.Likeinaverysmallway,maybeI’vemadethisalreadywonderfulplacejustatinybitbetter.It’smademebetter.
ThehumanddinsettletothequietcontentmentImostassociatewiththelibrary,andmostoftheyoungerkidsandtheirguardianssiphonoffbymidnight.Thesodaandchocolatecherrieskeepthepreteensgoingstronguntilthree.
Atthatpoint,Iduckbackintotheofficetopower-napunderthedesk,buttheadrenalinewon’tletmesleep.
Occasionalshrieksandgigglesmaketheirwaytome,andIcatchmyselfgrinningattheundersideofthedesk.
Ipullmyphoneoutandopenmymessageswithmymom.Shesentonethismorning—yesterdaymorningnow,technically—thatIhaven’trepliedtoyet.
Wokeupthinkingaboutyou,shewrites.Proudofyou,mybravegirl.
IfeelevenmoresureaboutmydecisionthanIdidlastnight.
Ilovethislibrary.
Ilovemycoworkers,andIlovethepatrons.IlovethelakeandthefarmstandsandBARnandAshleighandJuliaandMiles.
IloveMiles.
AndIalsolovemymother.Apartofmewillalwaysbejustalittlebithomesickforherwhenwe’reapart.She’smyconstant,andIdon’ttakethatlightly.
Iloveyou,Itellher.
Loveyoumore,shesays.
Aftertonight,I’lltelltheothers.FornowIdon’twanttothinkaboutthefuture.Iwanttobewhollypresent.
Idustmyselfoffandleavetheoffice.
TakeinthesoftmuskofbooksandthehintofpineandsomethingIcan’tnamebutrecognizelikeanoldfriend.
Ifeelabittersweetnessthatthismomentcan’tlast,thattimewillpullusalongsoon.Butforthefirsttimeinawhile,I’mexcitedabouttheunknown.
I’mlookingforwardtothesurprises.
?It’sstilldarkatsixforty,thecrowdhavingmajorlythinned.Mulderisfastasleepatopatable,nexttoafriendwho’sreadingamangawithaflashlight,eyelidssaggingeveryseveralseconds.
We’vestayedbusyenoughthatMilesandIhaven’thadachancetoexchangemorethanacursoryHowareyouandGood,howareyouandThankyouforbeinghere.I’vebeenputtingoutsmallfiresand,inonetragicsituation,uncloggingtoilets,forlongenoughtobecomefamished.
WhenIpopmyheadintotherefreshmentroom,itlookslikeapowerfulclanofVikingswithnutallergieshasrolledthrough.
EldathecheesemongerandHarveydon’tevenseemtonoticeme,justkeepchattinginthefarcorneroftheroom,theiruncomfortablewoodenseatsangledtogether.
IgrababrownieandcramitintomymouthasIleavethecommunityroom.
“KeepitPG,Vincent,”Ashleighteases.“Someofthekidsarestillawake.”Atmybaffledlook,shesays,“Youweredoingyourgood-foodmoan.”
“Sorry,”Isay,mouthfull.
Sheandtherestofthecleanupcrewhavestartedgatheringthefinalwaveofflotsamandjetsamfromthenight.Overbythefrontdoors,Milesissortingtherecycling,trash,andcompostintobags.
“They’redivine,aren’tthey?”shesays,juttingherchintowardthebrownie
“Really,reallygood.”
Ashleighsmiles.“Milesbroughtthem.Didyouknowhebakes?”
Isneakanotherglanceathim.He’sturnedaway,stretchinghisarmsoverhisheadsleepily,abandofskinvisiblealonghiswaistuntilhisarmsfallbacktohissides.
Ashleighcackles.“Now,thatsoundwasdefinitelynotPG.”
Ifaceher,cheeksburning.“Ididn’tmakeasound.”
Fromhersmirk,Irealizeshe’sjokingwithme.ShebumpsherelbowagainstmineandjerksherchintowardMiles.“Goon.”
“It’snotoveryet,”Isay.
Sherollshereyes.“Daphne.Lookaround.You’rewelcometostickaroundfortenmoreminutesifyou’redyingto,butwhenthetimer’sup,I’mgoingtosweepyouoffthestagelikeanamateur-nightexecutioner,whilethethreeremainingkidsherebooandhurlchocolatecherriesatyourhead.”
I’mstillhesitant.“Shouldn’tIseethisthroughtotheend?”
Shedropshertrashbagatmyfeetandgrabsmyhandsinhers.“Youdid.Youmadeitthroughthesummer.Wepulledofftheeventoftheyear.Thehardpart’sover.”
Ahugeweightliftsfrommychest.Theknotbeneathitloosensandunwinds.“Wedidit.”
Imadeitthrough.
Webothlaugh,slaphappyfromlackofsleep.
Shepullsmeintoahug,andIsqueezeherback,thetrashbagnowsittingatourfeetlikeapuppy.“Notsurewhattherulesareaboutsayingthisatwork,”Isay,“butIloveyou.”
“Ifuckingloveyoutoo,”shesays.“Now,gogetyourman.”37
SUNDAY,AUGUST18TH
FINALLY
“Hi,”Isay,whenI’mfinallyrightinfrontofhim,thatlastyardofsilenteyecontacthavingtakensomewherebetweenelevensecondsandfourteenyears.
Herubsthesideofhishead.“Hi.”
Neitherofusrushestofillthepause.
Myheartfeelslikeaflame,burninghigher,higher,higher.
Iclearmythroat.“Areyouupforawalk?”
Heseemssurprised.“Areyou?”
“Unlessyoujustwanttogocollapseintobed,yeah.”Earssuddenlyfieryhot,Iadd,“Ifyouneedtosleep,Imean.”
“IdranksomuchRedBullIcouldsprintrightnow,”hesays.“ButIalsomighthaveaheartattack.”
“You’reinluck,”Itellhim.“ThelibrarypaidformetogetCPRcertified.”
Hesmiles.“Thenwhatarewewaitingfor?”
Nothing,Iguess.
Theairismisty,thestreetsandsidewalksemptyapartfromtheoccasionalspandex-cladjoggerorbicyclist.
Outonthewater,acoupleofboatsdrift,butstill,itfeelslikejustthetwoofusinaworldthat’sfastasleep.
Wewanderalongthelake’sedge,andthesilencedoesn’tfeelawkward.It’sitsownkindofconversation,areintroductionafterourtimeapart.
“Thankyouforbeingtherelastnight,”Ifinallysay.
“Iwasalwaysgoingtobe,”hesays.“Justsoyouknow.Nomatterwhat,Iwould’vebeenthere.”
Iblinkbacktherisingtears.“Iknow.”
“Elda,Katya,andBanks,ontheotherhand,”hesays,“gettingthemtohelptookbartering.”
“Well,Eldaatleastwillprobablyletyouoffthehook,”Isay.“Sheandmybosswerereallyhittingitoff.”
“Theywerecute,”Milesagrees.
Anotherfewminutespass.Weturnupasidestreet.Myheartisvibrating.Itakeadeepbreath,slowlyreleaseit.“Iknowyouwenttoseemydad.”
Miles’sgazeslicestowardme.Hestops.“I’msorry.IshouldhaveaskedyoubeforeIdidthat.Itwasstupid.”
“Iunderstandwhyyoudidn’t,”Isay.“Really.”
Thegroovesattheinsidecornersofhisbrowssoften.“Theothernight…Ithinkyoumisunderstoodme.Ididn’twakeupandpanic.Iwokeup…happy.HappierthanIcanrememberbeing.”
Herubsthebackofhishead.“AndthenPetracalled,andshewassobbing.SohardIcouldn’tunderstandher.I’dneverseenhercrybefore.Ihonestlythoughtsomeonehaddied.SheaskedifIcouldcomeseeher,andIsaidyes.BecauseIwasworried.Istillcareabouther.”
“Iknowyoudo,”Isaythickly.
“IgottoPeter’splaceandshewassittingoutfront…”Heletsoutanexasperatedbreath.Hiseyescutuptome,watchingforareaction.“Shetoldmetheybrokeup.”
Idon’tsayanything.
“Youdon’tseemsurprised,”hesays.
“I’mnot,”Isay.“Petertoldme.”
Somethingflashesacrosshisface,tooquickformetoread.“Right,”hesayssoftly.Herubsthebackofhishead,noddingafewmoretimes.Heclearshisthroat,butitstayshoarse:“Soyou’vetalked.”
“Hecameby,”Isay.
Hisgazesweepstoourfeet,andhenodsagain.
“Miles?”
Hisdarkeyeslifttomine,faintlyglossed.
“Shit,what’swrong?”Ican’thelpit;Ireachforhim,slidemyhandsuptohisshoulders.
“Nothing.”Heforcesasmile.“I’mhappyforyou.”
“Happyforme?”Isay.
Heflushes.“Imean,ifyouguysare…”
“Ifwe’rewhat?”
Histeethscrapeoverhisbottomlip.
“Ohmygod!”Understandingclattersthroughme.“Miles,no.Youdon’tthinkthatPeterandIare…Absolutelynot.”Iactuallylaugh.Andthenahorriblethoughtcausesmeafull-bodytwitch.“Wait—youandPetraaren’t—”
“No,”hesays,shakinghishead.“WhenIgotoverthere,shewastryingtotellmehowthewholethingwasamistake.SoItoldheraboutyou.”
“Thatweslepttogether?”Isay,bewildered.
Hegivesasurprisedlaugh.“No,Daphne.ThatIloveyou.”
Hearingitagainfeelslikeswallowingalitlightbulb.“Oh.”
“Ididn’tmeantotellherfirst.”Thetopsofhischeeksredden.“ThatI’minlovewithyou.”
Myeyessting.Mylimbsgoshiveryandaheavinesspressesinonmychest.
Helovesme.Presenttense.
AndIlovehim.Heknowsme,andIseehim.
“AndwhenItoldPetra…”Heswallows.“Iguess—shekindofgotintomyhead.Imean,Iwasalreadyinmyhead,butshesaidthingsthatfuckedwithme.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Isay.
Hisexpressionvergesonpained.
“Youcantellme,”Ipromise.
“It’sjust,”hesays,“Petertoldheraboutyourdad.AndPetrastartedsayingthisstuff,abouthowyou’dbeenthroughtoomuch.Thatyouweren’tthekindofpersonwhocoulddealwithuncertainty.SheandIare,butnotyouandPeter.”
“Andwhat,she’stheexpertonwhatIcanandcan’tdealwith?”Iask.
Hesmilesfaintly.Hishandscirclemywrists,histhumbsrunningupanddownmyveinsashisfacesoftens.“TheybrokeupbecausePetradecidedshedidn’twantkids,andPeterdid.”
“Oh,”Isay.
Hisgazedrops,histouchstilling.“Andsheremindedmethat’ssomethingthatmatterstoyoutoo.AndIalreadyknewthat.Itwasn’tasurprise.But…”Hechewsonhisbottomlip,hisgazesowarmandfluidIfeellikeIcouldswan-diveintoit,likeitwouldrushuptomeetmeoneveryside.
“ShepointedoutthatI’mnotexactlyequippedforthat,”hemurmurs,“andallIcouldthinkaboutwasherfamily,andwhattheythoughtofme.Theywerenice,buttheyneverthoughtIwasgoodenough.Andthenthere’smyfamilyshit,andeverythingyourdad’sputyouthrough.AndIjustthought…”HisAdam’sapplebobs.“Suddenlyitseemedselfishofme.Toloveyou.”
Atthetendernessinhisfaceandtouch,theneedinhisexpression,myheartcracks.
“Totrytobewithyou,whenIknowwhatyouwant,”hesaysunderhisbreath.“Ican’tgiveyouafamilyliketheCollinsesortheComers.Ifeellike…likethere’ssomuchspacebetweenwhoIamandwhoIwanttobe,andthere’snoonetoshowmehowtogetthere.Anditdoesn’treallymakesense,butIthought…maybeifIcouldgetthroughtoyourdad,ifIcouldhelpfixthat,thenitwouldproveI’mcapable.Ofgivingyoueverythingyouwant.”
“Miles,”Ibegin.
“That’swhyIfreakedout,”hecontinues.“AndassoonasIsawyouagain,Ifeltsostupid.BecauseI’dspentthelasttwodaysactinglikeyouwerePetra
“Becausedeepdown,shealwaysthoughtshewassettling,andsoIdidtoo.IalwaysfeltlikeIwasmakingupforsomething,ortryingtowinher.AndIthoughtthatmademelucky,tobewithsomeonewhochosemeeventhoughnooneinherlife‘gotit.’?”
Hisvoicethickens:“Ididn’tlearnwhatlovewassupposedtofeellike.Itdoesn’tfeelnatural,orcomeeasilytome,toletanyoneclose.Butyou—youmakelovesoeasy,Daphne.YoumakemethinkIalreadydeserveit,exactlyhowIam
“AndIfeelluckyeverytimeyoulookatme.NotbecauseIthinkI’vemanagedtoearnyou,butbecauseitfeelslikeyoudon’tneedmeto.Likeyoujust…likeme.”Heshakeshishead,voicefrayingashecorrectshimself:“Likeyouloveme.That’showIfeelwithyou.
“AndIknowI’mnotwhoyoupicturedyourselfwith,butIthinkIcouldbe,eventually.Ifyou’llletme.Sodon’tgo.BecauseIdon’twantyouto.Becauseyou’remybestfriend,andI’minlovewithyou.”
“Miles,”Isayagain.
“Iknowwe’rereallydifferent,”hesays,“butIloveallthethingsaboutyouthataren’tlikeme.Ilovethatyoufeelyourfeelings.Ilovethatyouknowwhatyouwant.Ilovethatyou’realwayswhereyousayyou’llbe,whenyousayyou’llbethere.”
“Miles.”Hisbrowspinchtogether,amixofhopeandfearonhisfacethatIfeeldeepinmyowngut.“CanIshowyousomething?”
Hisfeaturesflatten.Afterasecond,henods.
Itakehishand,hispulsethunderingintomypalm,asIleadhimdownthesidewalk.Weturnrightatthecrossstreetandstop,atthehouseonthecorner,facingthebrokengateandcrookedForSalesign.
Hiseyesdarttothefrontdoor,thenbacktome.
“You’reright,”Isay.
Heblinks.
“WhenImovedhere,”Isay,“Ihadapictureinmyhead.Iknewexactlywhatmyhousewasgoingtolooklike,andwhoI’dspendtheholidayswith,andIknewwhowe’dgooutwithontheweekends,andIhadanideaofhowmanykidsI’dhaveandevenwhattheirnameswouldbe.Icouldbasicallypictureeverysingledayoftherestofmylife.
“I’mnotspontaneous,”Isay.“Surprisesmakemenervous,andI’vemovedaroundtoomuchtowantto,like,liveinavan,orbackpackformonths.”
“Idon’tneedthat,”Milesrasps.“Idon’tthinkIevenwantthatanymore,ifIeverdid.”
“That’smypoint,”Isay.
Heshakeshisheadonce,browknittedtight.
“Iknewexactlywhattoexpectfortherestofmylife,”Iexplain,“anditwascomfortingtome.Butthenitblewup,andallIcouldthinkaboutwasrunning,gettingawayfromthemess.Thenoneday,afterwestartedgettingclose,Iwaswalkingtowork,andIsawthishouse.”
Myvoicegoeshusky.“ItwasthefirsttimeinayearthatIwantedsomethingnew.Whenyoutoldmehowyoufelt”—Iswallowthatsameglowinglightbulbdown—“thatyoulovedme,that’swhyIpanicked.”
Helookstowardtherun-downbungalow.“BecauseIdon’tfit.”
Mythroatburns,likethere’stoomuchpressurebuildinginmychest,steamthatneedstobeletout.
“BecauseIcouldseeit,”Isay.“Rightaway.Icouldseeawholenewlife,allthesenewthingstowant,andthat’sfuckingterrifying,Miles.”
Hishandsflyuptocradlemyjaw.“Iwon’thurtyou,Daphne.”
“Youdon’tknowthat,”Iwhisper.
“IknowhowhardI’lltry,”hesays.“Juststay.Iloveyou.Iwantyou.Stay.”
Myhandsclimbuptothebackofhisneck,anotheruncontrollablebaringofmyheart.
Heswallowshard.“Comehome.Please.”
“Ican’t.”Ishakemyhead.Beforehecanargue,Igoon:“Nomatterwhatyousaidtoday,I’dalreadymadeupmymind.”
Hedrawsback,ashadowpassingoverhisface.
Iwasn’tintentionallyobfuscatingthepoint,butseeinghisshatteredlook,IrealizeI’vephrasedthistheworstwaypossible.
“No!”Isay.“Imean,regardlessofwhathappensbetweenus,I’mnotdonehere.”
Hisheadjustbarelycocks,awaveoflovepummelingmeatthefamiliargesture.
“I’mgettingmyownplace,”Iexplain.
Afteraflickerofconfusion,helookssidelongtowardtheForSalesign.
“Notthat.Ican’taffordthat.Ifoundaone-bedroom.ClosetoFika.”
“Ireallydon’tunderstand,Daphne.”
“Youmeansomuchtome,Miles,”Isay.“Somuch.Butyoucan’tbeeverything.YouwererightthatI’dloveithere.Ido.Andyou’reahugepartofwhyIwanttobuildalifehere.ButIcan’tbuilditaroundyou.Ifthisends,IneedtoknowthatIdon’tjustdisappear.Ineedtohavemyownstuffthat’snotaboutanyoneelse.Whetheritworksoutbetweenusornot,Ineedthat.”
“Iwantittowork,”heinsists.“Itcan.”
“Ithinksotoo,”Ipromise.“Ican’timagineevermeetinganyonemorewonderfulthanyou,soifitdoesn’twork,I’mgoingtostaysingle,gotoaspermbank,andgetintoCrossFit.”
Agoofysmileovertakeshisface.“Youreallythinkso?”
“NottheCrossFitpart.I’mincrediblylazy,”Isay.“Buttherestofit.You’rewonderful.You’rethereasonforthewordwonderful.Itreallyshouldn’tbeusedforanythingelse.Youmakemewanttoseethebestineveryone.You’rethepersonIwanttobewithwheneverything’sgoingwrong,insteadofjustwantingtoskipoverthosetimesentirely.Ilovethatyou’resopresentthatyoualwaysforgettokeeptrackofyourphone,andIlovethatwhenyou’relate,younevermakeexcusesbutyoualwayshaveagoodreason.
“You’rethemostgenerouspersonI’veevermet,eventopeoplewho’vegivenyounoreasontobegenerous,andyoualwayscomethroughforthepeopleyoucareabout.Ihonestlycan’ttotallyfigureoutwhysomeoneasgoodasyouwouldloveme,whenIcanbekindofapessimisticasshole.ButIdofeelliketheluckiestpersonintheworld,tobewhoyouwant.BecauseIwantyoutoo.Iloveyoutoo.Iloveyouinawaythatfeelsbrand-new.Youmakeeverysinglethingthatwentwrongfeellikeitwasjustastepintherightdirection,andit—itmakesmeexcited.Forlifetokeepsurprisingme.
“Youaren’twhatIpictured,”Isay.“Youareso,so,somuchbetterthanwhatmycynicallittlebraincould’veevercomeupwith.”Myvoicewaversandcracksattheend,andevenifIknewwhattosaynext,Idon’tthinkI’dbeabletogetitout.
Milesstudiesme,hiseyessoftnowasItrytopullmyselftogether.Hetugsmyhandsuptohischest,holdingthemoverhisheart.
“That’sit?”heasksquietly.“That’sthespeech?”
“Itwaslongerthanthat,butI’vesleptlikefourhoursinthelastthreedays,sothat’swhat’sleftinmybrain,”Isayscratchily.“You’resoniceandsohotandsofunandfunny,andyousmellreallygood,andthebrowniesyoumadeforlastnightwereamazing.”
“Andyouloveme,”hesayssoftly.
“Somuch,”Iagree,“Ifeellike,whywouldanyonewhocan’tdateyouevenbotherdating?Andsomehow,youlikeme.”
“Love,”hecorrects.“Somehow,youloveme.”
“Ido,”Itellhim.
Ido.Iam.Rightnow.Everymuscleinmybodyisbusylovinghim,onthesidewalkinfrontofmynewdreamhouse,thefirstraysofanewmorningfilteringacrossthestreet.
Oneofhishandspullsfreefromthetangleofourfingersandslidesintomyhair.
“Canwegohomenow?”heasks.
“Actually,”Isay,“myapartmentisn’treadyuntilnextweek.”
“Inthatcase,”hesays,“doyouwanttocomebacktomyplace?”
“CanwelockJuliaoutforawhile?”
Helaughs.“We’llsendhertoAshleigh’sforabit.”
“Thenyes.”
Hecrushesmetohim,adeepkiss,fulloffeeling:joyandfearandneedandhope.Arough,no-holds-barredkissthatpromptsonecarrollingpasttohonkitshorn,theautomobileequivalentofawolfwhistle,ormaybeascolding.
Wepullbacksmiling,ourforeheadsrestingtogether.Wesmileandbreatheandtouchoneanotheranddreamaboutthefuturewithoutsayinganyofitaloud.
Summerturningintofall.TripswithAshleighandMuldertotheappleorchardsanhoursouth.BonfireswithJuliaastheairchillsandtheleavesblazeintocolor.PokernightswithcigarsmokethickintheairandlongmorningwalkswithhotchaifromFikainhand.
Andeventhehellishcoldofwinter.Anewapartment,completewithgasfireplace.Bundledhikesthroughfeetofsnow,MilesandIslippingoutofourclothesandunderthesheetstowarmeachother.
AndthingsIcan’tdreamuptoo.Thewaysitwillallgowrong,andthebeautythatcanonlyhappeninthewake.
AsecondactIfellinto,andthehomethatIchose,asmuchasitchoseme.
Ican’twait.Ican’twaitforthiswholeworldI’veinvitedtosurpriseme.38
FRIDAY,OCTOBER3RD
412DAYSSINCEISTAYED
Throughthedoor,CelineDionisbemoaningthefactthatshedoesn’twanttobeallbyherself.Thechimeoftheoventimerbarelycutsthroughthesong,andIflipontheinteriorlighttocheckthattheedgesofthebrownieshavegonecrispy,thetopcrackinginthatmouthwateringway.Ipullthemoutandsetthematopthestove,eyeingtheclock.
OfcoursetodayIwouldberunningbehind.
Ijogtotheshut-tightdoorandraponit.Hedoesn’thearthefirsttime,soIknockagain.Themusicstops.
“Yeah?”Milescalls.
“Youokay?”Iask.
Apause.“Yeah?”
Thatdidn’tinspireconfidence.“CanIcomein?”
Thedoorswingsopen.He’sstandingthereshirtless,shavingcreamcoveringthelowerhalfofhisface,razorinhand.
“IthoughtIshouldshave,”hesays,bywayofexplanation.“Sinceyourmom’scoming.”
Ifightasmile.“Youoncetoldmethatwomenofacertainagelovethescruffything.”
“Oh,theydo.”Heleansagainstthesink.“Ican’thaveyourmomfallinginlovewithme.”
Aridiculouschortlejarsoutofme.I’dactuallyfinallytalkedherintogoingononedatewithaguyfromhergym.Ithadgonesurprisinglywell,butafterwardshe’dtoldme,“IthinkI’mtoobusytodate.”Themoreimportantthing,though,wasthatshewastoohappywiththelifeshe’dbuiltforherselftochangeitforanyonewhodidn’tsetherworldonfire.AndIlikedthatforher.Shedeservedthelifeshe’dworkedsohardfor.
“YouknowIthinkyou’reunbelievablyhot,”ItellMiles,“butIthinkHollyVincentissafefromyourcharms.”
Hissmiledeepens.“Iwanttoimpressher.”
“Shealreadyknowsyou,Miles,”Isay.
We’dgonetoherplaceforChristmaslastyear,sleptonthetinypulloutcouch,andeatenKoreanbarbecuetakeoutwhilewatchingItHappenedonFifthAvenue,followedimmediatelybyDieHard
“Yeah,butthiswillbethefirsttimesheseesushere.”Hewavestowardournew(old)place.
Technically,itwillbethefirsttimeanyone’sseenushere,otherthanAshleighandJulia.Theplaceisstillawreck,butthelivingroom,onebathroom,andMiles’sandmybedroomatleastarefunctionalatthispoint.
Evenifoneofthediamond-panedwindowsisliterallybeingheldtogetherbypackingtape,andthepowergoesoutwhenwerunmorethanonefan.
Itwilltakeyearstofixupthiseye-bleedinglyorangecottage,twoandahalfblocksfromthegreenonewiththesamefloorplan.ButIdon’tmind.IloveitenoughasitisthatI’mhappytowait.
Thedoorbellrings,whichisasurprise.Itonlyworksabouteveryeighthtimesomeonetouchesit.
“Shit,”Milessays.“I’mlate.Sorry.”Hegrabsthetowelofftheracktowipeoffhisshavingcream,thoughtsofasmoothjawabandoned.
“It’sokay,”Isay.“Justputonashirtandmeetmeinthelivingroom.Orskiptheshirt.Itoldeveryonetonight’scasual.”
Hedoesn’tevenwaittofinishlaughingbeforekissingme,leavingfoambehindonmyfacewhenwepullapart.Hewipesmychinoffwiththetowel.“Berightthere,”hepromises.
I’mnotworriedaboutmymom,ortonight.I’mmorenervousfornextweek.
Sadie’sfirstvisittoseemesincewestartedreallytalkingagain.
FormonthsafterIdecidedtostayinWaningBay,Iwaitedforthatsplinterinmyhearttopushitswayout,tostopmissingher.
ThenightMilesandIdecidedtobuyahousetogether,wewenttodinnertocelebrate,thenwalkedhomepastabookshop.Sadie’sfavoritewriter,theonewhoseeventMileshadtakenmetoallthosemonthsago,hadanewreleasesittinginthewindow.Onawhim,Ipoppedinandboughtit.ButIcouldn’tbringmyselftoreadit,soitsatonashelfforweeks,beforefinallyIpickeditup,devoureditinonesitting,andcloseditwithtearsstreamingdownmycheeks.
TheveryfirstthingIdidwhenIfinishedthatbookwasreachtotexther.Animpulse,aninstinct.AndeventhoughIdidn’tsendthemessage,thefeelingdidn’tgoawayeither.
Foranotherweek,ImovedthroughtheworldfeelinglikeI’dforgottensomething,liketherewassomewhereIshouldbe,liketherewassomeoneI’dmeanttocall.
Iwashurtandangryandconfusedbythedistanceinourrelationship,butmorethanthat,Imissedmyfriend.Ididn’twanttowriteheroff.
SoIwroteheraletter.AletterseemedmoreSadiethananemail.Austenian,even.Incollegeshe’dhadpersonalizedstationeryandawaxsealstamp,butIhadtosettleforaPureMichigansticker.
Thedayshegottheletter,rightaftershereadit,she’dcalledmerightaway,andeventhoughIwasterrified,Iansweredonthesecondring.
We’dtalkedforhours.We’dbothcried.
She’dbeenengagedfortwomonthsbythen.“Iwantedtotellyousobadly,”shesaid.“ButIdidn’tthinkyouwantedtohearfromme.Ithought—whenyouandPeterbrokeup,Ithoughtyouwerepushingmeaway.BecauseofCooper.BecauseaslongasI’mwithhim,I’mkindof…stuckwithPeter,youknow?”
AndIdidknow.PeterandCooperwerelikefamily.Therealkind,whowillalwaysloveyou,evenwhenyourdecisionsmakenosensetothem.
Thedecision,forher,hadneverbeenmeorPeter.Itwasherbestfriendortheloveofherlife.AndnowthatIunderstood,IrealizedIdidn’tneedittofeellikeaneasychoiceafterall.
Thingswereallowedtobecomplicated.Theywereallowedtobemessy.Wewereallowedtodisagreeandargueandevenhurteachother,onoccasion,anditdidn’tmeanitwastimetolettherevolvingdooroflifecarryusawayfromeachother.
Sometimesthingsarehard.Theyjustare.
Thatfirstphonecallhadbeenlikeawaterfall,butafterthat,ourtextsandcallshadbeenslowandsteady.Westillaren’tbacktowhereweusedtobe—maybeweneverwillbe—butwearesomething.Westillloveeachother.We’restilltrying.
Asforhowshe’llmeshwithmynewlifeandfriendshere,Ihavenoidea.ButI’mworkingonbeingexcitedinsteadofnervousabouttheunknown.Somanyofthemostbeautifulthingsinlifeareunexpected.LookatDadandStarfire.It’snotlikehe’ssuddenlyadifferentperson,buthe’smoresettled,lessrestless.He’sactuallymadeittotwoofourlastthreescheduledvisits,andtobefair,heandStarfirewonanall-expenses-paidtriptoSwitzerland(onahottipfromtheirpsychic)thatoverlappedwiththatthirdvisit,soIcan’treallyblamehimforthatone.
Atthefrontdoor,Ismoothdownmyskirtandswingitopen.(Door,notskirt.)
“Hiiii!”Bothwomenonthefrontstepshriek.Ashleigh’ssun-bronzedfromhersoloEat,Pray,Love–styletriptoPortugal—mostofwhichshespentwithagorgeouslocalnamedAfonsowhoalreadyhasplaneticketstovisithernextmonth.
“Happyhousewarming!”shecries,shovinganenormousbottleofespumantetowardme.
“That’sfrombothofus,”Juliasays.
Ashleighscoffs.
“Iboughtthebow,”Juliasays.“I’matwenty-four-year-oldbarista,givemeabreak.”
“Ithoughtyouwerebringingadate,”IsaytoJules.“ThatguyyoujustwenttoChicagowith?”
“Ryan.”Sherollshereyes.“Hecuthisfingernailsonthebusride.”
“Ew,”AshleighandIsayinunison.
Julianodssolemnly.“Flagssored,theyveeredtowardmaroon.”
“Comein,comein!”
Insteadtheypinmeinatighthugbetweenthetwoofthem.Theheatisstickyagainstourskin,thebuzzofinsectsinourovergrownfrontyardloudenoughtodulltheresumedsingingofoneMs.CelineDion.
“Okay,”Juliasays,pullingback.“I’mtakingcontroloftheplaylist.”
“I’veneverknownahappiermanwholovessadsongsmore,”Ashleighmuses.
Inside,JuliatalksMilesintolettinghertakeoverthesoundbar.Hefinishesmakingabatchofmargaritas,andaddssaltandpeppertotheguacamole.
BarbandLenoreletthemselvesinafewminuteslater,Barb’sarmsloadedwithbagsoffreshlypickedapplesandLenore’swithahousewarmingbouquetoflavender.
Mom’scabfromtheairportshowsupnext.AftergivingmeandMileseacharib-crackinghug,sheintroducesherselftoeveryonewithoutanyhesitation.
We’dinvitedhertostaywithus,saidwe’dcampinthelivingroomsoshecouldtakethebed,butshe’dinsistedonbookinganAirbnbwithahomegym.
HarveyandEldaarethelasttoarrive.Theyknock,ratherthanring,orelsethebelljustdoesn’tworkthistime.
Theymakequiteapair:HarveyinhisRedWingssweatsuit,aboxofcigarsunderhisarm;Elsawithherpinkdiscoballearringsandelegantcheeseboard,wrappedinbeeswaxcloth.
Everyone’sherenow.ThefamilyIdidn’texpect,minusMulder,whoisstrictlybannedfrompokernight,duetostronglanguage,smoking,gambling—takeyourpick,really.He’snotallowedtojoinuntilhe’seighteen,thesameruleAshleigh’sparentshadforher.
ItakeHarveyandEldabacktothelivingroom,andthere’sonelastroundofintroductionsforMom.Shedoesn’tdrinkoften,soherfewsipsofmargaritamustbehittingher:shetearsupwhensheshakesHarvey’shand,andthankshimfor“takingsuchgoodcareofmygirl.”
“She’sagreatemployee,”hesays,“andawonderfulfriend.Terriblepokerplayer,though.”
Momcackles.“She’salwaysbeentoohonestforherowngood.Exceptthatonetimeyoutoldthatgirlyougrewuponahorsefarm.Rememberthat,Daphne?”
“I’dfinallysortofforgotten,”Isay.
“Andthetimeyoutoldyourex-fiancéyouweredatinghisnewfiancée’sex-boyfriend,”Juliaputsin.
“What’sthis,now?”Eldasetsthecheeseboardonthecounter.
“Harveydidn’ttellyou?”Ashleighsays.
“Idon’tgossipaboutthestaff,”hesays,withfalseandunconvincingsternnessthatdoesn’thidehisgrin.
Milesslipshisarmsaroundmywaist,thewoodsmokeandgingersmellfoldingaroundme,myheartpatteringatthefeelingofhimkissingthesideofmyneck.Iletmyselfleanbackintohim,thebestfeelingintheworld.Atleast,thebestfeelingthat’sappropriatetohaveinfrontofyourmother.
“Youreallydon’tknowthisalready?”IaskElda.
Sheshakesherhead.
“It’showDaphneandIgottogether.”Miles’sarmstightenaroundme.
Eldaclapsherhandstogether.“Oh,Iloveagoodmeet-cute.Let’shearit.”
Icranemyneckovermyshouldertolookathim.Hisdimplessinkintohisbeard,anditfeelslikemyheartisunzipping,steppingoutofitscallousedskin,aglowing,sunlitthing.
“Funnystory…”hesays,buthedoesn’tgoon,justwatchesmeandwaits.
HeknowshowmuchIlovetotellit.Acknowledgments
I’mworriedmyacknowledgmentsaregoingtokeepgettingshorterandshorterasthelistofpeopleIneedtothankgetsmoreandmoreimpossiblyhuge.It’sagoodproblemtohave,tobesosurroundedbyloveandsupportthatyoucan’trealisticallyname-checkeverypieceofit.Iusuallythankmyreaderslast,ornearlylast,butthistime,Iwanttothankyoufirst.Whicheverofyou,likeme,actuallyreadtheacknowledgments.Ilovethisjob,andifitweren’tajob,Iwouldstilldoit,butitwouldtakealotlongerandbenowherenearasmuchfun.Thankyouforyourenthusiasm,yourjoy,youropenness,yoursoftness,yourinspiration,andyourpresencehereonthisbig,messy,beautiful,heartbreakingplanet.Iamsogratefulforyouandtoyou
Nowontomyteam:everyoneatRootLiterary,butespeciallyTaylor,whoalwaysdreamsbigwithme,andJasmine,whoistheonlyreasonI’verespondedtoanyemailatallinthelastyear.Thankyouforbeingtheabsolutebestbolstersandkeepersandcolleaguesagirlcouldaskfor,forhelpingmekeepmovingwhenIneedto,andforalwayscreatingspaceformewhenIneedtojustpause.
ToeveryoneatBerkley,andPenguinRandomHouseasawhole,IknowItellyouthisallthetime,butit’sstillnotenough:Iamtheluckiesttohavefoundahomeformyworkwithyou.Ican’timagineanyonebetter,andinthisever-changingindustry,IfeelsogratefulforhowmanyofyouI’vegottentoholdontotheselastfewyearsforthisincrediblywildride.MyeditorsAmandaBergeronandSareerKhaderaretrulytwoofthesmartestpeopleI’veevermet,andthat’shonestlynoteventheirbestquality.Iloveeveryminutewegettospendchippingawayatandpolishingthesestoriesuntiltheybecomewhattheyweremeanttobe,andIalsojustlovegettingtoknowyouashumanbeings.Thankyouforallthatyoudo,butmoreimportantlywhoyouare.ThankyoualsotomytrulyinimitableanddelightfullyfunpublicistsDanielleKeirandDache’Rogers.Onceagain,Idon’tknowhowIgotsoluckytohavetwopeoplesoenormouslytalentedandstupendouslyfunnyandcharismaticandwonderfulinmycornerasyoutwo!Andthenofcoursethere’sJessicaMangicaroandEliseTecco,marketersextraordinaire,whoregularlymovemountainsforme.It’sraretomeetpeoplewhoarebothasrelentlesslyhardworkingasthisteamandascreativeandimaginativeandfun—youtrulydomakemagic,andI’msothankfultohaveyouinmylife.Thenofcoursethere’sSannyChiuandAnthonyRamondo,theabsoluteiconsbehindthecover,spine,anddustjacket.Thankyouforbringingmyworldstolife!AlisonCnockaert—thankyoufortoleratingourdozentinyquestionsandthoughtsandmakingtheinteriordesignofthisbooksoperfectlycharming.SomuchgratitudealsotoTawannaSullivanandBenLeeforgettingmybooksintothehandsofsomany.Hugethank-youalsotoeveryoneelseatBerkleywhohasendlesslysupportedmethispasthandfulofyears,includingbutnotlimitedto:ChristineBall,ChristineLegon,CindyHwang,ClaireZion,CraigBurke,IvanHeld,Jeanne-MarieHudson,andLindseyTulloch.
AnotherenormousroundofthankstomyUKteamatViking,withaspecialextrashout-outtomyeditorVikkiMoynesandtherestofmyteam:EllieHudson,GeorgiaTaylor,HarrietBourton,LydiaFried,andRosieSafaty.
Immenseappreciationalsotomyfilmagent,MaryPender,andherphenomenalassistant(anotherpersonwhohasdiligentlymanagedmychaoticbrainthesepastmonths),CeliaAlbers.
Thankyoutothebooksellers,thelibrarians,thebloggers,thereviewers,thepeoplewhomakefanartandvideosandbeautifulpictures,theoneswholendtheircopiesoutandtheoneswhoborrowthosecopies,theday-onereadersandthosejustpickinguponeofmybooksforthefirsttime.
Andthankyou,asalways,tomyfriendsandmyfamily.Forwhatyoudo,forwhoyouare.Iloveyou,always.AbouttheAuthor
EmilyHenryisthe#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofHappyPlace,BookLovers,PeopleWeMeetonVacation,andBeachRead.ShestudiedcreativewritingatHopeCollege,andnowspendsmostofhertimeinCincinnati,Ohio,andthepartofKentuckyjustbeneathit.FindheronInstagram@emilyhenrywrites.What’snextonyourreadinglist?
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