Pa looks like he’s not far behind. His eyes are red-rimmed as he pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so proud of you, Archer.”
My own eyes are prickling. My voice comes out thicker than usual. “I couldn’t have done it without you guys. I hope you know that.”
Ma closes in on my other side, wrapping her arms around us both. I don’t shrug them off or pull back. For nearly a minute, I allow them to hold me, like I’m five years old again.
“I suppose we need to get some Bryant t-shirts,” Ma murmurs against my hair. “Now that you’re officially going to be a Bulldog.”
I smile. “I’ve already got that covered, actually…”
Extracting myself from their arms, I walk to my dresser. In the bottom drawer, there are three identical sweatshirts. Gold letters spell out BRYANT against the black fabric.
“Here.” I pass one to each of my parents. “These are for you. The Bryant coach gave them to me when I met with him last night.”
As they pull them excitedly over their heads, I turn back to shut the drawer. My fingers linger on the third sweatshirt waiting inside.
Size XS.
I got it for Jo. Despite everything… I desperately want to give it to her; to watch her face light up when she realizes I’ll be attending school only a half hour away from her at Brown.
I must be insane.
If I put it in her hands right now, she’ll probably hurl it straight into the sea. I’ve pushed her so far away, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get her back.
Tomorrow is June 5. Her birthday. Since she always spends it with her parents, we usually celebrate together on mine — trading presents in the boathouse rafters at dusk. Last year, I gave her a vintage sewing machine I stumbled across in a thrift shop; she bought me front row tickets to see the Red Sox at Fenway.
Beside Jo’s Bryant sweatshirt, there’s a small jewelry box. Inside it, a necklace sits on a bed of plush velvet. It’s not particularly fancy; not studded in diamonds or crafted from the finest platinum. It’s rather plain, in fact. But when I saw it in a shop window, I knew it was meant for Jo.
The pendant is made up of thin cords of gold, overlapping in the shape of a simple knot. Looking at it, most people might think it’s nothing special — just a cluster of lines, looped together. Only someone who spends time on the water would understand the true meaning.
A fisherman’s knot.
Sailors call it the true love knot. They say it’s unbreakable. That, tied correctly, it won’t ever come apart. Stress only makes it stronger. The more you tug, the tighter it grows.
Before I can question my own motivations, I tuck the small box inside the front pocket of my sweatpants. My parents are too busy examining their new Bryant attire to notice.
“Come on,mijo,” Ma says, linking her arm with mine. “I made breakfast.”
They lead me into the kitchen. My favorite foods are stacked high on the table — blueberry pancakes, pan de mallorca, fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“Wow.” I grin, pulling out a chair. “Thank you.”
“Looks perfect, Flora,” Pa says, taking his seat.
“I only wish your brother was here.” Ma places several pancakes on my plate. “Then it would truly be perfect.”
I gulp my orange juice.
“Have you heard from him this week?” Pa asks quietly.
Ma shakes her head.
He deflates a bit, shoulders slumping in his sweatshirt. “I called the auto shop where he’s been working. His boss said he hasn’t come in for his shifts the past two weeks.”
Her hand reaches for the cross around her neck. “Maybe he’s found another job…”
“It’s possible. Try not to panic, Flora. We don’t know for sure that he’s gotten himself into trouble again.”
Their anxiety is palpable. I place my hands on my lap beneath the table, so they won’t see them tightening into fists.