“Yeah, I think so.” Mateo takes a long pull from the bottle, then drifts from story to story about Harper and Zaiden, together and separately.
Minutes later, I’m telling him about the girls who’d come to the rink and flirt with my team when we were young and too dumb to flirt back. He laughs through memories of his own high school mishaps and then returns to some of the funniest teenage dating disasters he’s seen as a teacher.
“What’s the wackiest happy ending you saw from any of those stories?” I ask, stupidly in love with moments like this.
“Ah, well. There was this kid who wanted to ask his crush to the homecoming dance, and to say he had a flair for the dramatic would be an understatement. He wasn’t my student, but the girl was, so he interrupted my second period class dressed as Dread Pirate Roberts fromThe Princess Bride. He launched an amended monologue about beauty and true love—accent and everything—and I’m pretty sure his endgame plan had something to do with—”
“‘As you wish’?”
“Exactly,” Mateo laughs again. “Anyway, he had two big problems that day. One, the slits in the mask were too small for him to seethrough properly. Two, his crush looked a lot like her best friend.”
I nearly choke on my beer. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. His very theatrical invitation was delivered to the wrong girl. A girl who happened to have a crush onhimand said yes immediately. But this poor guy’s best friend had a crush onthatgirl, and the best friend was in the class watching it all unfold, so he turned to the original crush—the one who was supposed to be invited to homecoming—andheaskedher. Basically, two sets of best friends swapped would-be dates for the dance, all in the span of a couple of minutes during second period honors English.”
“But there was a happy ending?”
“That was almost six years ago, and last I heard, both accidental couples were still together. Almost inconceivable.”
I do choke on my beer that time, and Mateo and I are doubled over for a long time, wiping away tears as quickly as they fall. The temptation to kiss him is as strong as ever, but then I yawn unexpectedly and start to sober.
“Sorry,” I say, covering my mouth with the back of my hand and quieting us both.
He takes a few deep breaths, facing the ocean we can’t see from where we sit. “We'll still talk—when I'm with my grandparents, I want us to talk.”
"I've never wanted us to stop."
"I know."
“How do you feel about going to take care of a man who probably wouldn’t do the same for you?”
“Definitelywouldn’t,” he corrects. “And it’s for my grandmother more than anything. Being around him will mean taking more verbal abuse than I'd accept from anyone else, but there's little I wouldn't do for her, and my being there will give the rest of my family a break, too.”
I sigh. "If he's used to being strong, and now he's not, that'll make everything harder for you."
"It's all harder on her. I'll be fine."
"Will you tell me if you're not?"
"I don’t remember whether we’re supposed to lie to each other anymore," Mateo says, pressing his bare shoulder against mine.
“No more lying.”
“Then I will tell you if I'm not fine. Will you tell me what else you want to know?”
"When you're gone?"
I don't get an answer right away. Mateo cocks his head when I yawn again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just haven’t slept much the past few nights.”
“Then let’s go back inside. I saw that sectional, and I’ve got no doubt it’s as comfortable as it looks.”
Just like I’d done before fetching the beer, he stands without waiting for me to respond and uses my towel to dry his legs before he puts his shirt back on. I follow his lead, and then we go inside together. Mateo moves to lie on his side with enough space left for me.
“What are we doing?” I ask, my voice barely a rasp as I look down at him. “I don’t actually want to fuck this up. I want you to come back when the summer is over.”
“I’ll come back. But lying hasn’t worked for us, and staying apart hasn’t worked for us, so maybe we can figure out how to do this right.”