"I understand."
"Would you let me fly you out here?" he asks. "We never really talked about that. And I guess during the season, it wouldn't be a lot of fun for you. But yeah. Over the summer, maybe?"
"Over the summer, while you're learning your way around, which means I'd have to be a friend and nothing more."
Jamie hums, thoughtful for a moment. "Isn't that the way it's always been?"
It is, of course, though I've never known how to stop hating it. That steady ache overrides the potential blow of his offer to pay my way, obviously helpful but technically unnecessary. I lean back in my desk chair and stare at stained ceiling tiles. For a few seconds, I think I should blame Sophie for talking about those damned chicken wings so much that I wanted to try them myself. Then I'm mad about the strangers in a bar fight who forced Jamie and me into an alley, and even further to a food truck. And finally, I take a deep breath and remember that everything happening now is because Jamie and I couldn't leave one night behind us, even when sunlight gave us a reason to.
"Does Taylor know about me?"
"No."
I should be satisfied that I was correct about that, but I ignore the sensation and move on. "Are you sleeping with his sister?"
"No. Stop reading that shit."
"You're just mad you can't search for dirt on me."
Jamie laughs softly, and it heals a dozen things inside me. "I could always give Vicki Gallagher a call."
"God forbid," I say as he yawns.
"It's getting late."
"It'sbeenlate."
"And you have to finish grading," he reminds me. "Go. Be safe getting home. We'll talk and I'll let you know when I'm coming home. Maybe we can go for another drive."
My smile is weary. "You don't trust me to stay all night with you."
"A drive would be really nice."
Jamie and I take that drive. We take two of them, actually—one just before his trip with Harper, and one after they return—and he was right about them being really nice. There are other places where we can be alone, but the car isolates us differently. Or maybe it's the fantasy that we could run away entirely—keep driving and never look back.
We never say that out loud, but a few heavy silences leave space for those daydreams.
I don't see his bench or his bed while he's home, but it keeps our latest goodbye free from the promises we've already made too many times.
My school year ends right after Jamie flies back east, and Sophie and I go away for a few days once final grades are turned in and our classrooms are empty. I reach out to my family too, all of them used to my schedule and my desire to unwind once I have the time to do it. It's only when I have dinner at my parents' house that I realize I've been more out of the loop than usual.
"Your grandmother hasn't been doing well," my mom tells me. "Nothing is specifically wrong, but she's lonely and it's taking a toll on her. We've asked her to consider moving, but she won't leave that house."
I look back and forth between my parents. "She spent Easter weekend with us. And I thought everyone was visiting pretty regularly."
"You know as well as anyone that our own lives can carry us away from other responsibilities and relationships. She doesn't drive much anymore, and there are only so many times the rest of us have been able to travel two hours for a brief stay, but she's too stubborn to ask us to try. To askyouto try."
Guilt comes easily to me, and I have little doubt it was my mom's intent when she summarized the situation so succinctly. Yes, I havemost of the summer off, and I'll take the hint that's been dropped on my dinner plate, but there's been so little actually keeping me from my family. Everyone else has spouses and children and their own jobs and friends, and I have happy hour with my best friend and a million minutes of texts and voice notes and phone calls to someone who's only sort of mine.
Much like my grandmother, I've been alone without acknowledging that I'm getting lonely.
"I'll go out there again. I'll stay, like I did before."
I almost add that I have nothing planned for the summer, but that's not entirely true when Jamie's invitation to visit remains loud anytime I get quiet. It's so loud that I don't hear any of the whispered reminders about my grandmother's neighbor and the warnings that should come with them. My mom smiles at me, satisfied with her work. My dad grunts his approval. I go back to my apartment and figure out what needs to be done before I spend most of my summer away from home.
Telling Jamie is something I put off until my grandmother is taking a nap a week later.
"Is she sick?" he asks, soft and worried.