“Hey,” I said, waving a hand at the beach around us. I wanted Everett to know he hadn’t done anything wrong. That he was the one to pull away, and it counted. “It’s just this place.”
He looked at me, something sad flickering across his face. The wind played at his hair as I waited. Finally, he shook his head. “It’s not just this place,” he said.
The words slammed into me, sunk into my bones. I’d keep them there for the next year, returning to them every once in a while, long after I’d returned to my normal with no Everett around to make me go a little crazy.
We walked back to the house, a marked distance between us. Laurel and Davi were waiting, and Everett still had a girlfriend, and we were still supposed to be nothing more than just friends, no matter what he’d said. No matter what molecular thing between us had shifted.
twenty-five
This Summer
I stay in Everett’s room that night. I spend the night, like I told him I never do, like I always have with him. We fall asleep wrapped together and wake up in the same position.
Everett plays with my hair as I hug an arm around his chest. I’m happily still ignoring everything we haven’t discussed, the impossibility of all of this, when there’s a knock at his door.
“Everett? You up?” Gabe says from the other side of the door.
Everett’s hand freezes in my hair. I widen my eyes at him. Gabe knocks again.
Pretend you’re asleep, I mouth at him. Everett’s eyes flick to the doorknob, like Gabe might just come in. Which, I realize with a sinking in my stomach, is true. Gabe used to barge into my room in college whenever he felt like it.
“Um,” Everett calls as I scramble out of bed, grabbing my dress from the floor and launching into the bathroom. “Just a second!”
I hear Everett root around as I partially shut the door behind me, probably trying to locate a pair of pants. Gabe knocks a third time.
“Sorry,” Everett says as he opens the door. “What’s up?” Ipress myself closer to the counter in here, shutting my eyes, as if that would make me invisible to Gabe if he came in.
“Do you have any Tylenol? Ibuprofen?” Gabe asks. “Usually I’d ask Sutton, but I can’t find her.”
“Yeah,” Everett says, and something in his voice has me casting around the bathroom, heart pounding when my eyes land on the bottle of ibuprofen sitting near the sink. I hear Gabe move into the room as Everett starts toward the bathroom.
“Man,” Gabe says. “Might have to fight you for this room next time. You know, if there is a next time.”
“It’s yours,” Everett says as he leans around the door. I already have the ibuprofen stretched out toward him, his fingers brushing mine as he takes it. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Gabe says, in his tone that unmistakably meanssettling in. I hear him sit on the edge of the bed, the sheets of which my underwear are undoubtedly tangled in.
“You good?” Everett asks. I’m still holding my dress in front of me, and I settle in against the counter, repressing a sigh. I love Gabe, but now is not the time for one of his talks.
“I don’t know,” Gabe says. “Has this week felt off to you?”
“Hmm,” Everett murmurs, and I try to picture him, standing with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. “Maybe a little awkward.”
“Forced is what I was going to say,” Gabe answers. My head straightens at this. I’m surprised to hear this coming from Gabe, of all people. Affable, comforting, never one to really complain.
“I think it’s just been a while,” Everett says.
“Maybe.” I listen, trying to parse the silence. “I’m just worried about how disappointed Sutton will be if this is our last time here.”
I wish so much, in this moment, that I wasn’t standing naked in Everett’s bathroom. It’s a unique embarrassment to have tolisten to other people talk about you, even if it is just Gabe worrying. Am I truly the only one who thought this week could mean something? That we might start this tradition again?
“The trip was Laurel’s idea,” Everett points out.
“I know,” Gabe says. “But I think this trip might have always meant more to Sutton than the rest of us, you know? I don’t want her thinking this week means we’ll start coming back here again.”
I bite my lip, look down at my feet. I don’t want to hear this, don’t want to know that my friends feelsorryfor me. But then Everett is answering. “This trip meant a lot to me too,” he says, something like defensiveness edging his voice.
I don’t get to hear Gabe’s response, because there’s another knock at the bedroom door, followed by Laurel’s voice. “Did you—” she starts, then, “Oh, thank god you have ibuprofen.” I listen as she flops onto the bed next to Gabe, my pulse racing anew. “Have you seen Sutton? Her room’s empty.”