THE INFINITY BETWEEN US

N.S. PERKINS
 The Infinity Between Us © 2022 N.S. Perkins

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This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing
locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 N.S. Perkins

Book Cover Design by Murphy Rae

Editing by Jacqueline Hritz

Formatting by Champagne Book Design

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
 23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also from the author
To all my lost girls out there. I see you.
Everything’s going to be okay.
 1

Present

I’m tired.
I got into my car and started driving right after the end of my last exam,
not even taking the time to go back home and pack dinner. The six-hour drive
took its toll on me, especially since I didn’t stop along the way. No need to
prolong the inevitable. This needed to be done, however much I didn’t want
to, so the sooner, the better. Besides, it’s not like I had anyone waiting for me
at home.
The small Maine streets are so dark, I need to drive slower than a snail if I
don’t want to run into something—or someone. It’s probably better that it’s
so dark, though. I don’t need to see the details of this place. Just a few
minutes ago, I came across the exit I used to take with my mom when we
went shopping during the summer, and acid crept up my throat. I had to take
a few deep breaths to force myself to keep going.
My hands start to shake when my GPS tells me I’m two minutes away
from the beach house.
Calm down, Violet. You’ll be fine.
It won’t last long. Kind of like a wisdom teeth removal. You know it’s
going to be shitty, but once it’s over, you’re glad it’s done.
Just as I’m about to turn the music up to help me calm down, my phone
rings, Dad written across the screen. I press the accept button.
“Yes, I’m fine, and no, I didn’t fall asleep while driving or get attacked
by a wild bear or pick up some hitchhiker,” I say, fighting hard to keep the
tremble out of my voice.
Dad laughs. “Good. Where are you now?”
“Almost there.”
After a few seconds of silence, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answer right away. Truth is, I don’t know whether I am or not,
but the last thing I want is for my dad to get worried and decide to get in his
car and drive here in the middle of the night to make sure I’m fine.
 “Okay.” A pause, then, “But if that changes, promise you’ll call me.”
As I put on my blinker to turn onto the street I used to know like the back
of my hand, I say, “Promise. I made an appointment to meet with the
contractor tomorrow, so the deal should be closed in less than a week.”
“Great. Thanks again for doing this.” It’s almost imperceptible, but his
voice is lower than before. Gruffer.
“Of course. I’ll be back in Syracuse in no time.”
My GPS’s voice is loud when it says, “You’ve arrived at your
destination.”
Chills run down my spine, and I have to clench my teeth before turning
into the driveway of a house I haven’t seen in what feels like forever. I keep
my eyes on the flower beds, not ready to take the place in yet, but when I
notice everything is dead, a heavy feeling settles into my stomach.
Five years later, and I still can’t think of death without feeling like I’m
going to be sick.
As the car comes to a halt, I close my eyes for a moment.
Why the hell did I agree to come here?
Dad’s voice coming out of my car’s speakers brings me out of my
thoughts. “Well, I’ll let you go now, but call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I end the call and stare at the home screen of my phone for a while before
I mutter, “God, get a grip, Violet.”
I can do this. The house didn’t do anything to me. It was the people in it
that did, and they’re gone now. Nothing to be concerned about. I should just
see this as a small vacation.
Yeah, right.
I drag a hand down my face, and before I can change my mind, get out of
my Ford Fiesta. As I close the door, I finally dare to look up.
The house is mostly as I remember it. The cedar shingles are darker than
they used to be, more vines have started climbing on the side of the house,
but other than that, it’s the same house I used to consider my safe haven.
An early summer wind whips my short blond hair across my face, and the
salty air enters my nostrils, making me close my eyes for a second. God, this
smell. I missed it more than I’d thought. It’s easy to not realize how much
you miss something when it’s been so long, you don’t even remember how it
used to be. But this, the warm and humid air that carries the smell of the sea
all across Ogunquit, Maine, is something I could never get enough of.
I kind of wish I didn’t smell it today. Because after this week, I’ll never
come here again, and now that I’ve remembered what it’s like, I’ll start
missing it.
I quickly gather the duffel bag I packed for the week and my backpack
from the trunk of the car before heading toward the house. The whole street is
quiet, most houses having turned all their lights off.
That’s when I notice something weird: a light is on in the beach house.
I know for a fact that no one has been here for years. And even though we
stopped coming, we never rented it to anyone. I can’t explain why, other than
the fact that this house used to belong to the Seabergs and the Mitchells. It
was our own little paradise, and we couldn’t see anyone else in it.
But after that summer, we didn’t want to be in it either. It took years for
Dad to even find the courage to deal with the situation directly and decide to
sell it.
So, if we haven’t entered the house for five years, and no one else has,
who the hell turned this light on?
As I walk slowly toward the chipped front door, I take the pepper spray
out of my backpack. I never walk across my university’s campus without it.
Thank God I took my bag with me.
I insert the key into the lock, and the door squeaks loudly, the sound
echoing across the seemingly empty space as I push it open.
“H-hello?” I try to go for a police officer kind of voice, but I think it
sounds more like a squeaky-mouse voice. Oh well. At least I’m armed…kind
of.
I take a few quiet steps inside, my mind too occupied by the possible
intruder to focus on the dusty space that is still arranged just like the day we
left, from the throw pillows on the couches to the seashells hung all over the
walls.
“Hello?” I repeat.
No one answers, but just then, I hear something. It’s faint, but it’s there.
And it’s coming from upstairs.
I move toward the white wooden stairs, each one creaking as I slowly
step on it. Once I’m halfway up, I stand still, and that’s when I recognize it.
A shower.
Some random person is taking a shower in this house that’s supposed to
be empty.
 I listen for a little longer, and I’m pretty sure I can hear the person singing
in a terrible falsetto.
Should I leave the house and call the cops? Absolutely. But honestly,
what dangerous robber would decide to take a shower (and even be
comfortable enough to sing in it)? Plus, I’m really freaking tired after driving
for six hours straight, so while maybe I should be scared, I’m more annoyed
than anything else.
Some people get angry when they’re hungry. I get angry—and a little
irrational—when I’m tired. And when I’m hungry.
I’m not leaving this house before I know who decided to break in here.
Besides, if they’re in the shower, I’ll have the element of surprise.
Taking the last steps two at a time, I approach the closed bathroom door
on my tiptoes. I turn the doorknob slowly, and by some miracle, the door’s
unlocked. In an instant, steam reaches my face, hot and with a faint smell
of…lemongrass?
It doesn’t matter that this person seems to smell good. I’m about to tear
them a new one for bothering me while I’m already having enough of a hard
time.
With my left hand holding the pepper spray, I let out a sharp exhale
before I cock back my right arm and punch the curtain, Psycho style.
Oh fuck. Was this person made of freaking rock or something?
“Ow!” I yell, shaking my right hand.
“What the fuck!” the person—male—in the shower shouts at the same
time before pulling on the curtain. Sadly for them, they must pull too hard,
because a second later, a large boom echoes through the steamy, lemongrass-
scented bathroom as the curtain gets torn in the middle, falling over the
bottom half of the man who just fell on his ass.
With my pepper spray extended before me, I walk forward and say,
“What are—”
All the breath leaves my body midsentence.
No.
No, no, no.
Not him. Anyone but him.
A face I used to love so much it hurt contorts in confusion as he says,
“Violet?”
Grief. Pain. Love. It all floods me at once, preventing me from catching
my breath.
 I walk backward, my butt hitting the sharp edge of the counter. “What the
hell are you doing here, Will?”
Slowly, he gets up from the bottom of the shower, holding the curtain
around his narrow hips. I look at the floor quickly, but not before I can catch
the blood dripping from his nose. At least I got him good. That makes me
smile for the first time today.
“You’re the one who just punched me in the face while I was showering.
What are you doing here?”
My chest feels like it’s been torn open, my heart set free and jumping to
its death. He can’t be here. I was never supposed to see him again. He made
sure of that.
I force myself to take in a deep breath, keeping my eyes on the floor. I’m
enough of a mess as it is. I don’t need to take a good look at him.
“I’m here to deal with the offer for the house, so whatever you’re doing
here, please leave and come back once I’ve left.” My voice wobbles, but I
don’t know how it could sound clear and sharp. Not around him.
He takes a step out of the shower, and I try to back away, but the counter
stops me from moving.
“Sorry to disappoint you, V, but I’m here for the same reason.”
Ignoring the pang in my heart at the sound of the nickname coming from
his lips, I jerk my head up, meeting a pair of gray eyes that after five years
can still steal the air out of my lungs. “What do you mean?”
He throws a quick glance at the shower curtain covering his waist. “Do
you mind if I get dressed before we talk about this?”
Yes, I do. I need to know what’s happening now. However, I think I
might be in a little bit of a shock, because my mind feels cloudy.
Overwhelmed. I could use a minute to gather my wits.
I swallow. “Fine. Meet me downstairs.”
As I exit the bathroom and follow the path down I’ve taken a thousand
times before, I try to keep my mind empty. I don’t think about his dark hair
that’s now short. I don’t think about the fact that he’s here, really here, and
not only existing in this small box I’d stored away in my head. And I
certainly don’t think about the fact that he might be planning on staying here.
Once I get downstairs, I notice my hands trembling by my side, and I
force them into fists.
Everything’s going to be okay.
There must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding, and after we have a
quick talk, he’ll be out of my life for good.
Once I enter the kitchen, I turn on a light and wipe the dusty seat of one
of the chairs at the kitchen table before I sit down and continue telling myself
everything’s fine. While my hands eventually stop shaking, I can’t help my
legs jumping up and down as I wait for Will.
A few minutes later, he comes down and takes a seat before me. I keep
my eyes on the table.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he all but whispers.
No, his voice does not make goosebumps rise on my arms.
I try, I really try, not to look at his chiseled face, now covered in a
trimmed beard, but Jesus, he doesn’t make it easy. And despite the fact that
he’s changed in the past years, I only need one good look at him to know I
could still draw him in my sleep.
My lips stay shut.
His throat bobs before he says, “How have you been?”
It’s an easy question, yet it’s probably the most complicated one I’ve ever
had to answer. And the worst part is, for an instant, I have the urge to tell him
the truth. It would be so easy to get back to how it used to be and sit by his
side while I tell him everything he’s missed. To tell him how much I’ve been
struggling. To tell him how much pain I’ve been in. The words are on the tip
of my tongue, but before I say anything, I swallow them down. It doesn’t
matter how I’ve been doing, or what his life has become. We’re here to talk
business.
I cross my hands over the table and let his question float away. “So, what
exactly did you mean when you said you were here to handle the offer?”
He jerks back from my change of subject, a frown overtaking his face.
There’s a bruise starting to form on his nose, and although maybe a good
person would, I don’t feel bad. Not one bit. It’s not like he didn’t earn it at
some point. He must be thinking the same thing because he doesn’t bring it
up.
“Exactly what I said. My mom sent me here to deal with it,” he says.
“That’s not possible. I was sent here to deal with it. I have an
appointment with the director of the condo project tomorrow.”
He leans back in his chair. “As a matter of fact, I do too.”
My eyebrows shoot up, but I force them back down. I won’t show him
any of my thoughts, my emotions. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Maybe there was a misunderstanding between Nora and my dad,” I say
after clearing my throat, “but it’s fine. I’m here now, and the house should be
sold in a week, so you can go.” I knew I’d eventually need to get in contact
with the Seabergs to close this sale, but not with him, and definitely not right
now. I need more time.
He frowns. “Sold? What do you mean, sold?”
My leg jumps even faster under the table. Is he messing with me?
“As you so nicely put it before, ‘exactly what I said.’ I already talked to
the guy in charge. I only need to go on a few meetings, and then we can sign
the papers and move on,” I say.
His eyes are still narrowed. “You want to get rid of this place?”
“Of course I do.” After a second of silence, I add, “Don’t you?”
“No,” he snaps as he jerks back. “Why would I? This place holds so
many memories.”
“Bad memories.”
His jaw tightens. “One night of bad memories, V.”
“One night’s enough.” I shake my head. “I don’t want this place to be
ours anymore.”
He closes his eyes and drags a hand through his short hair. He stays silent
for a long moment before he says, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but that’s not
really your choice.”
This time, I can’t stop confusion from painting my face. “Of course, it’s
my choice. The house belongs to both our families, not just yours.” Dick.
“Yes, but when my dad and Amy bought it, they didn’t invest equally.
We own sixty percent of it, so technically, it’s not your decision.” He
scratches his neck, not quite meeting my eyes. “And I’m actually here to tell
the project director to stop calling my parents and to go to hell. I’m not
giving up on this house. And yes, I guess you could take us to court, but I
don’t think that would do either of us any good.”
Goddammit. Why didn’t Dad tell me? And how did he not know that one
of the Seabergs would be here? I can’t even register the stab to the gut at
hearing my mom’s name out of his mouth, too focused on what the thing he
just said means to me. Because while Will is a lot of things, he’s not a liar.
I don’t speak for a while, and eventually, he asks, “Why do you want to
sell this place? You used to love it here.”
My head snaps up. “Are you really asking me this? You can’t understand
why I’d want to get rid of the place?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “I guess, but this is still the place where we spent
all our summers. Where we learned to ride our bikes and invented games to
decide who would cook the next morning and got drunk for the first time.
Where we became us.”
I sigh. I’m so very tired all of a sudden. I don’t want to be here, arguing
with Will Seaberg about why this place is no longer good for me. I want to be
home.
“I can’t see it that way. Not anymore.”
His hand covers his mouth, and I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter a
“fuck.” He exhales. “So what now?”
He hasn’t mentioned anything about his parents being willing to buy out
my family’s forty percent, so I’m assuming that’s not an option. Which
leaves me with only one thing to do.
I glance at the time on my phone.
“Well, if I leave now, I can probably be in Syracuse in—”
“Please don’t leave,” he interrupts, eyes wide and cloudy. “Not yet.”
I purse my lips. “There’s nothing left for me to do here, apparently.” I
don’t miss the flinch in his face.
“You can’t leave now. It’s late, and the drive is too long.”
“Will, I don’t—”
“Please,” he says, eyes begging. “Don’t go.”
Again, I’m hit by a wave of fatigue. A bone-deep kind of fatigue. Not one
related to the drive I just made, but mostly to the ghosts I’ve been seeing
everywhere around me for the past thirty minutes. I don’t have anything left
to give.
“Fine,” I say sternly. “Then let me go to bed now.”
He moves out of the way, the corner of his lips twitching.
I walk past him toward the stairs but stop as I reach the first step. Keeping
my back to him, I say, “Oh, and it’s Violet. Not V.”
I don’t wait to hear his answer. My legs bring me up the stairs mindlessly,
and once I enter my old bedroom, I close the door behind me and lean against
it. My head feels like it weighs eighty pounds as I let it fall back.
God, I should’ve stayed home.
 2

Five summers ago

I don’t remember a time when Will Seaberg wasn’t the most important
person in my world.
This is the thought that hits me as my parents’ SUV approaches the
driveway of our beach house. My heart is hammering against my chest, and
my throat has been feeling dry for an hour, no matter how much water I’ve
been drinking. He’s here. Not in a figurative sense, like he’s been all year,
with “missing of you a lot today” texts and late-night phone calls. No, in a
literal sense, like his navy Jeep and his family’s Range Rover are parked in
the driveway and I can see his silhouette by the old, wooden front door. I
haven’t seen him since last summer—he didn’t have time to make weekend
trips away from Rhode Island during his freshman year. It’s the longest
we’ve spent apart from each other.
I put my drawing pad in my backpack in a hurry, throwing my pencils
carelessly behind it.
“We’re here!” Dad says from the driver’s seat. “It’s finally summer,” he
singsongs.
I smile, a real smile, with teeth and all. He’s right. This is summer. The
beach house, with its beige façade darkened by the coastal air and large
windowpanes that creak when we open them. The whole town of Ogunquit,
with its quaint restaurants and touristy boutiques. David and his story times
by the bonfire. Nora and her infinite supply of romance novels. Samantha,
with her love for gossip and sneaking out at night.
And of course, there’s Will.
Will’s a common name. We all know a Will. But for me, it’s always been
as if his name was something out of a fantasy book. Like his name was
utterly unique because it was his name. And don’t get me started on his last
name. Seaberg. It’s as if he was always meant to be here, by the water, salt in
his hair and a sunburn on the bridge of his nose.
“It’s about time. I really need to take a piss,” Jensen, my fourteen-year-
old brother, says, interrupting the vacation magic floating around. Oliver, his
twin, snickers.
“Language!” Mom bellows as Dad parks the car.
I don’t wait for them to answer. As soon as the car stops moving, I’m
pushing open the door and running to my favorite people, all lined up on the
front porch of the house.
I get to David first and hug him, my face only reaching his torso. He
laughs as he squeezes me tighter. “Little Vi, did you get smaller over the
year?”
“Ha ha,” I say with a little punch to his stomach before moving to my
sister from another mother.
Samantha’s brown hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her
blue eyes sparkling as she wraps her arms around me. “Hey, Tig.” She smells
exactly like she always has, lilac and a hint of baby powder.
“Hi,” I say. “Ugh, you have no idea how good it is to see you.”
She pulls back. “I think I do.”
I give her a quick hug again before walking toward Nora, her mom, who
still has the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. She gives my cheek a kiss before
whispering, “Welcome home, Violet.”
I grin.
The rest of my family reaches the patio and starts greeting everyone as I
move to the final, most important part of this place. My best friend.
Will, if possible, has gotten more handsome over the past year. His dark
hair is styled a little differently than last summer. It’s longer, his curls a little
wilder. It isn’t wet yet—a small miracle. Will usually dives into the ocean the
second he gets here. He’s still incredibly tall, so much so I have to tip my
head back to meet his stormy-gray eyes. My cheeks hurt from smiling this
big. I’m used to parcels of him, quick messages and photos on Instagram, but
seeing him in person is something else. Long-distance friendship is hard.
He stares at me for a moment, eyes roaming all over me, before he smiles,
big and real, a dimple pitting his left cheek.
In a second, I’m in the air, being twirled around and around. I giggle,
gripping my hands over his strong shoulders and taking a big inhale of his
salt-water-and-lemongrass smell.
Samantha was always like a sister to me, but Will was never a brother.
I’ve never experienced anything that could top Will’s hugs. All of the
Seabergs’ hugs, actually. They all squeeze you like they’re scared you’ll run
away if they let you go. Yet, today, it feels different with Will. Maybe it’s in
my head, or maybe it’s because I’ve waited so long for this, but it feels a little
stronger. Tighter.
When he stops spinning, he brings me back down but keeps his arms
tightly wrapped around my upper back. His hair has been warmed by the sun,
almost burning the skin of my neck, and I repress a shiver when he whispers,
“God, I missed you.”
“You have no idea,” I say, a little breathless.
He pulls back and dips his head to the side. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Already?”
“I’ve waited an hour for you guys to get here. Yes, already.”
I look at Nora and David, now frantically talking with my parents and
brothers, all of their voices blending and stacking one on top of the other.
They’re picking bags from our trunk and bringing them inside the house,
which is another thing I wish I could go greet, the piece linking our two
families together. I’ve missed this place so much it hurts. I want to go in and
smell the dusty air, and roll over the stiff mattress of my bed, and take a drink
in the blue glasses that hold so many memories of meals of summers past. I
want to know what novels became favorites of Nora’s during the year, and
how Samantha’s indoor soccer team did last spring.
But when I gaze back at Will’s excited eyes, I know there’s no way I can
do anything other than follow him.
The story of my life.
“Fine, but only because I don’t want to hear you cry all night,” I say.
He chuckles, his mouth dropping open. “I was five, V. Five! When will
you get over it?”
I smirk. “Never.” Turning to the other kids, I yell, “Last one to the
water!”
Then, I break into a sprint.
The beach house isn’t technically a beach house. It’s actually three blocks
away from the ocean, but I’ve never minded the distance. The view just
becomes even more special when you work for it a little.
It doesn’t take long before Will’s footfalls echo behind me. Also
resonating behind me are the sounds of my brothers and Samantha screaming
to wait for them, but we all know the last one to get in the water will be the
one making breakfast tomorrow, and while I’m okay in the kitchen, cooking
for nine people is a handful.
 Just as my feet make contact with sand, Will passes me and throws his
black T-shirt in my face. He even has the audacity to turn and wink at me
once I’ve shrugged it off to the ground.
“You jerk!” I yell as I run faster.
The sand is warm under my feet, the sun scorching hot on my shoulders,
an end of June that feels like mid-July. After a few strides, blue finally starts
to build on the horizon. I climb the little hill leading to the water behind Will,
whose golden back is starting to gleam. And finally, the ocean.
Every year I see it, and every year I fall in love all over again. The water
is crystal clear under the sunlight, a blue so deep you’d believe you’re
looking at a Van Gogh painting. People are scattered here and there, a
rainbow of umbrellas and camping chairs coloring the beach. Faint pop music
is playing from someone’s speaker, but the sound is almost drowned out by
the roar of the waves hitting the shore. My favorite lullaby.
Just as Will reaches the water and starts running in, I realize something.
I forgot my bathing suit.
Crap.
I guess I’ll blame my forgetfulness on Will and his persuasive smile.
I stop at the edge of the water, the cold already seeping through my toes.
After a second, Will turns to me, one eye closed against the bright sun. “What
are you doing?”
“I don’t have a bathing suit on!”
Water laps around his stomach as he narrows his eyes. “Who cares? Just
get in like that.”
I look down. I’m wearing jean shorts and a dark-gray T-shirt, which
admittedly isn’t that bad, but there’s also no worse feeling than wet jeans on
your skin.
“Don’t make me come there and pick you up, V,” he bellows over the
roar of the waves.
“You wouldn’t.”
He gives me a wicked smile before starting to tread back toward the
beach. His back is hunched a little, like he’s prowling.
Yeah, maybe taunting him was a bad idea.
But as I think about what I’m going to do next, Samantha’s and my
brothers’ competitive shouts reach me, and I know there’s no way I can stay
in place. At least not if I don’t want to lose.
Will is halfway to the beach when I toe off my sandals and run to him in
the water.
“That’s it!” Will shouts while walking backward and getting deeper in the
water.
I’m about knee deep when I remember just how cold this freaking water
is. It’s almost painful at first, like a thousand tiny knives piercing your skin.
But there’s no stopping now. The person who’ll make breakfast is the last
one with their head out of the water. Tough luck.
I take a big inhale, then hold my breath and run through the water,
squealing when a wave breaks over me and drenches my entire shirt and half
of my face. Still, I don’t stop running. The only way to make it is to go in one
shot.
Water splashes around me as Will laughs out loud before diving in. Once
he comes back up, he shakes his head like a wet dog. By this point, I’m right
next to him, so all the drops of water reach my face.
I push his shoulders. “You suck.”
He snickers. “Careful what you say, Miss Mitchell.” Then, before I can
fully prepare for the shock, he pushes my head underwater.
I come out of the water both gasping and laughing. My lips are salty, and
while my eyes are burning, it’s the best sort of pain.
We both swim in place, my long dirty-blond hair draping my shoulders
and floating around me.
Will’s tongue darts out. I try catching my breath, in vain. I ran too much,
too fast. Behind me, three new pairs of legs make splashing sounds, but I
don’t turn around.
Water drips off the side of Will’s face as he stares at me and says, “This
summer’s going to be special. I can feel it.”
My lips twist up. I couldn’t agree more.
This is my last summer before college. My first as an adult. Who even
knows what awaits me? It seems like the world is ready to open up to me,
cold in its strangeness, and all I have is this last summer to bask in the
warmth of familiarity.
And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Will Seaberg is the
definition of familiar.
 3

Present

I wake up at the ass crack of dawn.

My sleep has been restless, filled with dreams of lost friendships and
abandon. It’s not like this doesn’t happen often, but it’s rarely this bad. When
I open my eyes, mind blurry and chest tight, it takes me a second to
remember where I am. And once I do, I know there’s no way I’ll be able to
fall back asleep.
There’s one thing I didn’t dream, and it’s this. I’m in the beach house.
With Will. Who expects me to get up and make conversation like there’s not
five years of silence and a shitload of unpacked trauma between us. Guess he
fared better than I did for him to be this optimistic.
I was never supposed to see him again. He was supposed to go his own
way, to put some space between us. If I’d known he’d be here, I would’ve
prepared myself for it. Probably by telling Dad I had extreme diarrhea and
couldn’t come to Maine to deal with the house.
Speaking of, I really need to get ahold of my father. Ask him whether he
knew about this or not. And tell him that we can’t sell the house after all.
He’ll be disappointed. The one person who abhors this place more than I
do is him.
I roll over the dusty sky-blue bedspread I chose when I was ten—I didn’t
bother cleaning the sheets yesterday before going to sleep, so they smell far
from fresh—and look at my phone. 6:43.
Dad’s already left for his daily run at this hour, which sucks, because I
really need to talk to someone about all this. I feel like if I don’t, I’ll implode
within the next twenty-four hours. If it were about anything else, I might call
Jensen or Ollie to vent about my problems, but I won’t burden them with this.
Which means I only have one solution left. Kamali.
It’s not a bad option. She’s a great listener. Besides, her couch is covered
in throw pillows with inspirational quotes like “Live, Laugh, Love” and
“Collect moments, not things” on them, so I don’t know who else would be
better qualified to handle my mental breakdown.
We met a few years ago in our grief support group. She was there after
having lost her younger brother to suicide, and while we had almost nothing
in common, we connected right away. Maybe it was because she was already
a mom at twenty-six—she’d had her daughter Aisha at nineteen—and she
was giving me maternal vibes during a period when I needed them, or maybe
it was because she kept rolling her eyes every time the group leader told us to
“embrace your emotions,” but I’ve stuck to her like glue ever since the first
meeting I attended.
Aisha’s school starts early, so Kamali might already be up. And if she’s
not, well, 6:43 is almost seven, which is almost eight, which is late enough to
call someone. I think.
I grab my phone and press on her name. It rings once, twice, before she
answers.
“Hello?” Her voice is groggy. Maybe I miscalculated things. But she’ll
forgive me for this.
“He’s here,” I say as a way of greeting.
“Who’s here?” she groans. “The Pope?”
“Yes, Kam, the freaking Pope’s in my beach house. No, dumbass, he’s
here.” I swallow. “Will.”
“Oh, shit.”
I hear her grunt as I assume she gets out of bed.
“Yeah, shit,” I say.
“Tell me everything.”
So I do. I tell her about getting inside the house at eleven at night and
hearing sounds upstairs and deciding to go check by myself—for which she
calls me “a fucking moron”—and all that ensued.
“You really punched him in the face?” she asks once I’m done.
“I did.” My fist still hurts like a bitch.
“Badass. I’m proud of you.” The toilet flushes in the background before
she adds, “I still think it was really stupid for you to go in there alone.”
“I was armed.”
“With what? Your iron fists?”
“Yes, with my iron fists, and with pepper spray.” I shake my head.
“Anyway, this isn’t why I called you.”
She snorts. “Then, pray tell, why did you call me at early-ass-o’clock?”
“I can’t sell the house without his permission, and he wants to protect this
place at all costs. And he almost begged me not to leave right away, although
that might be attributed to the traumatic brain injury I gave him.”
She snickers. “Oh please, don’t overhype yourself, you’re not that
strong.”
“Kamali, we have a real problem here.”
“Okay, okay.” I can imagine her rolling her eyes before she mutters,
“Grumpy.” She sighs. “So, what are you gonna do?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I’m calling you.”
I hear her coffee machine turning on, a grinding sound filling the phone.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. “You know I’m bad at
confrontation. Remember that time when Sandra from PTA told me the
cupcakes I’d baked weren’t good enough and I started crying?”
“Oh, yeah, I remember,” I say, smiling. “I still have the voodoo doll we
made of her under my bed.”
She laughs. “That’s why we’re friends.”
I get up from the bed and pad to the window. This room is the smallest in
the house, but I chose it all those years ago because it has the best view. Even
though we aren’t on the beach, the ocean is still within view from here,
reflecting the pinks and purples of dawn.
“The only advice I can give you is to talk to him. You’re both adults.
Figure out something that’ll work for both of you.”
I lean over the windowsill and exhale loudly. “Why are you always so
rational? I only needed you to tell me it was a good idea to go all Solange
Knowles on his ass.”
“If that’s what you want to do, then you have my benediction, but I’d still
recommend discussion.” An alarm rings through the phone. “Shit, babe, gotta
get Aisha ready for school, but call me later if you need more mature advice.”
I chuckle. “Okay, thanks. Tell her Auntie Violet said hi.”
“Will do.”
She hangs up the phone, and suddenly, it’s me and my thoughts again,
and that’s not something I particularly appreciate. It’s all too much. I need
something to help me calm down, and since 7:00 a.m. is probably too early to
get blackout drunk, I guess I’ll settle on going for a jog.
I quickly get dressed in the closest thing to gym clothes I brought in my
duffel and tie my hair in a short ponytail. The bedroom door squeaks a little
when I pull it open, making me squeeze my eyes shut, but I make it out of the
room safe and sound. The door at the end of the hall is still closed, and I
don’t linger around to find out whether or not the sound woke him up. I take
the stairs two at a time, and in an instant, my sneakers are on and I’m outside,
the coastal air filling my lungs. Bending forward, I start stretching, and that’s
when I spot the Jeep in the driveway. I must’ve missed it yesterday because
of the darkness. My eyes stay on it for a moment, until I force myself to
swallow and get going.
I don’t pace myself. I start right away at a rate that probably makes me
look like I’m being chased by a bear, but I don’t care. Big problems require
drastic solutions.
I usually never go for a run without music, but I was so eager to get out, I
forgot to bring my earbuds with me, so my ears are only filled by the faint
squawks of seagulls and the motors of the few cars driving down the road.
The streets are mostly empty at that hour, except for an older couple watering
the flowers outside of their home and a middle-aged man in a suit walking
toward the car in his driveway. The air is humid, thick, but it’s early enough
for the heat not to be unbearable.
I try to keep my eyes to the ground and not take in my surroundings—I
don’t need a panic attack this morning—but it’s really hard when I don’t have
music to focus on. And since my thoughts are all about Will and the house,
looking at the town around me is the lesser of two evils.
Fists tightening, I lift my head up and take it all in, trying my hardest not
to freak out.
Most of it is the same as I remember. The old diner where we used to get
brunch on Sunday mornings still wears a chipped coat of mint-green and
bright-yellow paint. The antique store where we one day bought two saucers
that Nora thought were “vintage but chic” hasn’t closed shop. Even the food
truck I would beg Mom to visit every hot afternoon to buy freshly-squeezed
lemonade sits on the same street corner as it used to.
It’s as if the town has stood still for all these years. As if I’m the only one
here who had to start over again.
My heart is beating too fast. Not enough oxygen is entering my lungs.
I stop running abruptly and keep walking, my hands on my hips while I
gulp air like I’m starved for it. Sweat drips down my back and across my
face, tasting salty on my lips.
The town didn’t do anything to me. Rationally, I know that. But
sometimes, it’s hard to figure out who deserves your anger. Most of the time,
I want to aim it at the whole world.
 As I walk back toward the beach house, I come across one thing I’ve
never seen before. The coffee shop that used to be right around the corner of
Main Street was replaced by something else. I hop off the sidewalk and
narrow my eyes.
Paintings cover the walls of the space; a few are displayed in the shop’s
windows. They are mostly of landscapes, some depicting the Ogunquit beach
during a packed summer day, others a dense forest at dusk. They’re beautiful.
There have always been a lot of art shops here, but I’ve never seen any
painting strokes quite like this artist’s. Wild.
I stand still for a moment, eyes traveling over everything at once. At one
point in my life, this would’ve inspired me to no end. I would’ve run back
home to pull out my canvas or drawing pad and create.
But as I said, that was before.
Once I’ve finally caught my breath, I turn around and head back home—
at a milder pace this time.
I’m still breathing fast as I open the front door of the house and toe off
my shoes in the mudroom that, in broad daylight, is clearly the same as it
used to be, except for a few details. No sand covers the floor from half a
dozen pairs of feet coming back from the beach. No raincoats are hung on the
rack beside the door. No sunscreen-coated fingerprints are spread over the
large mirror. It doesn’t look alive.
After clearing my throat, I get to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of
water. While at it, I take an old ice pack from the freezer and put it on my
still-aching fist. Unlike what Kamali said, my fists are not made of iron, and
they were definitely not ready to punch a face.
I take a sip of water, and from one breath to the next, I know I’m not
alone in the room. It’s like the whole air around me changes, like there’s a
chemical reaction that lets me know he’s here.
“I think I should be the one getting the ice,” Will says behind me.
I turn around and pinch my lips to drown a gasp. His nose is bruised.
Badly. His gray eyes are also underlined by dark circles. But even with them,
he looks better than anyone I’ve ever met. Life is unfair sometimes.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.” Maybe I do feel a little bad after all. I pass him
the ice. “Sorry about that, I guess.”
A corner of his lips twitches up. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less
from you.” From up close, I can see his hair is wet. From the ocean or the
shower, I don’t know.
 I take another sip of my water.
Eyes one the floor, Will leans back on the dark green marble counter and
says, “So…have you thought about what you’ll do next?”
If that’s not the million-dollar question.
“Not sure. I need to talk to my dad, but then I’ll probably leave.”
The hint of a smile on his lips completely disappears. “You were really
serious about not wanting to stay, then.”
“Of course I was.”
He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes. “God, I fucking hate this.”
I take in another gulp of water, my throat tight all of a sudden.
“This used to be your place,” Will continues. “I hate that it’s not
anymore, and I hate that I had something to do with it.”
I stand straighter. We’re not talking about this. Not now, not ever.
“Look—”
“I need to make you see it that way again,” he says.
“What?”
“I can’t stand that you don’t like this place anymore. I thought about it all
night.” He rubs his eyes with one hand, breathing hard.
God, this is uncomfortable. I don’t want to be here anymore.
Just as I take a step forward to leave, his eyes dart to mine, wide and a
little panicked. “You know what? I’m willing to make a deal with you.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Give me the summer. Stay here with me for eight weeks, or however
long you have, and give me the chance to show you why you used to love it.
Maybe you can even help me with some of the work that needs to be done
around here. And if at the end of the summer, you still want to sell the house,
then…” He nods. “Then I’ll agree to sell it. My parents don’t care either way.
They’d have already sold it if it wasn’t for me.”
Crossing my arms, I say, “You’d be willing to risk the house for that?”
He blinks. “I’ve always been willing to risk a lot of things for you.”
His words are a knife to my heart. I put my glass on the counter and push
myself off it. “Not enough, apparently.”
He closes his eyes, exhales. He does look like he’s hurting. Only, I don’t
care how he feels anymore.
“Please,” he finally says. “Just take some time to think about it at least.
It’s a fair offer.”
There’s nothing fair about this. Not the fact that this house is more his
than mine. Not the way his sad eyes still succeed in making my stomach hurt.
And certainly not his ability to always find the right words to make me tip
over the edge.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” I say abruptly as I walk out the kitchen,
ignoring his words.
The torn shower curtain is draped over the rod when I walk into the
bathroom. Right. Will certainly didn’t get to buy a new one overnight. I guess
I’ll just have to aim the showerhead toward the wall and hope for the best.
Things are just going great, aren’t they?
I quickly undress and get into the shower, hoping the warm water will
help calm my frenzied nerves.
It does not.
Instead, being under the water jet only makes me think more. About Will,
about the house, about school, about Dad, about everything. And after a few
minutes of deep thoughts, it turns out everything in my life sucks ass.
Welcome to Violet’s pity party.
I turn to grab shampoo, only to realize that I forgot to bring some. I didn’t
take much care in packing for this trip, especially since this will be—or at
least, was supposed to be—a short stay. Get there, sell the house, give it a
big, fat middle finger, and then leave and never come back. This plan isn’t
viable anymore, though. Of course, Will was there to mess it all up. Not as if
that’s the first time he’s done something of the sort.
I look around the shower, but obviously there’s nothing I can wash
myself with except for Will’s single bottle of…soap? Shampoo? I don’t know
what to call it. It looks like the kind of thing men can use to wash their hair
and their bodies and their cars with.
Oh well. I smell after my run, and I’d rather use possibly toxic soap than
nothing.
I open the bottle and pour some into my hand, the smell of lemongrass
automatically filling the shower. Will’s smell. It brings me right back to a
time when the only thing I could’ve possibly asked for was to be wrapped up
in this scent.
Yeah, I know, big dreams.
Not that my current dreams are much better. In fact, they might be even
worse since they’re nonexistent. Not knowing what I want to do with my life
is one of the things that keeps me up at night. I’ve changed majors four times
in the last five years, and I still haven’t found it. The thing that will make me
feel happy to get up in the morning. The past years have pretty much
consisted of surviving rather than living, which explains why I haven’t had
the chance to daydream about anything.
The year that just went by was a little better. I’ve tried to hang out with
Kamali every week. I worked hard to pass my accounting class (and by
“worked hard,” I mean only looked up the pros and cons of becoming a
professional stripper while crying over assignments once or twice). I even
landed an internship in a marketing firm. It’s supposed to start in a week.
Just thinking about it makes me want to hurl all over the place.
I should be happy about it. My marketing teacher pulled a lot of strings to
get me a spot. It’s a great learning opportunity. It’s close to home. So why am
I not?
After rinsing my body, I turn the faucet off and dry myself with one of
the plush towels that have been in this house since we got it. I take a big sniff
of it as I wrap it around my body. It smells of dust and mildew, but I can still
detect the faint scent of Nora’s detergent.
Below the bathroom, a cupboard slams shut, reminding me of Will’s
presence in this house. And that he’s waiting for an answer from me.
Swallowing, I wipe the fog from the mirror and lean over the counter.
What the hell am I going to do?
I have two options. Number one, I can leave this house and have it stay in
our lives. It’s not a terrible option. We kept it for five years after all. But Dad
asked me to do this, which means he’s finally ready to move on. If we don’t
get rid of it, we might not need to see it all the time, but it would still be ours.
Dad would need to pay a part of the mortgage. We’d continue getting
insurance papers every year, reminding us of this place over and over again.
And I’d have to go back home, to an empty studio apartment and an
internship I really, really don’t want to do.
Or option two, I could agree to Will’s plan. Stay in this house all summer.
Eight weeks isn’t that long. I could watch Netflix all the time and hope for
time to go by fast. Will would be here, but I could ignore him and do my
thing. Of course, Professor Campbell would be pissed if I didn’t take the
internship he worked so hard to get me, but I could tell him it’s a family
emergency. In a way, it is. This internship isn’t paid, so I wouldn’t make
money either way.
I wish someone else were here to tell me what to do. When I was
younger, Mom used to tease me all the time about never being able to make
decisions. Obviously, she’s not here to do that now. And that’s part of the
problem, isn’t it?
In short, both options suck. I just have to pick the one that makes me want
to cry the least. And despite everything, I know which one it is.
I finish drying my body and walk over to my room to put on a T-shirt and
jean shorts. When I get back downstairs, Will is seated at the kitchen table,
hands in his hair, head hung low.
His eyes shoot up the second I come into view, and he gets to his feet.
“Fine,” I say, my voice loud and clear. “I’ll do it.”
“You will?” he says, his gaze wide.
“Yes. But only because I don’t ever want to think of this place again.”
He lets out the biggest of breaths as a small but triumphant smile climbs
to his lips. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you. You’ll see.”
I can see it there in his face—the guilt. That’s the only reason he’s
making this deal. Atoning for something he can never come back from. I
don’t care. If I’m staying, it isn’t for him.
I don’t bother answering and instead walk back in the direction of the
stairs.
“So, do you want to do something later?” he says behind me.
I spin on my heels. “I agreed to stay here. I didn’t say anything about
doing things with you.” Besides, I still need to go meet with the project
director this afternoon. I need to be prepared for what will happen at the end
of the summer when I can finally sell this godforsaken place.
My tone is clipped, and I expect it to throw Will off. It doesn’t.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I won’t give up.”
I walk away, shaking my head. He should.
 4

Five summers ago

I don’t think I could be more comfortable than I am now.

I’m sprawled on the summer room’s blue-and-white striped couch, my
bare feet hanging over the armrest. My face feels hot—I forgot to put
sunscreen on before going in the water, and since we stayed in for hours,
diving in the waves and bodysurfing, it’s probably very much burned. I don’t
have the guts to go look in the mirror.
On the floor, Ollie, Jensen, and Will are playing a game of UNO, the
whole living room smelling slightly of mothballs from the pack of cards that
was stored in the closet all year.
“Stop cheating, Ollie!” Jensen bellows, punching his twin on the
shoulder.
Ollie frowns. “How is it cheating that I got better cards than you? You’re
just a sore loser.” After a small pause, he punches Jensen too, although with
less force than he’d received.
Will snickers behind his sprawled stack of cards. His hair has dried in the
last hour, but the curls have only gotten messier. Some fall on his forehead,
and he keeps pushing them back, to no avail. His legs are crossed, one elbow
leaning on his raised knee. It’s a perfect position for the drawing I’m making.
My head rests on a wall so people can only see the back of my drawing
pad.
I pass over the edge of his lips with my graphite pencil for a third time,
but I still can’t get it quite right. I don’t think my followers will notice,
though. It’s not like they know who the real Will is. Or who I am, for that
matter. They only recognize all the people who’ve inspired so many of my
realistic drawings in the past years, including the mystery boy.
I might sound like a creep, drawing my friends and family when they
don’t know about it, but it didn’t start out this way. I’ve always drawn
everything around me, and I always got more inspiration at the beach house.
As if there’s something in the air here that fills my creative well and makes
me want to draw. For as long as I can remember, not a day would pass during
summer when I wouldn’t try to replicate things around me. A couple taking a
walk with their cocker spaniel, beach chairs on their backs. The chocolate
cake Nora made for David’s birthday last year, with a big 45 candle in the
middle. My brothers asleep in front of a Fast and Furious movie. And of
course, Will.
The first time I drew him, it was because he’d asked me to. I did it for fun
—an innocent midnight dare over Klondike bars and chocolate milk—but I
soon realized I couldn’t quite get his traits right. His eyes didn’t have the
same depth and mischief. His smile was duller than in real life. His untamed
curls were too clean. Ever since that night, I’ve been obsessed with getting
him right. I still draw all the others from time to time, but Will’s my biggest
inspiration. During the summer, I get to have him as a real model, and during
the rest of the year, I rely on memory and sometimes on Instagram pictures.
After a few more strokes, I lift my head to get another view, but I’m met
with his eyes instead.
“Whatcha drawing?” he asks with a lift of his head.
“Nothing,” I answer, quickly closing my pad.
I sit a little straighter in the couch just as David’s head pops through the
door frame. His dark hair started to gray last year, and now it’s fifty-fifty salt-
and-pepper. His eyes, though, are exactly the same as Will’s.
“Who’s making breakfast tomorrow?” he asks with a grin.
We all turn to Ollie, who rolls his eyes.
David laughs. “Just great. I wasn’t ready to handle my son’s cooking.”
Will and I immediately make eye contact, and a smile creeps up our lips
at the same time. I could never forget the time he bet me fifty dollars that he
could bake better muffins than me. He’d almost burned the house down, and
I’d bought new paint brushes with the money.
“Do you think you could make us your famous overnight oats? Your
mom and I have to leave early in the morning,” David says.
Ollie groans a barely audible, “Fine.”
“Sweet,” David says as he raps his knuckles twice against the wall before
leaving.
“They have to go to work already?” Jensen asks as he drops a +4 card
over the pile that sits between the guys.
“I guess,” I mumble while tucking my pencil case and drawing pad in the
bag I left on the floor next to the couch.
 Mom and David met in college. They were in the same engineering
program, and apparently, it was “friendship at first sight.” They would do all
their projects together and study at the library every Saturday night so they
could be the top students in their class. And they were. When they graduated,
they built Logitex from the ground up, and even when they moved to
different cities, they never stopped working together. When we come here
during summer, they take advantage of their proximity to finalize projects
and brainstorm ideas, but I would’ve hoped for at least a few days of true
family vacation before they got to it.
Apparently, that was foolish of me.
“Uno,” Will says as he knocks three times on the floor.
“What?” Jensen shouts. “You had more cards than me five minutes ago!”
I lift my foot from the couch and push my brother’s head with it. “Stop
being such a crappy loser and just play.”
“Says the girl who’s been drawing for an hour by herself,” he mumbles
back.
Just as I’m about to swat him again, Nora enters the room with a glass of
lemon water in one hand and an open book in the other. She doesn’t look up
until she trips over Ollie’s hand and barely prevents her glass’s content from
emptying on the hardwood floor. The guys don’t even lift their eyes, too
focused on the apparently extremely important game going on.
“Oof, that was close,” Nora says with a chuckle as she closes her book
and taps my legs with it. I move away and give her some space to sit.
“Just the girl I wanted to see,” she says. “How was your senior year?
What books did you read? Did you read that Nora Roberts one I asked Will to
tell you about?” Her eyes become bigger, if that’s even possible. “Oh, and
did you get a boyfriend? Girlfriend? I want to know everything.” Her curly
red hair forms a wild halo around her head, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
I think I notice Will’s back straightening in my peripheral vision, but I
don’t turn in his direction.
“Senior year was great,” I say. “I did read the book, and I hate you so
much for making me read something that broke my heart into pieces.” Nora
gives me a wicked, gap-toothed smile. “And I’m still single.”
She pats my shin. “Your special someone will come soon. I can feel it.”
I shrug. I’m not in a hurry to find someone.
“And what about school?” she asks.
My lips twitch before I force a smile. “Fine.” No matter how comfortable
I feel with Nora, I don’t think I could keep a confident front while talking
about that. I got into college. That’s all they need to know.
Nora eyes me for a moment, but I’m saved by Samantha entering the
room, her face red and sweaty, hands on her hips. She still has her running
shoes on.
“Mom, are you actually talking about school? On our first day of
vacation?”
Nora opens her mouth, but Samantha cuts her off. “Tig’s too polite to tell
you, but you sound like Aunt Carol right now.”
Nora gasps. “I’ll shut up then. I’m not old enough to be this boring yet.”
“Oh, come on, you know I don’t think that,” I say.
Samantha lifts her eyebrows. “Mm-hmm. Anyway, I’m going to get in
the shower. Mom, please don’t let my friend die of boredom.”
Nora and I roll our eyes as Samantha turns and leaves the room.
“I won,” Will says from my right, throwing his last card on top of the pile
with a cocky smile.
“I want my revenge,” Jensen says automatically.
“Wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.” Will grabs the pack of
cards and starts shuffling them when Dad’s voice resonates through the
house.
“Violet, honey? Can you come here?”
I get up from the couch and follow the heavenly smell of roasting garlic
and butter to the kitchen. Dad is stooped over the stove so much, I’m
surprised his dark mane hasn’t caught on fire yet. The house’s apron—really,
Dad’s apron—is tied over his white T-shirt, the giant embroidered lobster
sitting right above his belly. When I think about it, I can’t name a single thing
in this house that isn’t beach themed.
As if we need a reminder to know this place equals summer.
Mixing bowls and pans cover the whole granite countertop, some filled
with roasted vegetables and couscous, others with raw meat. I guess Dad took
the first dinner of summer seriously.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Dad’s head whips up, as if he was so taken by his job, he didn’t hear me
coming. “Oh, honey, would you mind driving to the store real quick for me?
The flour’s expired, and I need it for the chicken parm.”
I immediately pout. “You know how I feel about driving. Why can’t
Mom go?”
 As he stirs the sizzling mix in his pan, he says, “She’s prepping for
tomorrow’s meeting with David.”
I groan, but the fan hides the noise.
“I’ll go with you,” a deep voice says behind me.
I turn to find Will leaning against the doorway, his hands in the pockets
of his swim trunks. As soon as I spot him, my heart starts to race. It’s always
like that the first day of summer. Like I can’t quite believe he’s truly here,
with me.
He’s always been my best friend, and it’s not even that it was supposed to
happen. He’s a year older than me. Samantha’s the one my age. She and I
were supposed to be the closest. But while I love her, it’s always been Will.
Will that I’d ask to have sleepovers in the summer room with. Will that I’d
want to make sandcastles with. Will that I’d miss so much it hurt during the
school year. He could make me laugh like no one else. He just got me.
The person I missed most all year takes a step forward and murmurs,
“And I’ll drive.”
I beam at him. “My love language.”
He chuckles before telling my dad, “We’ll be back soon.”
“Thanks, kids!” Dad says, his head already back to facing his
concoctions.
We head outside once Will has grabbed his keys, and I run toward the
Jeep parked in the driveway. Last week, Will told me he’d be coming straight
from Rhode Island after his classes ended, so we get to have a car to
ourselves all summer. Not that I’ll be using it much without Will.
The doors have been taken out, so I break into a run and try to jump into
my seat like they do in the movies, swinging with my arms holding the top of
the door frame.
It does not work.
My hands slip, and I land on the outer side of the passenger seat, almost
falling face first into the gravel. Thankfully, something—a strong something
—grabs the hem of my shorts and holds me back. The momentum broken, I
pull myself back up, my lips in a straight line, hair all over the place.
Will keeps a straight face for a total of two and a half seconds before
bursting into laughter.
“I see you haven’t gotten more agile over the year.”
I pin him with a stare. “Just shut up and drive.”
He smirks before he starts the car.
 As we head out the driveway, he says, “I also see you haven’t gotten
more comfortable behind a steering wheel.”
I don’t bother answering.
“You told me you’ve been practicing,” he adds.
“I have.” I raise an eyebrow. “A time or two.”
He huffs. “That’s not how you’ll get better, and you know it.”
We get to a four-way stop, where three other cars are waiting, and thank
God I’m not driving. Just watching people tell other drivers to go ahead with
a polite wave even though they got there first gives me secondhand anxiety.
Will doesn’t seem phased by it. Lucky him.
“I don’t need to get better,” I say while I remove my flip-flops and put
my feet on the dashboard. “I’ll just have you driving me around all the time.”
He rolls his eyes. “Brat.”
“Stop it. You love me.”
He turns my way. “I do.”
Above him, the sky is cotton candy colored, which gives him a dreamy
look. His hair is all over the place from the ocean, just the way I like it. Mine
probably is too, all tangled and knotted, especially with the wind whipping
through it from the missing roof and doors, but I don’t bother trying to tame
it down. Will has seen it all before.
His eyes hold mine, twinkling in the end-of-day sunlight, as soft as the
sunset sky above us. My cheeks heat a little, probably because of the sunburn
I got this afternoon. I look away first.
He clears his throat as he makes his stop and drives away. “So, how was
prom?”
“Good. Not all that it was hyped up to be, but I had fun.” I hold on to the
car handle when Will takes a rough turn, and after throwing him a glare, I
continue, “My friend Mina threw up everywhere an hour after the after-prom
started, which was great.”
Prom was last Thursday, a few days before we left to come here.
“Show me what you looked like,” Will says, his eyes on the road.
I grab my phone and scroll through my photos before I find my favorite
one. The only good one, really. Mom took all the pictures, and while I’m sure
she’s a great engineer, she has literally no idea how to zoom properly. Either
it looked like she had taken the picture from another continent, or she was
close enough that we could see all the blackheads on my nose. But this one is
perfect. The zoom is okay, I’m in the frame, and I like the way I look. The
golden A-line dress I picked wraps my curves flatteringly, the sweetheart
neckline makes my collarbones pop, and my curled hair falls down my back
and over one shoulder. One of Mom’s friends did my makeup, and I loved it.
Once we reach a red light, I flip the phone in Will’s direction. And wait.
And wait again.
It’s like he goes over every single inch of the picture ten times.
Finally, he concludes his thorough analysis with a simple, “Beautiful.”
I feel the word from my hairline to the tip of my toes.
It’s not like it’s the first time Will’s ever complimented me, but it’s rarely
sounded like that. So breathy. I’m not sure whether I like it or not.
The light turns green, and Will brings his attention back on the road.
“Send it to me, will you?” he says.
“What? Why?”
A corner of his lips twitches up. “A guy can’t get a photo of his best
friend looking nice for once in her life?”
I punch his shoulder. “Dick.”
He chuckles.
We catch some traffic on Main Street, and while some people might get
impatient in this situation, I can’t help but feel at peace. Eyes closed, the
ocean air fills my lungs, and I have a whole summer ahead. I know it’ll go by
fast, but from here, it looks long, with endless possibilities.
“You think this year will be the one?”
My eyes snap open. “What?”
Will’s gaze is directed outside, toward an old lobster shack with a rusty
boat in the water. “Every year, I say I want to try this fishing thing, and every
year, I get back home without having done it.”
“Let’s do it then,” I say. “Before the end of this summer.”
A smile curls his lips as he quickly turns to me. “Sounds like a plan.”
Finally, the traffic starts to move, and we soon reach the local Hannaford.
Will parks the car before we hop out.
As the sliding doors of the store open and we’re hit with an arctic-cold
breeze, Will says, “So, tell me everything I missed in the last ten months.”
“What do you mean? You know everything.”
That’s the truth. Not a day goes by when we don’t talk to each other,
either with a quick text or a phone call or a funny post that makes one of us
think of the other. It’s nothing like when we were younger and we had to wait
a whole year to be able to talk like we wanted to. When I was thirteen and he
was fourteen, our parents surprised us with cell phones so we could stay
connected during the year. It quite literally changed our lives.
His face is serious when he turns to me and says, “What about school?”
I swallow. “What do you mean?”
“You know damn well what I mean, V.” He tries to raise an eyebrow but
lifts both instead. He’s never been able to raise only one, as much as he likes
to try. “When my mom asked you earlier about it, your whole face changed.”
“No, it didn’t.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, it did.” Bumping me with his shoulder (which
almost makes me topple over because, Jesus, we’re not five anymore, but he
keeps treating me like he’s not a whole foot bigger than me), he adds, “Stop
lying to me.”
“What, is today Roast Violet Day and no one told me?”
When he doesn’t laugh or answer, I sigh and say, “It’s nothing. I’ve been
having a little trouble with math, but it’s fine. I’m fine.” We pass in front of
the stand with free cookies for children only, and I turn to Will, a grin on my
lips. “Want one?”
His gaze doesn’t move away from me. “What kind of trouble?”
He knows math has never been my forte. I’ve always struggled. This year
was no different. I keep walking while looking up to read the signs and find
the aisle with the flour. When I find the right one, I make a turn and head into
it.
“Calc was hard, but I passed,” I say with a shrug.
Will’s expression remains stoic. “And what will you do about college?”
“Hopefully, the math classes won’t be as bad.” Awkward laughter
bubbles out of my throat.
The truth is, calc wasn’t just hard. It was a nightmare. I didn’t understand
a thing. If I passed, it was because Mina helped me with every single
assignment I had to complete, and those counted for a big chunk of our grade.
But Will doesn’t need to know about all that.
Clearing my throat, I poke his arm, which is even firmer than last year.
“What about you? First year of college! Did you party hard? Meet anyone?” I
waggle my brows.
Will puts his hands in his pockets. “It was fine. Not all that it’s hyped up
to be. I spent most of my time in the pool for practice anyway.”
He skipped my last question. Weird. We never keep anything between us.
I’ll have to ask him again later.
 “How’s Marco Polo?” I say. “Has he drowned in his ego yet?”
Will laughs. Marco Paul has been Will’s nemesis for a year now. He’s
also apparently the best on the Brown swim team, not that I can believe that.
Anyone who’s ever seen Will swim would swear he’s the fastest.
“Not yet, sadly,” he says before dragging a hand over his mouth. “Ugh,
V, you should see him. No matter what time I leave for practice, he gets there
before me and leaves after me, with his stupid smiles and too-tight Speedo.
And the guy’s too good. I can’t keep up.”
I furrow my brows. “What do you mean you can’t keep up? You’re you.”
We get to the flour rack, and I grab a sack.
“You don’t understand,” Will says as we start walking toward the cashier.
“He sets a pace that no one can follow. And because of that, the whole team’s
gotten stronger. It’s gotten too competitive.” Dragging his tongue over his
teeth, he says, “I’m not even sure I’ll be able to stay on the team next year.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I know him too well. His nonchalance is a
hundred percent fake. Will has never loved anything more than swimming.
It’s his life. And Brown’s team has always been the goal. We were on the
phone together when he received the news of his full ride there, and I
screamed like I never had before.
I want to give him a hug. Comfort him. Tell him I don’t care how fast
these other guys are because none of them could make me smile like he can.
Instead, I punch his shoulder. Hard.
“Ow!” He lifts his opposite hand to where I hit him. “What the fuck, V?
What was that for?”
“The Will I know is no quitter.”
A couple holding hands steps in front of us, never breaking their contact,
so we walk around them and meet again.
“It’s not that simple,” he says.
“Yes, it actually is. You’re not good enough, you train until you are.
That’s it.”
“Like you do with calc?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Yes, it is. More practice, better results.”
Not for me. It doesn’t matter how much I work and do the exercises. My
brain doesn’t get it.
“Whatever,” I mutter while I tug at a thread that has escaped my tank top.
We reach the cashier and step into the line, a woman with her two
children in front of us. Her cart is more than full, cereal boxes and granola
bars almost falling overboard.
“What about a deal?” Will asks, taking my attention away from the little
guy pulling at his mom’s skirt while she tries to empty her cart.
“What kind of deal?”
His lips twist. “I’m not going to lie, V. Math won’t get better in college.”
I sigh and pop my bottom lip out. “Will, it’s summer. Can we not talk
about math for at least one day?”
He ignores me. “It won’t get better, and there’s a way for you to prepare
yourself.”
I raise an eyebrow at him because I actually can do it.
“Let me help you,” he says.
I groan. “I already told you, I don’t want to even think about school
during summer.”
He raises his hands in defense. “Yes, but now I have an idea. An
exchange of services.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we both need help. Your math skills are bad, my swimming
skills need work. Why don’t you let me help you with the former, and then
you can help me with the latter. You could keep me in check and timekeep
for me.”
“You’d be willing to train this summer?”
Training has always been a big no-no for Will during summer. At first, I
think it was him that wanted a break, and then after a few years, it was his
parents who took over and told him to take a few months of rest.
“I don’t have a choice if I want to stay on the team.” Slowly, he lifts his
hand, and his fingers graze over my forearm. “And I don’t think you really
have a choice either if you want your freshman year to go okay.”
Someone, please hit me on the head with a brick. I’ve struggled for ten
months. I need a break.
But I also know he’s right.
“So?” he asks, a lopsided smile on his lips.
I inhale deeply and sigh. “Fine.”
He pumps his fist in the air.
God, I’m such a sucker. I’ve never been able to resist that smile.
 5

Present

I know I told Will I would stay here and do nothing, but I’d underestimated
how bored I’d be.
It’s been two days since I locked myself in my old room, only going out
to eat and pee, and while I love rewatching Gilmore Girls, I’m really tired of
being in here. Plus, I think I’m too old for this show. Was Rory always this
annoying? Anyway, all that to say, staying in here is worse than I thought it
would be.
I get up from my spot on the bed and let out a big yawn. I’ve been
sleeping terribly since I got here. The nightmares have been worse than ever,
and I wake up time and time again body drenched in sweat and cheeks wet
with tears.
The room around me remains untouched. Apart from the bed I’ve hung
out in, I haven’t looked around the space I used to call mine. It still looks like
a teenage girl’s room, with a cheap perfume bottle and two old lip glosses left
on top of the white dresser facing the bed. We left in such a hurry that night,
it’s no surprise I forgot stuff. There must be even more around the room.
Some picture frames are still hung on a wall at the opposite end of the room,
but I’ve avoided looking at them since I got here.
I should probably get to clearing up this place if I’m going to stay here for
the next two months.
God, two months. It still sounds crazy when I say it. Which is probably
why I haven’t called Dad yet. I have no idea how he’d react to knowing that
Will’s here. We haven’t mentioned the Seabergs in forever. Plus, there’s no
reason for me to alarm him. In eight weeks, I’ll be able to sell the house, and
we’ll never have to even think about it again. No need for him to know the
details.
I walk toward the frames and find three pictures. One of Samantha and
me when we were four or five. We’re wearing matching pink one-piece
bathing suits, my hair almost white compared to her dark brown. The ocean
behind us is calm, but we look the total opposite. Our mouths are open as if
we’re shrieking, probably from the cold water that reaches our calves.
The picture below is one of all of us. The Seaberg-Mitchell clan, as we
used to call it. We’re seated at a round table in Jake’s Seafood Shack, a giant
plate of crab legs and freshly caught shrimp in the middle. It’s probably
Will’s birthday—every year, we’d go there to celebrate him. I used to love
this picture so much because I thought it represented the nine of us so well.
The boys aren’t looking at the camera, arguing together. Samantha is sticking
her tongue out. Will and I have our heads tilted toward the other, just a little.
David’s mouth is open, as if he was midsentence when the flash went off.
Nora’s head is thrown back. Mom is flashing a spectacular smile, her back
straight and eyes aimed right at the camera. Dad is looking at his wife,
smiling sincerely.
A knot forms in my throat. I look away.
The last picture is of me and Will. I remember taking it with my phone
and going to print it the next day. We’re at a concert, standing in front of the
stage. Will’s arm is draped over my shoulders, and I’m smiling so big it looks
painful. My eyes are squeezed shut, but his aren’t. They’re on me.
I take the frame from the wall before I open the bottom drawer of the
dresser and throw it in there. But as I do so, I realize the drawer isn’t empty.
There’s a folded piece of paper in it.
I kneel and grab it, immediately recognizing the texture of the sheets of
paper that were in my drawing pad. As I lick my lips, I unfold the paper, and
my heart skips a beat when I see the drawing I made of the boys and Will
playing a card game the first day of our last summer. It’s messy, the borders
of Will’s lips and nose imprecise and rushed, but the sight of it still brings
back the exact emotions I felt while drawing this. So much hope. So much
happiness.
God, I was naïve.
I put the drawing back in the drawer and put the other two picture frames
in it too. Time to move on.
I get to the closet and do the same thing, getting rid of any object that
might bring back bad memories. Or any memory, for that matter. I check
under the bed and in all the drawers.
As I’m closing the closet doors, my phone vibrates in my back pocket.
It’s Dad calling. Again. I inhale sharply before pressing Accept. I need to do
this at some point.
 “Hey, Dad.”
“Violet, finally! What’s going on? Have you been avoiding me?”
“No, I’ve just been busy.” The biggest lie I’ve ever told. “On that note…”
“What’s going on?”
I swallow. “Well… The whole selling the house thing might be a little
more complicated than I’d anticipated, so I think I’ll have to stay here. All
summer.”
“All summer?” he repeats. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I’d rather fall on my face in the first obstacle of Wipeout and have the
entirety of America laugh at me. At least he doesn’t ask me to explain why I
need to stay longer. I’m a bad liar, and I’m not sure I could keep things from
him if he started digging.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine.”
Dad stays silent for a bit. “You don’t sound fine. Is there something
you’re not telling me?”
I hold my breath so he can’t hear my shaky exhale. So much for him not
digging for more.
And the truth is, I’m not fine. I don’t want to stay here all summer. I can’t
imagine what it will be like to be surrounded for eight long weeks by things
that remind me of my mother and of everything that we lost. I want to go
home. And more than anything, I wish I could talk about this with someone
who truly understands what I went through in the past. Still, I can’t tell him.
Dad’s suffered enough. I can’t burden him with this too.
“I told you everything.” A little white lie never hurt anyone.
He sighs. “I wish you’d open up more. I’m worried about you.”
My lying skills really do suck.
“I’m okay, Dad. I promise.” I even add a small chuckle at the end.
“Okay.” He doesn’t sound like he believes me, but thankfully, he drops it.
“But if ever you change your mind about staying in Ogunquit or if you need
to talk, just call me.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I hang up and let out all the air from my lungs. Please, don’t call me too
often. I won’t survive a summer of lying every day. Once I feel like my
heartbeat has finally calmed down after the conversation, I finish my little
clean-up and go back to the bed, computer open. I reluctantly select another
episode while looking outside.
 Jesus, this sucks.
Am I really going to spend eight weeks cooped up in here? How will I
survive this? I’m already bored out of my mind after two days. Leaning back
in bed, I continue watching for a few minutes, but I can’t stop thinking about
what this summer will be like. Noises come from downstairs, and annoyance
starts to build in my veins. Will is enjoying his time, with the house to
himself, while I’m isolated in my room. But really, why am I? This is my
place as much as it is his (well, almost as much). Besides, it’s not like I’ve
never had to live with people I don’t like. During my first year in college, my
roommate was a fan of having phone sex with her boyfriend while I was
sleeping next to her. And apparently, they were really horny people because
I’d have to hear the creepy voice she used, sometimes multiple times a day.
You naughty, naughty boy. Just thinking about it still makes me shiver. And I
survived a whole year of it, so sharing a house with Will is doable.
Just as I’m about to get up and follow my self-encouraging words, Will
calls from downstairs, “Violet, would you mind coming here for a minute?”
I’m tempted for a second to be petty and say no, but that would only
mean keeping myself locked in my room.
Fuck it.
I come down the stairs to find him standing on a ladder in the kitchen,
apparently working on taking a cupboard off its hinges. His hair is dry, and I
wonder if he still went for a swim this morning. I saw on social media a few
years ago that he’d stopped swimming competitively, but I don’t know what
that means in his day-to-day life. A knot forms in my stomach. I used to
know everything about his life, and now it feels like we’re strangers.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He looks over his shoulder, gaze raking all over me, before he says,
“Some of these have some kind of mold, so we need to take them off.” The
cupboard he was working on comes off when he gives a big pull, and he
throws it to the floor. “I could do it alone, but it’d be easier if you were there
to hand me tools and handle the doors once they’re off.”
Do I want to do manual work with him? Absolutely not. But we also can’t
sell a house that’s moldy and broken all around, and if there’s one thing I
want, it’s to sell it as quickly as possible once I can.
“All right,” I say.
He watches me for a good moment, eyes a little wide, as if I’m a wild
animal about to pounce on him. I don’t move from my spot, my hands balled
into tight fists by my sides.
Why does he have to look this good? It’s not fair. He aged like fine wine
while I’ve barely been able to keep myself from breaking at the seams. His
jaw is now sharp enough to cut glass, and I somehow can’t take my eyes
away from it. He has no right to still make my body feel this way. So
unnerved.
Finally, he returns his attention to the cupboards and continues pulling at
the wood. I exhale.
Without a word, I bend over and start piling the pieces of wood in a metal
bin Will brought inside. When he hands me more, I make sure to keep my
eyes on our hands and not on his face. Then, I grab a broom and make sure
the floor isn’t full of little wood shards. I sweep and I sweep, the noise
bringing me into some sort of meditation. I’m not here with the person who
used to own my heart. I don’t have to go back to Syracuse at some point.
There’s no need for me to figure out what I want to do with my life. No, I’m
this simple floor sweeper with nothing else going on.
My peace of mind is interrupted by a vibration coming from my back
pocket. I pull out my phone and snicker when I see the picture of Ollie and
Sebastian petting what looks like a baby goat.
“What’s up?” Will asks.
I lift my head in his direction for the first time in an hour. “Oh, uh,
nothing.” He keeps looking at me, and I guess all the silence from the past
two days got to me because I add, “Just a funny picture Ollie sent me of him
and his boyfriend.”
“Can I see?”
I lick my lips. “Um, yeah, I guess.”
He comes down the ladder and looks at my phone for a long moment
before his lips form a soft smile.
I put the phone back in my pocket and return to my task. Will doesn’t.
“I didn’t know he had a boyfriend,” he says.
My lips thin as I nod.
“He did always crush on the blond lifeguard.”
I chuckle internally. Sebastian does look like that guy we used to see
every summer of our teenage years.
“Are they good?” Will asks. “Your brothers?”
I nod again, keeping my eyes on my task.
“I miss them so much,” he says. I hear him swallow. “I miss all of you.”
 My broom is probably close to breaking from the strength with which I’m
gripping it.
Will drops his hammer on the counter. “I tried to reach out to you after
that night, you know. So many times.”
I freeze. Close my eyes. Breathe in and out.
When I look back at him, I’m radiating coldness. “You don’t get to talk
about that night. Or that summer. Ever. I don’t care what we agreed on. If
you ever mention it again, I swear I’m out of here.”
I don’t wait for his answer. Instead, I let the broom fall to the ground and
go back to my room.
So much for sharing the house.
 6

Five summers ago

“That’s it. I’m giving up.” I drop my pencil on the kitchen table to
emphasize my words, like the big baby I am.
Will lifts his eyes from his book, and with the straightest face says, “No,
you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
He puts down his book, The Rise and Fall of Napoleon Bonaparte—yes,
Will has the reading habits of a ninety-year-old, but I forgive him because
he’s…well, him.
“You’re not going to jump ship, just like you haven’t jumped ship the last
twenty times you said that.”
“I hate you,” I mutter as I pick my pencil up.
He smirks. “No, you don’t.”
The only reason I don’t throw my pencil at him is because no, I really
don’t. But I still have to fight the urge since I’m so done with this let’s
practice math until I want to die thing that’s been going on for the past two
weeks.
It’s not that Will’s not a great teacher; he is. He’s kind and patient and
can find ten different ways to explain the same thing. No, he’s not the
problem.
I am.
The numbers simply don’t make sense. They don’t. No matter how many
times I try an exercise, they all get mixed up together, and I end up becoming
so confused by everything that’s going on that I lose track of everything and
can’t finish the problem. It can take me ten times longer than Will to
complete a problem, and I don’t even get to the right answer. It’s so
embarrassing. I feel dumb, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Will moves closer to my side to look at what I just wrote down, even
though there’s not much on my paper apart from a few doodles and some
random equations. His hair still smells of the ocean after he went for a swim,
but close like this, I can find hints of his shampoo in the air, too. I inhale
deeply, and his smell alone is enough to calm the fire burning in my chest, at
least a little.
Will’s index finger roams over the part of the problem I tried to solve, his
lips pursing as he does so. It’s the fourth time I’ve tried to work through it,
but I still haven’t been able to find the solution.
After another minute of studying what I’ve written, he sighs and drags a
hand through his hair. “I don’t know, V. I’m trying my best here, but I think
maybe you might need help from a professional tutor. Maybe you could look
for one during orientation week?”
His words feel like a punch in the stomach. I know it’s ridiculous, but
pressure builds behind my eyes. “I’m not stupid, Will.”
A deep V forms between his eyebrows. “What? I never said you were
stupid.”
I bite my tongue for a second, then say, “You told me to get professional
help.”
“I did,” he says with a nod. “Getting a tutor doesn’t mean you’re stupid. It
means you’re smart enough to know when you could benefit from someone’s
help.”
I pinch my lips. He’s right. The logical part of me knows this. But the
stubborn side of me still feels like I was betrayed. Will doesn’t think I can do
it by myself. He can, but I can’t. Because of my shitty brain.
“But for now, let me try my best and see if we can help you understand
this.” He rereads over what I’ve written, focused. “Let’s go over it, piece by
piece. What don’t you understand in the first part? You didn’t complete the
equation.”
My eyes roam over the part of my sheet he’s pointing at. Just knowing
what I don’t understand is a challenge, but I still try.
“Well, first, this thing.” I point at the infinity symbol I had a lot of fun
drawing and redrawing. “How can you divide something by one or divide
something by a thousand and still have the same answer? It doesn’t make
sense.” The simple concept of infinity, something so vague yet so wide, is too
weird for me to grasp.
Will’s mouth twists to the left as he thinks, pencil tapping the table. A
moment later, his eyes flash, and he turns to me with an excited smile.
“Okay, I know how to help you get this.” His hands clasp together in front of
his stomach. “How many memories do you have with me? Something like an
infinity, right? You couldn’t count them all.”
I nod.
“And if you think about it, I have an infinity of memories with you, too.”
The corners of my lips twitch up.
“So there’s an infinity of memories within me, and an infinity of
memories within you. But the infinity between us? It’s even grander.” He
shifts closer to me. “And if you add the memories of Amy and Alan and the
boys and Sam and my parents? You’ll have even more.”
I nod again. “So even if we say our collections of memories are endless,
there can be an even bigger endlessness.”
His smile is wide, white teeth glinting in the daylight. “See? You got it.”
That actually makes sense, for once. Still, I feel my spirits dim. Arms in
the air in fake celebration, I say, “Hooray, one thing my dumb brain got!”
Will’s face falls. “That’s not funny, V.”
I roll my eyes at the same time someone yells from the kitchen, “Will!
Violet! Dinner’s ready!” It’s probably Nora, since Mom and David were
working on something outside of the house all day today. I heard them come
in only a few minutes ago.
I close my notebook and get up, all too happy to leave all this behind.
“Hey,” Will says as I walk toward my bedroom door. I spin on my heels,
and gasp when I find him closer to me than what I’d expected. He towers
over me, less than a foot between his body and mine. “Tell me you
understand. You’re not stupid.”
Then, he does something I don’t recall him ever doing. He lifts his right
hand and with his index and middle finger, tucks a strand of hair behind my
ear. “These exercises don’t mean a thing. I could never think you’re stupid.
Okay?”
His fingers linger for a second on my neck, and I fight against all the
instincts in my body so that I don’t shiver.
His thunderstorm eyes stay on mine until I nod.
“Good,” he says before walking out the room like the last ten seconds
didn’t just happen. Meanwhile, I’m rooted in place, back ramrod straight.
What was that? And did I like it?
I shake my head. All this math has my mind messing with me.

***
“So, how’s the project coming along?” Dad asks as he passes the salad bowl
to David.
Mom exchanges a look with David before nodding. “It’s going well, I
think. The investors like what we’ve done with their initial idea so far, so
fingers crossed that things stay on track.” She takes a small bite of lasagna,
her back straight, elbows never touching the table.
Mom has always had this allure about her, with her clean-cut suits and
perfect shoulder-length blond hair. And it’s not even like she tries to look so
classy. Some people just have it, and some people don’t.
Amy Mitchell has it.
“Do you think you’ll be finished soon?” I ask around a forkful of pasta.
All heads turn in my direction. “I mean, we’ve barely seen you guys in the
past week.”
Mom smiles tightly. “We’ll see.”
I take a sip of water to hide my sigh.
It’s not like I want her to spend every single second with me. That would
be, in all honesty, extremely painful. But I don’t think it’s asking for too
much to have at least one day where we’re all together and we don’t mention
work or school or whatever it is we do when we’re not at the beach house.
“But you’re right, we haven’t been here a lot,” Mom says. “Maybe we
can do something tonight? Play a game of Monopoly or something?”
“We’re not playing that again,” Nora says with a straight face. “Ever. It
almost broke our family the last time.”
“Will cheated!” Ollie bellows from my left, his hands thrown in the air.
I laugh, some tension leaving my chest. It doesn’t matter if I see less of
Mom; it feels right to be reunited with the Seabergs. Sure, my family is fine
when we’re home, but the summer house is where we truly come alive. It’s
like a part of our crew is missing the rest of the year.
Will laughs deeply as he says, “For the hundredth time, I didn’t do shit!”
“Language,” Mom says like Will’s one of her children.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Samantha clears her throat. “And anyway, we can’t stay here tonight.”
Nora turns to her. “Why?”
“This girl I met at the soccer field earlier told me she and some friends
are having a bonfire at the beach. We’re going.”
“Uh, we are?” I say.
“Yeah, we are. I told Will to tell you.”
 I turn to Will with a raised eyebrow. He shrugs.
“And actually, it’s kind of starting now,” Samantha says. “C’mon.”
“We can stay here, if you want,” Will murmurs in my ear while Samantha
gets up and the parents return to their conversation. The boys have
disappeared from the table in the last minute to do God knows what.
Hopefully, they’re not looking at something they shouldn’t. Last year, I
found them going through a Playboy magazine in the bathroom while we
were eating. The image of my brothers looking at vintage porn is something
that’ll be seared in my brain for the rest of my life.
“No, it’s fine,” I say as I gulp down the rest of my lasagna. “Sounds fun.”
“All right, then, let’s go,” he says before getting up.
“Don’t come back too late!” Mom yells behind us. “And Violet, hide
your drinks from strangers!”
I roll my eyes as we both meet Samantha in the foyer. When she sees us,
she looks at Will and says, “I thought you told me you didn’t want to come.”
He bends to put on his sneakers as he says, “Changed my mind.”
“Huh,” she says.
We walk the few blocks to the beach listening to Samantha’s extremely
poor rendition of Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night.” Will asks her politely—
and then not so politely—to shut up, to no avail. When we get there, we find
a small group of people huddled around a bonfire. Above us, the sky is dark
blue and clear, as if all the stars in the galaxy are looking down on us. It’s one
of the prettiest nights we’ve had all summer.
Except it’s really, really cold.
We left so fast, I didn’t think to change from my tank top and cutoffs. The
waves are roaring in front of us, bringing an ocean-side wind that’s both
humid and freezing. I hug my arms across my belly when goosebumps rise
on my arms.
“Here,” Will says as he puts his hoodie over my shoulders. It’s still warm
from his body heat and smells just like him. Like home.
“Thanks,” I say with a smile as we join Samantha and the group.
“Guys, this is Michelle, her sister Makayla, and her cousin Colin,” Sam
says.
I try to hide my smirk as I look at her, but with the glare she throws me, I
don’t think it works. I’ve just never seen her cheeks red before. It’s cute.
“Good to meet you guys,” Will says as I waggle my eyebrows at Sam.
“Shut it,” she mouths.
 I blow her a kiss before waving at everyone. The guy, Colin, looks me up
and down, and I have to look away when I feel myself start to blush almost as
much as Sam.
With a smirk, Michelle digs through her backpack and takes out a bottle
of tequila. “Anyone want a shot?”

***

We’ve been on the beach for a few hours, and I’ve been having a really good
time.
Well, at least in part.
Everyone has been incredibly nice. Right after all of us took a few shots,
Michelle pulled out a speaker and started dancing with Samantha. The rest of
us sat down, Colin coming between Will and I. I’d say he’s around my age,
with dark skin, deep brown eyes, and a small build. He talked to me about
wanting to study accounting and take over his father’s company, and I told
him about our past summers in Ogunquit. His laughter was warm and kind,
and I found myself having a good time. A great time, even.
Until Makayla said she was on her school’s swim team.
I saw the moment Will turned to her in slow motion with eyes lighting up
like a Christmas tree. And I can’t say why, but I had the weird urge to get up
and pull her hair like we were in a nineties teen movie. She wasn’t arrogant
or annoying, but the fact that she had something in common with my best
friend that I did not didn’t sit well with me.
Extremely mature, I know.
They’ve been talking about their respective swimming experiences for the
past twenty minutes, and while Colin has been talking my ears off the whole
time, I don’t have a single clue what he’s said. He might be telling me about
all the ways he’d like to kill me, for all I know. I nod and hum here and there,
so if that’s what he’s talking about, he must think I’m the strangest murder
victim in the history of murder victims.
“Come on.”
Samantha’s voice—and kick to my shin—brings me out of my almost-
stalking trance. I look up to find her on her feet, extending a sweaty hand in
my direction. “I’m hot. I’m going to put my feet in the water.”
I nod and follow her to the ocean, also putting my feet in the cold water.
 “God, that feels good,” she says as she throws her head back.
I grin. “Did you have a little too much to drink?”
“Just the right amount,” she says.
The breeze hits my face and sends my hair all over the place. It’s still
cold, but much better with Will’s hoodie.
I glance over my shoulder for a second. Makayla’s laughing loudly, and
one of her hands has draped over Will’s thighs.
“What’s up with you, Tig?”
I turn to Samantha with a small smile. I love that she still uses the
nickname. She started calling me that when we were twelve or thirteen. We’d
gone to a restaurant and were seated next to a weird couple. The kind of
couple that could have been formed on a cheesy reality TV show. And
throughout dinner, the woman continually roared while her
boyfriend/husband/sugar daddy called her “my tigress.” Samantha called me
her tigress for the whole summer, and the nickname stayed.
“Nothing,” I say.
My voice is higher than normal, but Samantha must truly be drunk
because she doesn’t notice. Instead, she turns to look at Will and says,
“Seems like he rebounded pretty quickly.”
My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know, since he broke up with Kari.”
Time stops around me. There’s no wind anymore. No sounds. Nothing.
I can’t believe it.
I replay Sam’s words, again and again, trying to find another meaning to
them. Maybe she misspoke. Maybe she had something else in mind. But the
more I hear her words bounce around my head, the more I know I heard right.
Will had a girlfriend.
Will had a girlfriend, and worse than that, he didn’t tell me. His best
friend. Who he talks to every day. Sure, we didn’t see each other face-to-face
all year, but if he could find the time to tell me about the spoiled apple he ate
during lunch, then he sure as heck could have told me he was in a freaking
relationship.
“You didn’t know?” Samantha asks.
That’s when I realize the world didn’t stop moving. I stopped moving.
My cheeks are hot, and my throat is dryer than the Sahara Desert, but I still
find the power to say, “Yeah, of course I knew.”
She studies me for a long moment before she shrugs and starts walking
back to the bonfire.
Again, thank God she’s drunk.
 7

Present

When I get back inside the house after my morning run four days later, the
upper half of Will’s body is under the kitchen sink.
“What’s going on?” I say, still a little out of breath.
At the sound of my voice interrupting the silence, he jerks up and very
sadly knocks his head.
“Fuck,” he mutters before getting out from under the sink, a hand rubbing
on top of his head. “Nice to see you think this is funny.”
I bite my lower lip until I’m sure I won’t burst out laughing. “I can’t help
it. Watching people getting just a little hurt is my catnip.”
His frown turns into a grin. “Yeah, I know. Remember that time when
that guy Colin filmed himself running into the water but then tripped at the
last second? I think you laughed nonstop for the following hour.” He shakes
his head, eyes glinting with amusement. I would probably be laughing too, if
it wasn’t that this moment was something we shared when we were close.
Tainted.
“Nope, don’t remember,” I lie before I point behind him. “So, what’s up
with that?”
He looks over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, um…” He clears his throat.
“When I washed the dishes this morning, I noticed something leaking on the
floor. Probably just an old pipe. I’ll run to the hardware store later.”
“Of course,” I say, fighting an eye roll. We’ve been in this house for
twelve days, and Will has already had to go to the hardware store no less than
six times. It’s like everything in here is crumbling. I’m not even sure it’s safe
for us to be here. “I give us a good week before the roof falls on our face and
crushes us.” It wouldn’t even take a hurricane or anything like that. I think a
simple strong gush of wind would make the whole thing fall down. My
theory is that after everything that happened with my mother, the house
started to rot. Nothing good to salvage from it.
“Oh, stop it,” Will says.
 I ignore him.
We’ve spent the past days doing what every young adult usually avoids
doing at all costs: cleaning. The house is dusty and disgusting all over after
having spent five years untouched. I must have scrubbed more toilets during
this week than in my entire life. We’ve also worked on a lot of tiny repairs on
the house that were well overdue. I’m not complaining, though. It keeps me
occupied, and it’s still better than doing nothing in my room. Will has tried to
start easy conversations with me a few times, but each time, I pretended I
didn’t hear him. At this point, he must think my ears are injured because I
even acted like I didn’t hear him when he yelled at the top of his lungs to ask
if I was okay after I dropped the vacuum cleaner on the floor.
It’s not that I want to be petty with him—well, I kind of do, but it’s not
just that. It’s mostly that I’m not sure what good could come out of us
talking. From what I’ve understood in the past years, my heart is a fragile
thing. It’s been through a lot already, and I want to keep it safe as much as I
can from now on. So, if I have to choose between acting like Will doesn’t
exist the majority of the time or putting my emotional health at risk, I’ll pick
denying Will every time.
“Are you even qualified to do all these repairs?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Absolutely. There’s a little note on my teaching certificate
that says I’m also an expert in plumbing problems.”
“I didn’t realize you were a teacher.” Guess that explains why he has the
summer off.
I take in a deep breath, but my lungs feel tighter than before. Like they’re
getting crushed by an invisible weight. We’ve been here for almost two
weeks, and I never once thought about what he was doing with his life. This
man who I once knew everything about. Realistically, I know we haven’t
spoken for five years. I know there’s so much about him I don’t know
anymore. He has a whole new life, really. But it’s like it’s hit me for the first
time that we’ve truly lost each other.
And I let it happen.
“Yeah, I—”
His sentence is interrupted by the vibrating sound of my phone. I grab it
from my pocket and find the name of the realtor on the screen.
“Sorry, I gotta take this,” I tell Will before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Ms. Mitchell. This is Duong.”
 “Yes, hi!”
“I’m just calling to let you know that we have another buyer that showed
a lot of interest in your lot today. We could probably get an even better price
now.”
“Oh. Um, that’s great! But as I told you before, we won’t be able to
finalize things before the end of August.” I steal a glance at Will, whose jaw
is tighter than I’ve ever seen it.
“That’s all right. I just wanted to let you know where we were at in the
process.”
“Oh, good. Well, thank you for the update. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Yes. Have a nice day, Ms. Mitchell.”
“You too.”
After hanging up, I put the phone back in my pocket and avoid Will’s
inquisitive eyes.
But it doesn’t even take a second before he tells me, “You didn’t even say
there was a possibility that we wouldn’t sell.”
I close my eyes. Sigh. “Because there isn’t.”
Silence answers me, and when I look up, I find Will’s stare on me, his
jaw shifting back and forth.
“I’m staying the eight weeks as promised, and then we’re selling,” I add
because I don’t know when I wasn’t clear about this, but apparently, it needs
to be repeated.
“But—”
I start backing away. “I don’t feel like arguing about this again, so I’m
gonna—”
“No,” Will says, one hand lifted in front of him. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring
it up again. Please don’t go.”
I’m not sure if it’s the rawness in his voice or the fact that I don’t want to
be alone in my room anymore, but I agree and stay.
Awkwardness still lingers in the air though, and I hate it. It’s making me
itchy. “So, you were saying…”
“Right.” He clears his throat. “So, yes, I’m a teacher. History, actually.”
Thank God, the tension slowly dissipates as his posture becomes more
casual, and he starts playing with his repair tools on the counter.
“That makes sense,” I tell him, nodding. Now that he’s said it, I can’t see
him doing anything else. With all his nonfiction books and interest in boring
documentaries, it’s like he was always meant to do that.
 “Yeah, it’s… Yeah. I like it,” Will says, his fingers fidgeting by his side.
I move toward the sink and fill a glass of water. After a sip, I say, “Good.
Just try not to fit the mold.”
“The mold?”
“Yeah, the mold. It is a truth universally acknowledged that every child
will, at least once in their lives, get a somewhat hot history teacher who’s
also a total creep.”
He nods. “Right. I haven’t started to make sexist jokes in front of the
class or to give my students winks yet, but who knows, maybe it’s doomed to
happen.”
“Fight that history teacher instinct with all that you can, Will, and never
give up.”
He smirks, and I’m not sure why, but after seeing him so tense a minute
ago, it feels good to see him smiling. “I’ll try my hardest,” he says.
“Good.”
I finish my water and walk past him when he says, “Wait, did you really
say ‘somewhat hot’?”
“I might have.”
What happens next is out of my control. I don’t even have the time to try
to fight it. It’s an instinct that takes over me with the strength of a tsunami.
I grin.
It’s small, but it’s definitely there.
The glowing smile Will gives me in return is so disproportional it’s
almost laughable.
“There she is,” he says.
Three words, and that’s all it takes for my smile to vanish. While he
probably meant to be nice, his words only reminded me that I haven’t been
the same with him. And that’s for a hell of a good reason.
He’s fooling himself if he thinks I’ll let him in ever again.
I turn and walk out of the kitchen.
“Wait, where are you going?” he asks. His voice is loud. Urgent.
“In the shower. I’ll work upstairs today. You can keep cleaning here.”

***

I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the apocalypse.

 Not that I really know what the apocalypse sounds like, but if I had to
guess, I’d say it sounds like that.
I get out of bed and follow the sound to the hallway, and there it is. The
actual apocalypse.
There’s water everywhere. And I’m not saying this in a figurative sense.
Will is standing on a ladder in the middle of the hallway, and it’s as if
he’s taking a shower sent by Poseidon himself. A giant hole has taken up
residence in the ceiling, while the hallway has had a makeover that looks like
it’s been done by the team working on the mid-sinking scenes in Titanic.
“What the hell is going on?” I scream over the downpour.
“Oh, nothing,” Will says, his arms above his head, hands in the hole. “I’m
just having a little fun breaking the pipes above my head in the middle of the
night.”
My jaw tightens. “I knew the roof would fall over our heads! I thought we
had more than a few hours left, though.”
“The roof is not—” He spits water. “Falling. There’s just a small pipe
problem.”
“Right. I’ve never seen anything so small.”
“I’ve got it under control,” he grunts.
With my feet covered in possibly salmonella-filled water and Will
looking like he’s filming an Old Spice commercial with an unknown tool in
between his fingers, I’ve never felt in such good hands.
I walk toward the bathroom to go pick up paper towels (yes, I know, I’ve
never done anything so futile in my life, but what else can I do?) when a
huge-ass piece of ceiling falls onto my head, followed by a gush of water that
drenches my whole body.
I shriek before yelling, “Jesus Christ!”
“Shit. Are you okay?” Will asks as he climbs down the ladder much too
fast for someone hanging on an unstable structure under a torrent.
“No.” Some of the water has entered my mouth, and I try to cough it out.
“No, I’m not fine! I hate this place!” I wipe some plaster from my face while
more falls from above. “Don’t you see? It only brings bad things!”
Will lifts a hand in front of him. “Violet, please—”
“Why would we want to keep a house that wakes us up in the middle of
the night with a freaking hurricane in the hallway?”
“Because it’s our house!” he shouts, no trace of humor left in his face.
“It’s our fucking house!”
 My hands ball into fists by my side, nails digging into my skin. I purse
my lips when I notice my chin starting to quiver. “I don’t want to do this.”
With a shake of his head, he says sternly, “I don’t remember asking you
for help.”
He walks back toward the ladder without another word.
Teeth clenched, I turn around and slam my bedroom door behind me. I
get rid of my wet clothes and put on something dry, then block the bottom of
the door with bunched-up clothes. There. At least I can prevent some of the
flood from entering my room.
When I get in bed, I try to fall back to sleep, in vain. First, because there’s
a real mayhem happening outside my door, and second, because nothing
about this feels right. Being in this room after so many years doesn’t feel
right. Fighting with Will doesn’t feel right. Being here without my mom
doesn’t feel right. Not knowing what is up with people I used to consider my
family doesn’t feel right.
The sound of metal on metal comes from outside my room, but I don’t get
up. All my muscles are frozen, stuck in place, and I don’t allow them to move
an inch. He doesn’t want my help, then he sure as hell won’t get it. No matter
how much I wish things were different.
It takes hours for me to fall asleep, stuck in thoughts about what might
have been and what used to be.
 8

Five summers ago

“Ready to go?”
Will’s voice pulls me out of the reverie I’ve been lost in on and off since I
woke up this morning. He’s wearing his typical summer outfit, a.k.a. swim
trunks and no shirt. His chest is lean and defined without being too muscular,
the tan of his skin a gorgeous caramel from all the days spent in the sun.
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“Practice?”
I shift on the summer room couch. Outside, the sky is gray, but it
shouldn’t rain until much later, so that’s not an excuse.
“Oh yeah, um, I’m feeling a little tired today, but you can go by
yourself.”
He frowns. “You sure? Are you feeling sick?” The back of his hand
meets my forehead. “I thought you didn’t drink that much yesterday.”
I move away from his touch. “No, I’m fine, just tired is all.”
He doesn’t look reassured.
“Want me to stay with you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, you go ahead.” When he doesn’t move, I add, “I
swear I’m okay.”
With pursed lips, he ends up nodding and leaving through the door. I
exhale and let my head fall back.
I didn’t lie to Will entirely. Physically, I am fine. Mentally, that’s a whole
other story. Since Samantha’s revelation yesterday, I’ve been feeling all over
the place, and yes, a part of it is because he didn’t tell me, but that’s not all
this is.
I don’t remember the exact moment the shift happened. When a small
part of my heart tilted over its axis and I realized I didn’t see him only as a
friend. It might’ve been when he arrived in Ogunquit one summer and he was
two feet taller, his voice deeper and chest broader. Or maybe it was the day
he told me the woven bracelet he was wearing had been given to him by
Sarah, a girl he liked in his class, and I felt like he’d punched me in the solar
plexus. It was so gradual, I couldn’t say that one moment it wasn’t there and
the next it was. But at some point, I’d had to face the fact that these moments
were becoming more frequent and more intense. There was this small part of
me that saw Will as something more.
But I’ve never let this part of me grow. Once I realized it was real, I
tucked it away in a small pocket of my chest, hidden by layers of you
shouldn’t and this could never happen. And it has worked out just fine. Most
of the time, this pocket of feelings is buried so far away, I forget it exists, and
Will truly is only my best friend.
But on rare occasions, the little pocket gets dug out and things get
trickier. In those moments, my heart seems to have a momentary lapse of
judgment and forgets why it’s fighting against itself.
Like right now.
When these moments happen, I can usually reason with myself and push
the hint of feelings away. But ever since I learned Will had had someone
important in his life last year, it’s been impossible to ignore it. I’ve tried to
sleep it off, to exercise it off, to draw it away, but it’s stuck there.
And it hurts. A lot.
I know it’s not fair to Will to be acting weird because he dated someone,
but I can’t help it. If only I could talk to someone about it, maybe the
thoughts would go away, but even if I love everyone here to death, it’s a
forbidden path to go down on.
I’ll get over it, but today, I’m giving myself some slack, feeling whatever
I want to feel. Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.
I grab my drawing pad from my bag on the floor and open it back to the
page I’ve been working on. From my spot, I have a partial view of the
kitchen, and I can see David hunched in front of the kitchen sink, trying to
repair one of the pipes that’s been leaking. Next to him, Samantha and Dad
are baking something together, and she’s laughing after having put icing on
Dad’s cheek. My followers usually prefer drawings of Will, which I can
definitely understand, but this image is too cute not to draw.
“What are you doing?”
I jump and look up to see Mom walking toward me. She’s dressed in
jeans and a baby-blue cashmere shirt—a casual outfit for her. For the first
time in weeks, she doesn’t look stressed.
I smile before showing her the drawing.
 She gasps. “Oh, Violet, this is stunning.” Her eyes roam over the paper, a
hint of a smile meeting her lips. “You got your dad’s eyes just right.”
“Thanks.”
After another minute of examination, Mom puts the drawing away and
rests her elbow on the back of the couch. “Are you okay, honey?”
I frown. “Yeah, why?”
Her eyes hold a soft look as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I
love this softer side—my favorite one of hers.
“You’ve been down all day.”
I open my mouth to say I’m fine, but she lifts a hand and says, “Don’t try
to deny it. I’m your mother. I know everything.”
“I’m just tired.” My gaze drifts outside. Please, drop this.
“Hmm,” she says. “So, how are things with Will?”
I freeze, and with one look, I know she knows.
“It’s been okay.” I swallow. “The same best friend I’ve always had.”
She repeats an infuriating hum. “Well, you’re old enough now to know
what you want out of this friendship, but if you ever want to talk about it, you
know I’m here, right?”
After a short moment, I nod.
“Good.” She pats my thigh and gets up. “I’ll be in my room working if
you need me.”
“Again?” The word comes out of my mouth spontaneously.
“Yeah, I have this spreadsheet that isn’t working, and I need to figure it
out.” Leaning forward, she gives my cheek a kiss, and I force myself to smile
back.
It’s not like I’m a little girl and need my mom to hang out with me. Most
of the time I’m fine by myself. But we’ve grown apart in the past few years,
as most teenagers do with their parents, and spending time with her now
brings me so much comfort. I can’t explain why. It’s like being brought back
to a time when she was my everything. When she wasn’t working every
single day of the week and did not look like she was always strategizing and
stressing over business decisions.
She starts walking away, but in the doorway, she turns and says, “Oh, and
Violet?”
I look up.
“Please be careful.” She smiles stiffly. “Platonic and romantic feelings
can easily shift, but once they do, it’s hard to go back.”
 A ball lodges itself in my throat. Don’t I know it.
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to keep myself busy with a new
canvas I bought last weekend, and when Will comes back in time for dinner,
with his hair wet and eyes thoughtful, I excuse myself and say I’m going to
go to bed early.
Once I get to my room, I lay down in bed, but falling asleep is, of course,
impossible. Dishes clink and conversations flow downstairs, but the sound is
the last of the things keeping me up. Thoughts of broken friendships and
secret feelings fill my head more than anything else. At some point, everyone
shrieks downstairs, I assume from one of the boys’ never-ending pranks, but I
can’t find it in me to find it funny.
Hours pass, and eventually, the noise dies down. Everyone goes to their
rooms, and of course, I stay awake.
Rain starts to pitter-patter over my head, creating a soft lullaby, but the
calm doesn’t last long. Soon, thunder resonates outside, and lightning bolts
flash through the curtains, illuminating the room for a quick instant.
A minute after the storm starts, my bedroom door opens, and in comes
Will with a pillow and his navy-blue comforter, socks I know he will lose at
some point during the night covering his feet.
My heart falls off the bed.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
“Y-yeah,” I say, mind running too fast to formulate anything better.
In the darkness, I catch his head nodding before his socked feet make
their way across the room. He puts his stuff on the ground next to my bed and
lays down.
I don’t think the pocket, the one that holds all the feeling and the wanting,
has ever felt so close to the surface of my chest.
When I was a kid, thunderstorms scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t
sleep when thunder was roaring outside. One summer when I was six or
seven, a huge storm swept in just after we’d all gone to bed. I was incredibly
scared, but instead of going to my parents’ room, I knocked on Will’s door. It
had been his birthday the day before, so I could still see the half-faded
Spider-Man he’d gotten painted on his face during the party. He was just a
kid like me, so small and frail, but when I told him I was scared, he puffed
his chest and acted like my knight in shining armor. Ever since that night,
when there’s a thunderstorm during summer, he comes to my room and
sleeps on the ground.
 I never have the heart to tell him I haven’t been afraid of thunderstorms in
a long time, and by the way my whole body came alive when he walked in, I
don’t think I ever will.
The splatter of rain and the boom of thunder fill the room, heightening the
tension that’s been present ever since Will walked in. We don’t talk, but our
silence is much heavier than words.
When the next flash of lightning illuminates the room, I find Will’s eyes
not on the ceiling or the window. No.
They’re on me.
We’re back in pitch black in an instant, but even then, I feel his gaze on
my face.
“Are we fighting?” he eventually asks, his voice husky and low.
I don’t answer his question. Instead, I grab my courage with both hands
and say, “Why didn’t you tell me about Kari?”
He sighs so loud, I think it must wake the entire house.
“It wasn’t anything serious,” he says, not asking how I learned about it.
I turn in my bed to face him. “So what? Having your first college
girlfriend is something important to share.” I swallow. “Unless she wasn’t the
first.”
He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.
After a minute, he says, “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad, Will. I’m sad.”
His hand comes out from under the comforter and reaches for my arm.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t be.”
I drag my tongue over my lips, thankful for the dark. The hardest
conversations are always easier to have when we don’t have to truly face
each other. When the other can’t see what’s written on your face, what you’re
not saying.
“I just want to know why,” I say, voice barely more than a whisper.
“Because…” He sighs again. “Because what was the point in telling you
when I knew they weren’t The One?”
Talking about this makes me want to throw up. Still, I ask, “How could
you know they weren’t The One?”
Silence stretches between us, making my heartbeat increase.
“I… I just knew.”
I know the pocket needs to be buried back deeply inside when I find
myself thinking that I hope he never gets to know what The One feels like.
That he spends his life searching but never quite finds it. Does it make me a
bad friend to have these kinds of thoughts? Absolutely. But it’s not like I can
do anything about it.
“Okay,” I say.
“Are we good?”
What good does it do to pretend I can stay upset with him when we both
know I could never?
I nod, and he must see the movement even through the darkness because
his grip relaxes on my arm.
“I’m really sorry for not telling you,” he says. “From now on, I will.”
I nod again, then finally drift to sleep, torn between the idea that I want to
know the truth and the fact that I might feel like dying when the truth is
revealed.
 9

Present

I can’t stand this anymore.

The tension around the house is thicker than ice and has been ever since I
got up this morning and found Will talking on the phone with a cleaning
company. He hasn’t acknowledged my presence in the past six hours, and
quite frankly, I’ve ignored him too. My eyes have focused on everything that
is not Will, which is a quite exhausting task if you ask me. Even when the
cleaning crew came in to take care of the water upstairs, I let Will go open
the door and lead them where they were needed by himself. I’ve tried to busy
myself at first with browsing internship offers in Syracuse for the next year,
but after less than an hour, I felt nauseated and decided to push this off. The
relief of canceling the internship from this summer was short-lived because it
is only temporary. A delay of the inevitable. After this summer is done, I’ll
be back in Syracuse in no time, and I’ll still have no idea what I want to do
with my life. I’ll need to find an internship at some point. But that’s a
problem for another time.
Since I’ve dropped this task, I’ve started working a little on my computer
and updating my Instagram. I haven’t opened my account since I got to the
beach house, so I have a lot of messages and requests to answer to.
My art Instagram account stayed untouched for about six months after
Mom died. Then on one particularly hard day, I felt the intense need to share
my pain with someone, or else I felt like I’d explode. I couldn’t talk to Dad
and my brothers, who I still tried my best to appear strong for, and I didn’t
know Kamali then. So, I did the only thing I could: I blurted my pain to
strangers on the internet—at least a part of it. At first, I thought it’d be a one-
time thing, but out of nowhere, I started receiving messages of support from
people telling me they understood what I was going through or talking to me
about their own grieving process. It felt good to finally talk freely to others,
even though I didn’t know them. I continued making posts expressing what I
was feeling, and soon, my account became some sort of grief blog where
people could say how they were feeling. It felt good for once to not feel alone
in my grief. I could talk to others and even help people who were going
through things I’d already been through. Easing the process for others helped
me too.
Then one day, while I was talking to this one girl from Ohio, she told me
how much she wished her dad could be there for her on her wedding day. It
killed me because I could see so clearly how much I would wish for both my
parents to be there on my wedding day too. From there came an idea. When
the wedding was over, she shared a few pictures with me, and I started
playing around in Photoshop. After lots of trial and error, I found a way to
edit one of her wedding pictures so that it looked exactly as if her dad had
been there. She messaged me crying the next day, thanking me again and
again and saying that having a picture with her dad on her wedding day was
the best gift she could’ve asked for. Since then, I’ve done hundreds of these
edits that bring a balm to people’s bleeding hearts. It’s not much, but it’s my
way of trying to make sure that others’ experiences with grief are at least a
little less painful.
While I work on new picture edits this afternoon, Will does everything in
his power to avoid me, from hanging out with the cleaning crew to trimming
a tree in the backyard to placing the books in the living room shelves in
alphabetical order. Not that I’ve watched him doing it or anything.
This is horrible.
If I stay inside and pretend that anything about this situation is normal,
I’ll either start screaming or crying. In a quick stride, I get out of the house
and start to run down the street. I’m not even in exercise clothes, but I don’t
care. I need the air.
The first few times I went for a run, I was a little disoriented. Some of the
neighboring houses were repainted, and new shops were opened in the last
years, but I’ve quickly gotten used to my surroundings. Funny how you try to
forget a place for so long, and once you get back to it, your brain picks up
right where it left off. I thought our subconscious was supposed to forget
about traumatic events to protect us. Considering this is the last place I saw
my mother alive, I would think my head could do me this favor, but
apparently, even my mind is faulty.
I must be approaching the two-mile mark when my phone starts ringing
in my pocket. I pick it up after seeing Kamali’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” I say as I slow down into a walk.
 “Bitch,” she says as a greeting, “you decided to skip on your internship,
and you didn’t tell me?”
I stop in my tracks. “How do you know about that?”
“Your teacher called your dad who called me because you weren’t
answering, and I’ve got so many questions. First, why aren’t you answering
Alan’s calls? Second, why is your teacher such a creep? And third, what’s
going on with you?”
“I’m not talking to Dad because he doesn’t know Will is here.” I skip her
comment on Professor Campbell because she’s right, he’s weird. “As for me,
I’m…okay.” I swallow before explaining the deal I made with Will. “I guess
having to stay here was the perfect excuse for me to say no to that
internship.”
“Babe,” she says, voice tight, “I’m so proud of you right now.”
I smile for the first time since I answered the phone call. “I didn’t know
you encouraged delinquency so much.”
She tsks. “You finally did something for yourself, and that makes me
really happy.”
A knot takes form in my throat, and I swallow it down.
“So,” she says, “now that we’ve cleared up what caused the birth of your
wild side, what’s happening out there? You haven’t called me back since you
left me on that cliffhanger. What’s going on with He Who Shall Not Be
Named? Are you okay? Did you kill him? Do you need help moving the
body?”
A wave of warmth spreads inside my body, which might be weird
considering she just offered to commit a felony for me, but isn’t that what
makes a good friend?
I laugh again, still a little breathless from my run. “Calm down, Norman
Bates. I haven’t murdered anyone, although I’ve come close a few times.”
“Hmm, good job. Acting like a mature adult like I suggested.”
I drag my tongue over my teeth. “Well…”
“Oh boy, here we go.”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “We just kind of argued last night, and today we’ve
been ignoring each other.”
“As two mature adults should.”
If she were in front of me, I’d stick my tongue out, although that might
prove her point more than anything else.
“When you called me last time, you were talking like he was really
apologetic, so why isn’t he speaking to you?”
I wasn’t expecting this question, and it takes me a few seconds to muster
an answer. “I… I might not have been the best roommate lately.”
“I don’t think I want to hear what that means, so I won’t ask.”
“Good.” It’s not like I don’t know I’ve been acting petty for the past few
days, and while I can justify it in my head, it might be harder to do it in
words with her.
While turning a corner, I pass in front of a store I hadn’t seen the last
times I came here. Slowing down, I take a look at the beachy decorations and
miniature paintings displayed in the window. They’re beautiful. Sea animals
are depicted in swirls of bright colors, and in between them, a painting shows
a family swimming in the ocean under the moonlight. I freeze for a moment,
the air in my lungs coming out in a quick burst.
A simple image shouldn’t have the power to hurt this much.
Clearing my throat, I look away and return to the present. “Enough about
me. What’s up with you and my favorite little monkey?”
“Well, your favorite little monkey had another baking sale yesterday, and
while I still got the stink eye from Sandra, I kind of…met someone?”
“You what?” I shout through the phone. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Oh, like you didn’t tell me you made a deal with the devil?”
I groan.
“Besides, it’s nothing big, I promise,” she says. “We were table
neighbors, and we talked, and it clicked. He’s super hot and smart.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ here.”
“Buuuuuut, there’s one thing that’s wrong with him.”
“What? He’s married? Has three nipples?”
“I don’t know how many nipples he has.”
I gasp. “Don’t tell me he does CrossFit.”
“No, nothing like that. It’s…his name.”
After a moment of silence, I say, “What, are you waiting for the Messiah
or something? Shoot!”
“It’s Mickey.”
I flinch.
“I mean, I can’t keep a serious face when I say his name. I keep seeing
mouse ears popping out of his head every time I do. I would’ve honestly
preferred a Kyle or a Brad.”
I snicker. “No, you wouldn’t.”
 “You’re right, I wouldn’t. But still, this is bad, right?”
“Look, just…” My words dissipate in the wind when I spot at the end of
the street the gallery I saw on my first jog here—this time with the lights on.
“Hello?” Kamali says, bringing me back to the call.
“Right, sorry,” I say as I walk toward the beautiful paintings in the
window. “Just try to talk to him again and see how things go. Plenty of
women are married to Chads and they’ve survived this far.”
“You’re right. I’ll try to see if he has an Instagram.”
“Good. Hey, I gotta go, but talk to you soon,” I say.
“Call me!” she answers before I hang up.
Something pushes me to head over to the gallery. I don’t know what it is.
Maybe the feeling of familiarity of the canvases displayed, or maybe the soft
hues of a new painting that’s displayed in the window, showing a peaceful
lake at dusk. Or maybe it’s something stronger than all of that: instinct.
The bell rings above my head as I open the door. Once inside, I walk
around the space, stopping in front of each painting to examine it closer.
“Can I help you?”
I jump at the sound of a lady coming from the back toward me. She’s
wearing a beige apron on top of a sunshine-yellow blouse and leggings, her
black skin covered in paint of all different shades of blue. She must be in her
sixties, although her shaved head and stylish clothes make her appear
younger.
“Hi, no, I was just looking,” I say with an index pointed at the ocean
painting next to me. “Your work is absolutely stunning.” I keep walking
around, footsteps slow as I take in each painting. She follows me.
“The brush strokes are so interesting in this one.” I point to a painting of a
quaint shack by the water. “It’s a really unique technique you used.”
Her head cocks to the left. “Are you an artist?”
I chuckle, though there’s nothing funny about this. “I used to be, once,
but I haven’t so much as doodled in years.”
“Hmm,” she answers, still appraising me.
“Are you alone here?” I ask.
She frowns.
“I mean, your paintings are the only ones exhibited here, right?”
She waits a second before nodding. “For the moment, yes, but I’m
planning on opening space for more artists to exhibit their pieces.”
“Huh. Well, I’ll definitely come when that happens.”
 As soon as the words are out, I pinch my lips. I have no idea why I said
that. I haven’t gone to an exhibition in years. I guess there really is something
about this place that calls to me.
She watches me for a moment before extending her hand. “I’m Agnes.”
Shaking her hand, I say, “Violet.”
The sound of rain hitting the concrete comes from outside, and I spin
toward the windows with a curse on my lips. Guess I’ll run home in the rain.
“I should probably go before it gets worse out, but again, congratulations
on your pieces.”
A corner of her lips lifts for the first time since I walked in. “Come back
anytime, Violet.”
I smile back at her before getting out and running toward the house, much
faster than I did the other way around.
Once I get in and walk up the stairs, I find the roof has started to leak
again, but at least it’s much lighter than yesterday. Apparently Will is
somewhat of an okay plumber. Plus, now that the cleaning crew’s gone, the
hallway is pretty much back to normal. I’m glad. The house will be much
easier to sell if it doesn’t look like Noah’s ark could pass through the hallway
upstairs.
I walk toward the bathroom to get in the shower when Will comes out of
his room with a tool kit he found God knows where in his grip. He doesn’t
say anything, his usual smile nowhere to be seen, and somehow, this makes
me pause. Ever since I got here, he’s tried to be nice and make jokes, and it
really annoyed me, but I’m starting to think maybe it was better than his
bored and annoyed face.
I swallow forcefully and rush into the bathroom.
Once I get out of the shower and dress in fluffy pajamas, Will is nowhere
to be seen. Maybe he went out to eat. The last times he did, he asked me if I
wanted something.
I must’ve really pissed him off.
I make myself a sandwich with the few groceries I got yesterday and eat
in my room in front of Netflix. At some point, I hear the front door opening,
but Will doesn’t knock at my door, so I don’t go see him either.
I fall asleep around nine—a feat I haven’t reproduced since I was ten—
and this time, it’s not a nightmare that wakes me up, but a loud boom coming
from outside. I jump upright in my bed, cradling my racing heart in my hand.
It takes me a second to realize the sound just came from thunder and not from
a fault opening in the middle of Ogunquit to swallow all the houses around
me. I don’t think there’s even a fault in Maine, but I guess I’ll have to check
that in the morning now that I’ve put this image in my head.
Another bout of thunder comes on, rattling the walls of the house. Now
that I know what it is though, I can lie down and fall back to sleep. My heart
rate slowly but surely starts to decrease.
Until my bedroom door creaks open and my pulse spikes to two hundred.
In complete silence, Will comes inside with the same pillow and navy-
blue comforter he had as a teenager, before placing them on the ground next
to my bed. I’m frozen in place under my covers. I don’t think I’m even
breathing.
I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. Five minutes pass, then
ten, and while I hear him shift around, he still doesn’t say a word.
Meanwhile, my mind is bombarded by thoughts.
I’m supposed to hate him. He’s hurt me so much. I should tell him I
haven’t been scared of thunderstorms in years and ask him to leave.
So why in the world am I thinking Will Seaberg coming into my room
and sleeping on the hardwood floor just because he thinks I’m scared is the
most tender thing I’ve ever witnessed?
He could’ve forgotten about it. We haven’t spoken in so long, it would
make sense. He also could’ve said I wasn’t worth the trouble, considering
I’ve been less than nice to him in the past week.
With each day by his side, it gets a little easier to see why I loved him so
much before and a little harder to remember why I need to keep my distance
from him. Despite everything I’ve told myself, he’s still very much the same
Will I used to know. I have the proof laying on the floor beside my bed.
My chest feels tight. Yes, he’s hurt me immensely in the past, but
Kamali’s right. I’ve been acting like a baby about it. It’s been years now. I
don’t have to love him like before, but I guess he deserves for me to at least
be civil with him from now on.
Keeping my gaze on the ceiling, I whisper, “I’m sorry for being a bitch to
you.”
He shifts on the ground. I bite my lip hard while waiting for his answer,
but it never comes.
My breathing gets shallow, and I start twisting my body in the other
direction when a hand falls on my arm.
Shivers instantaneously cover my skin.
 His thumb gives a single swipe, then he lets his hand rest on me.
I don’t move, both afraid that he’ll leave his hand there and that he’ll take
it away. It’s the first time he’s touched me since we got here, and it takes me
right back to a time when I would’ve given everything for an extra second of
his skin on mine.
It’s confusing. And painful. Familiar. Strange. But also kind of
exhilarating.
It doesn’t matter how I feel about it anyway. I know I could never ask
him to let me go, even if I wanted to.
 10

Five summers ago

“Come on, come on, come on,” I mumble to myself as my eyes alternate
between the stopwatch in my hands and Will’s figure in the public swimming
pool. The sky is a gorgeous canvas of clear blue above us, the storm long
gone.
The moment his hand taps the side of the pool, I click on the button and
try to keep my face neutral. Will’s head pops out of the water—yes, he does
look good, even with tight goggles and a Voldemort-style swimming cap—
before he leans against the side of the pool, chest heaving.
“So?” he asks, not wasting a second.
I pinch my lips, and with a quiet voice, say, “24.28.”
Will’s face becomes a block of ice before he yells, “Fuck!” He slams a
fist on the surface of the water, creating a giant splash that reaches my shorts-
clad legs, even from my spot on the lounge chair.
“It’s okay,” I say, “you still have time before the season begins.” But it’s
like I’m speaking to a dead man from how unresponsive he is.
“How is it possible I’m getting worse?” he asks, more to himself than to
me. Tugging at his cap and goggles, he throws them to the wet cement. His
eyes are frantic, eyebrows drawn, and I feel his pain to my core. If I could
swim for him, I would, but I can’t help him with this.
“Will—”
“That’s it,” he says, his gaze lost in the blue of the pool, “I’m done.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say as I scramble to my feet and run to the side of the
water. Even with my voice loud, he doesn’t turn to me. His mind has left,
gone into a painful place only he can bring himself into. He rarely gets like
this. Will is sunshine smiles and constant good moods. The only thing that
truly gets to him is his swimming career.
“Will, look at me,” I demand, but it’s no use. He’s gazing everywhere at
once, his breathing erratic. All I want to do is help him, but it’s like he’s a
thousand miles away from me.
 Oh well. Extreme circumstances require extreme solutions.
I take a quick breath before jumping feet-first into the pool. I emerge a
second later, gasping because the water is freaking cold. My jean shorts and
pink tank top stick to my skin, and I’m suddenly grateful I didn’t put makeup
on today.
Will is still muttering things to himself, his attention so far away from
here that he hasn’t even realized I’ve jumped into the pool next to him. I only
hear a few broken words of what he’s saying, and most of it is so intense and
self-deprecating I won’t repeat it.
“Will,” I say. He doesn’t turn. I repeat his name, but he’s still in his
bubble.
I swim in front of him and grab his face tightly between my hands.
“Will.”
His eyes finally meet mine, the gray in them as tempestuous as the sky
was two days ago.
“Hey, deep breaths.”
He doesn’t say anything, only following my lead, his breaths matching
mine. I inhale deeply and exhale through pursed lips three times, never letting
go of his slightly stubbled cheeks in my hands.
“That’s it,” I whisper, getting a little breathless myself from swimming in
place. Our legs are brushing under water. “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna
be okay.”
After another set of deep breaths, Will says, “It’s never going to work
out, V.”
“Yes, it will.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I’ve studied all of the best swimmers before.
All of them were able to do less than twenty-two at my age.”
“So what?”
His brows climb to his forehead. “What?”
“So what if you’re not the single best swimmer in history?” A drop of
water runs from my eyebrow to my lips, and I lick it. “Why are you
swimming?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not—”
“Why are you swimming, Will?”
“I…” He exhales loudly. “I swim because water’s where I belong.”
I nod. “That’s it, then. You don’t swim to be the best out there. You swim
because you love it. And even if there are a few that are better than you out
there, there’s a crap ton of people who could never do what you do.”
Even in the cold water, my skin burns from his gaze on me. Slowly, he
starts nodding.
“I’m still going to make you bust your ass this summer so you stay on the
team,” I say, making him chuckle lightly, “but even if you come in last at
competitions, I’ll be just as proud of you.”
His lips are tight as he dips his head and wraps his arms around me,
almost too tight. I can’t breathe deeply, but if that’s what dying feels like, I’d
let him kill me a thousand times.
Quickly, he pulls his head back, keeping his hands on my shoulders. “Did
you really just jump in the pool with your clothes on to calm me down?”
“It was time you noticed!”
He laughs and hugs me again. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”
His mouth is pressed in my hair.
My heart stutters. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s said these words to
me, but they feel different somehow. Ever since the day of the bonfire, I’ve
been feeling…weird. Usually, when the little pocket of feelings is dug out,
I’m able to quickly push it back down, no harm done. But this time, as much
as I’ve tried, it doesn’t want to go back to its resting place. It’s like I’m
playing a game of extreme-level whack-a-mole, and whenever I tame an
inappropriate thought about Will, another one pops up almost as fast. It’s
impossible to keep up.
Our skin is touching everywhere, from my arms around his naked
shoulders to our legs making intertwining circles, and suddenly, my chest is
not just squeezed, it’s completely crushed, unable to take in a single breath.
This also is not our first hug. So why the heck am I feeling like this?
“A time or two,” I end up squeaking.
He only squeezes me harder.

***

“Where are you going?” Mom asks as Samantha, Will, and I put on our
jackets in the foyer.
“There’s another bonfire tonight,” I say.
Mom crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Who are these people
anyway? I’d like to meet them.”
 I roll my eyes and walk over to her before I press a kiss on her cheek.
She’s a little annoying when she plays the mother-hen role, but I prefer it to
the periods when she gets stuck in a spiral of work and seems to forget she’s
part of our family.
“Come on, Amy,” Dad says as he comes up behind her, a dish towel on
his shoulder. “Let the kids have fun.”
She pouts. “I don’t like not knowing who my baby hangs out with.”
I roll my eyes as Dad says, “Would it help if I poured you another glass
of wine?”
She grins and closes her eyes while he presses a kiss to her cheek. I take
the opportunity to mouth a “thank you” to my dad and escape toward the
door.
“Don’t come home late!” Mom says behind me.
“I won’t,” I answer before joining Will and Samantha, who snuck out
while I was handling my parents.
“Do you think Michelle will think it’s lame that we’re going again?”
Samantha asks as she redoes her chocolate ponytail.
“You’re the one who insisted we come tonight,” I say.
She stops walking and turns to us. “You know what? It was a bad idea.
Let’s turn around.”
“Come on, Sam,” Will says, his voice grumbly, “I put on actual clothes
for you. We’re going.”
“But what if she thinks I’m annoying?”
“I think you’re annoying right now,” he says as he grabs her shoulders
and leads her forward.
She groans.
We reach the beach a few minutes later. There are a few more people
around the bonfire tonight, along with the three who were there the last time.
As soon as Samantha spots Michelle, her shy act disappears and she goes
to hug her.
“Well, that didn’t last long,” I mumble.
“It never does with her,” Will says, a small smile on his lips as he looks at
his sister laughing.
“Will!” Makayla says from her spot in the sand, waving to my best friend.
Her voice is perfectly fine, but right now, it’s like nails on a chalkboard to my
ears.
Get a grip, Violet.
 This needs to stop right this moment. Something’s wrong with me, and
I’m not about to start obsessing over all the people who talk to Will. He’s my
best friend, that’s it. I don’t own him. He can see anyone he likes. He can see
Makayla, and I’ll be okay with it.
“You coming?” Will asks over his shoulder, bringing me out of my
thoughts.
I smile. “Yeah.”
Just as I start walking toward Makayla with Will, someone to my left
calls, “Hey, Violet!”
Colin waves at me, a bright smile lighting up his face. He’s wearing a red
polo shirt and shorts decorated with tiny lobster patterns. I smile back.
Yes. This is what I need. A distraction from my thoughts.
I’ve never had a serious boyfriend before. I’ve kissed a few guys at
parties, but that’s about it. I don’t know a lot about dating, but I know Colin
looks like someone my mom would like me to date. He’s nice, and well-kept,
and I’m sure he doesn’t have a hard time solving a calc problem. I could like
him.
And maybe if I spend more time with him, I’ll finally be able to push the
pocket of feelings deep down in my chest and never let it come back up
again.
Instead of following Will, I switch directions and go sit next to Colin.
Will gazes at me over his shoulder and furrows his brows, but I don’t meet
his eyes. He has his friends, and I can have my friends too.
“How’s it going?” I ask as I sit next to Colin on his beach towel.
“Good, good. I’m happy to see you.”
I grin.
The next few minutes are a little awkward, with Colin trying to ask me
about school when it’s the last thing I want to think about, but soon, he asks
me about how long we’ve been coming here, to Ogunquit, and I feel myself
relaxing. This I can talk about.
After that, it’s easy. We chat all night about everything and nothing. I
laugh at a few of his jokes. He tucks a strand of hair behind my shoulder
while I speak, and I find myself thinking, This is good. This is nice.
Until my eyes meet Will’s across the fire and my whole body bursts into
flames. A simple look, and it’s like he’s touched me everywhere at once.
I glance away.
Colin keeps up the conversation after that, and while it’s still nice, I’m
distracted. These feelings need to go away. This is not the way I’m supposed
to feel when looking at my best friend. How many times have we looked at
each other before? A thousand? A million? There’s no reason why his stupid
gray eyes would have any effect on me right now.
Goosebumps rise over my arms when a crisp burst of wind from the
ocean catches me off guard.
“Here,” Colin says as he places a coat he brought with him on my
shoulders. It smells like peppermint and Axe body spray.
“Thanks,” I say.
“So,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “I was thinking and…” He
releases an awkward laugh, which makes me give him an awkward smile. I
think if I was someone else watching us, I’d be getting secondhand
embarrassment.
“Would you like to go out tomorrow?” he finishes.
I wait for my heart to race or my cheeks to heat, but none of that happens.
His invitation leaves me completely…neutral.
But that’s okay, right? Feelings can develop over time. I know that.
And when I look over the bonfire and catch Will’s intense gaze again, I
know there’s only one thing I can do if I want to get rid of this feelings
problem.
With a smile, I tell Colin, “I’d love to.”
 11

Present

When I wake up the next morning, I’m alone in my room.

For a second, I wonder whether I imagined the whole thing, but then I see
one of Will’s black, ankle-length socks lying by the side of my bed, and I
know he was here. It’s kind of surreal to think that we slept in the same room
again after all these years. That he decided to come comfort me even if we
weren’t on speaking terms. That he cared enough to check on me. I’m not
sure what to make of it, but I know I need to be better with him—at least a
little.
After getting up and going to the bathroom, I head downstairs, where I
find him cooking something over the stove. It smells like eggs and burned
toast.
I tug the hem of my loose Jake’s Seafood Shack yellow T-shirt over my
sleeping shorts and say, “Hey.”
Will turns at the sound of my voice, his hair mussed and eyes sleepy. A
corner of his lips rises. “Hey.”
I walk closer to him and take a peek at the scrambled eggs in the pan.
Half of them are runnier, like I take them.
“Smells good,” I say.
“Thanks,” he answers as he turns the stove off and leans his hip on the
counter. Silence fills the space between the two of us. My fingers drift to a
loose thread on my old T-shirt, which I start tugging on.
“So…” The tips of his fingers make tiny circles on the surface of the
countertop.
Oh. Apparently, we’re doing this before I’ve even had a cup of coffee.
Great.
I inhale deeply, and before he has the time to continue, I say, “I know I
already said it, but I am sorry about the way I acted. I can be a little petty
sometimes.” My eyebrows climb up my forehead. “Although I guess you
already knew that.”
 A corner of his lips climbs up. “I did.”
The long gaze we share holds a lot more meaning than any word could.
“Anyway, I just wanted to apologize.”
“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, all right?” he says as he turns and
grabs two mugs from the cupboard.
Pretend. I can do that. I’m the queen of pretending everything’s fine.
Besides, I still have six weeks to spend here, and if they all go like the past
week has, one of us will be dead before we can even sell the house.
Obviously, we’ll never be friends like before, but I guess we can act friend-
ly.
“Sure,” I say.
Chest expanding, he leans forward and extends his hand in my direction.
“So we’re fine?”
The very last thing we are is fine. But for today, I clasp his hand and
repeat, “Sure.”
We shake for a long moment, probably longer than is appropriate, but
now that I’ve tasted his touch, I want a little bit more. Just a second. The fact
that I don’t want us to be emotionally close again doesn’t mean I haven’t
missed being physically close to him. His skin is soft but rough at the same
time, and it feels too familiar to let go.
But eventually I do, all the while taking a step back. Friendly, Violet.
That’s it. My heart can’t get hurt if it doesn’t get involved.
After a moment of heavy staring, Will turns to grab two plates, then starts
serving us eggs.
“Thanks,” I say as he hands me my plate. After grabbing utensils, I gaze
over my shoulder at the summer room and start backing away toward it.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll set up in the summer room and, um, do some work.”
This peace treaty should finally allow me to spend time outside of my room.
“Okay,” he says, nodding.
“All right.”
His lips twitches. “All right.”
Spinning on my heels, I escape to the summer room.
Better awkwardness than shouting matches, I guess.

***
There have been a few times in my life where I would’ve given anything to
be a man.
First, there was that one time when I’d started my nursing major (I only
lasted three months in that program) and I got blackout drunk at a frat party.
This also-blackout-drunk guy kept grinding his groin on my ass, even when I
told him to get lost, because of course a drunk girl should be harassed.
Then, there was the time I wrote an essay on the deep pain that love can
cause, and while I was told my writing was “cute,” this guy who’d written
about similar themes was told he was the next William Shakespeare and
should publish his magnificent ideas in a writing journal.
But today… Today beats all of those.
Because I clogged the toilet, and I can’t freaking unclog it, no matter how
hard I try. I knew I should’ve taken Kamali up on her offer to take me with
her to Pilates. Maybe if my arms weren’t two giant spaghetti noodles, I’d be
able to do this by myself.
I don’t know who the hell designed this stupid plunger, but it’s the least
practical instrument to have ever been designed in the history of the world.
I let myself drop down on the floor, hair from my bun falling in my face
and sweat dripping down my back. I’ve been at it for half an hour, but I think
it’s a lost cause.
Mom always used to tell me I used too much toilet paper. I don’t know if
this is her proving a point, but it’s really, really not funny.
With a groan, I get back up and head out of the bathroom toward the
living room, where Will is putting a new coat of paint on the white walls.
It’s been two days since we came to a truce, and while I’ve had to bite my
tongue a time or three, it’s been going okay. Sure, it’s no real friendship, but
it’s much better than the antagonism and annoyance that used to permeate the
rooms we were in. I’ve even had a few episodes where I saw something in
the house that reminded me of my mother, and when Will was next to me, it
felt easier to get through them. Like I wasn’t completely alone in the world.
I’ll never tell him that, though.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, continuing to paint with his roller as I walk
into the room.
Come on, Violet. The sooner you say it, the faster it’ll be over.
Deep breath, then, “IcloggedthetoiletandI’mnotabletofixit.”
His arm freezes midair. “Say that again?”
I cross my arms over my chest and puff out my cheeks. “Really?”
 Slowly, his lips curl into a smile, popping that damn dimple in his left
cheek. “Sooooo you want me to show you how to use the plunger?”
Jesus Christ, this is painful. I fix my gaze on the ceiling as I say, “I know
how to use it. I’m just not strong enough, and it’s not really working.” The
last words come out as a mumble.
He drags his tongue over his teeth, but it’s obvious the bastard is trying
his hardest not to laugh.
“It’s not funny, Will.”
That gets him to break. Dropping the paint roller to the bucket on the
ground, he throws his head back and exposes his long throat as he cackles.
A low groan climbs up my throat.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wheezes, still laughing out loud. “It’s not
funny, I know, I just…” He wipes a finger to the side of his eyes. “I wasn’t
expecting that today.”
I bite my tongue, trying to keep a pissed-off face, but really, his laughter
is contagious. Still, I say, “Are you done?”
“Oof, yeah, sorry,” he says with a deep exhale, his grin still there. “Let’s
go.”
My arms shoot up, stopping him in his steps. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re
not going in like that.”
He tries to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Is there a nuclear
bomb in there?”
Eyes closed, I sigh. Why did I even bother waking up this morning?
“I don’t want you to look.” I put approximately an entire can of Febreze
in there, so the smell should be fine, if only a little extra fruity, but there’s no
way I’m going to let him look down the toilet.
“How am I supposed to do it if I don’t look?”
“I don’t know, Einstein, just figure it out!” I say, throwing my arms in the
air.
Aaaaaand that gets him to crack up again.
Great. Just great.
After ten hours of laughing at my expense, he catches his breath. “It’s
fine, Violet. Pooping’s just a normal bodily function.” A smirk climbs up his
lips. “And it’s not like it’s anything new. Remember when we were, like,
seven and I was pushing you on the swings and you farted in my face? Or
that time you got your wisdom teeth removed and you drooled all over my
shirt?”
 My hands cover my face. This just keeps getting better and better.
“Please stop talking,” I mumble.
“Oh, come on. Let’s just go.”
I straighten up. “Absolutely not. I need your vision to at least be blurred.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?” He starts leaning against the wall,
only to remember it’s been freshly painted.
I purse my lips. Think, Violet, think.
Suddenly, I clap my hands together and bellow, “Ski goggles!”
It’s a perfect idea. It’s already going to darken his vision, and then I can
add paper towels or something like that in them so he really only barely sees.
“Of course, why didn’t I think of the ski goggles before!” he says, humor
in his voice. “Maybe they’re hidden between the sunscreen and the boogie
boards?”
Okay, yeah, I might not have thought this through.
My face falls, but his grin magnifies. “What good beach house would not
keep a pair of ski goggles just in case someone clogs the toilet?”
Don’t smile. Don’t smile. Don’t smile.
Too late.
I can’t help myself from cracking a grin because really, this situation is
too damn ridiculous for me to stay serious.
“Come on,” he says, his gait strong as he walks past me and heads up the
stairs. “I won’t laugh at you, even if it’s the biggest turd in the world.”
“Hey!” I yell, running after him. “I said no!”
But of course, he doesn’t listen to me. His strides are longer than mine,
and no matter how fast I sprinted up the stairs, he was going to get to the
bathroom first. Luckily, I had closed the lid down, and just as he’s lifting it
up, I do the only thing I can to avoid this disaster.
Jumping on his back, I cover his eyes with my hands and shout, “NO!”
He probably wasn’t expecting this sudden attack because he takes a step
back, and before I realize what’s going on, we’re both sprawled on the floor,
his massive body on top of mine and my back hurting like a bitch.
“Jesus, Violet, what the hell!” he says, half growling and half laughing.
With a groan, I roll him off me. I don’t notice the smell of his shampoo or
the silkiness of his skin against mine or the bunch of his muscles over my
body. I was on a mission, and I had to do it.
“I told you I didn’t want you to see,” I say.
He snickers. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d go all ninja on my ass.”
 “You deserved it.”
With a roll of his eyes, he scrunches his nose and says, “First, how much
air freshener did you spray in here? And second, fine, I’ll try to do it with my
eyes closed if it’s that important to you.”
I ignore his first comment and say, “Thank you.”
With another groan, Will and I get up, and I hand him the plunger. “There
you go. Now, not a peek.”
He grins. “I promise.”
His thunderous gray eyes disappear under tan eyelids. I lift the lid and
lean back against the counter, looking at this technique.
At first, he flushes the toilet, then pushes and pulls pretty gently, but after
a few tries, he huffs and turns to me. “What the hell, Violet? Is there a rock in
there or what?”
I shove his shoulder. “I have IBS, okay!”
Snickering, he shakes his head and gets back to work, this time with a
new intensity in his stance. His biceps are flexing under his T-shirt, hands
tight around the wooden stick, and when he flushes and starts pumping again,
it’s like he thinks he’s competing to earn the title of Best Toilet Plunger. His
hair is wild, short curls bouncing all over his head, while his lips are retracted
into a snarl and his arms are moving so fast, I can barely see them.
“You won’t win this,” he mumbles, pumping and pumping and pumping,
and I’m not sure exactly, but I think he’s in a mental argument with the toilet
right now.
When it still doesn’t work, he goes all in, leaving a caveman-like yell as
he pumps like nobody has ever pumped before. And finally, a suction noise
appears, drowning the water-sloshing sound as the toilet empties.
I expect Will to shout like he’s won the Stanley cup, but instead, he drops
the plunger to the floor and falls backward on his ass, breathless and sweaty.
“There you go,” he says with the most serious face.
And that’s when it finally happens.
I lose it.
I fall to the floor next to him, laughing uncontrollably, my breaths coming
out in wheezes. His shoulders shake next to mine, body slumped over the
wall like he ran a marathon. I try to stop, to tell myself that I shouldn’t be
cry-laughing on a bathroom floor with him, but I can’t.
“I can’t believe this just happened,” I say in between bouts of laughter.
“Me neither, Violet. Me neither.”
 “You’re a real lifesaver,” I say, still catching my breath.
He turns to me, his dimple popping out again. “Never had a man unclog a
toilet for you, huh?”
My laughter dies down with a long, tired sigh. It’s true; he’s not a boy
anymore. He’s a man. More man than any of the guys I’ve been with.
I don’t know if it’s the fact that we just shared an awkward moment
together or if it’s just that I want to enjoy this lightness between us for a few
extra seconds, but I keep the conversation going. Crossing my hands over my
belly, I say, “Nope. Never lived with a man other than my dad and brothers,
so that helps.”
“What? What about that guy with the long hair? You didn’t live together
at one point?”
“Has someone stalked my social media profiles?”
Eyebrows high on his forehead, he asks, “You haven’t?”
I so have.
When I don’t answer, he says, “So, why didn’t it work with that guy? He
seemed to gush about you all over the internet.”
I roll my eyes. “A little too gushy. And overbearing.” And he was really
bad in bed, but that’s not something I’ll share with Will, today or ever.
A voice rings in my head once again, telling me I shouldn’t be talking
about this with him. Still, I can’t force myself to get up from the floor.
“Huh,” he says. “Well, I think I still liked him better than that punk guy.”
My jaw drops. “He was not a punk!”
He really was. I had a phase in my third year of college when I’d started
my French literature program where I only wanted to date bad boys. I thought
they would show me how to live freely. Turns out they were all just a waste
of my time.
Will laughs. “Oh my God, yes, he was.”
I don’t bother answering.
Leaning toward me, he whispers, “Did he show you the Dark Side? Make
you listen to My Chemical Romance?”
I burst out laughing. “Will, no actual punk listens to My Chemical
Romance. That’s just for teenagers to feel emo to when their first girlfriend
dumps them.”
It’s his turn to ignore my comment. Instead, he says, “I’m sure he was all
about that rough love.”
I hit him with the back of my hand, chuckling. He has no idea just how
right he is.
“What about you?” I say. “Is it my turn to roast your exes?” Not that I
have much to say. I saw one or two girls over the years on his Instagram, but
they always looked like nice girls. Beautiful, with perfect smiles and skin
without a single blotch. A nice fit for him.
“Oh, but we’re not done with yours,” Will exclaims with a laugh.
“Yes, we are.” I don’t need him to go over all of my bad decisions. At
least he hasn’t seen the majority of them. During my first years in college, I
was such a mess. At first, I avoided people, in pain twenty-four seven, and
then I thought maybe it would help the pain if I slept with any guy who
showed me any kind of interest.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Will licks his lips. “I’m glad you aren’t with any of these tools anymore.”
My heart stutters before he adds, “You deserve better than them. Better than
all of them.”
His eyes alternate between both of mine, gray against almost black. I
don’t know what to say. I know I deserve better than the guys I was with, but
why does he say so? It’s not his place to mention that. I should tell him to
stop talking.
But I can’t. Because deep, deep down, his words awake something within
me. It’s small—infinitesimal, really—but it’s there. The pocket of feelings. I
thought I’d sewn it shut, but as he stares at me like this, the stitches start to
snap.
No.
No, no, no.
How can I be so weak?
In a second, I leap from the floor and shove that pocket closed. “Thanks
for the help, Will,” I say, not glancing back as I rush out the door.
 12

Five summers ago

Someone gasps behind me as I put on my fake diamond earring.

I turn to find Nora in my room’s doorway, a book hanging from her hand.
“You look absolutely stunning,” she says as she steps inside and sits on
the bed.
“Thanks,” I reply, a small smile on my lips. I look back to the mirror
sitting on top of my dresser. My hair is curled in loose waves falling over my
floaty white dress. I’ve only put on a bit of mascara and lip gloss because
while I’m a pretty decent artist, I really suck at this makeup thing.
She drops the book she was carrying on my bed and says, “Want me to do
your eyeliner?”
I grin. “You’re the best.”
Quickly leaving the room, she comes back with a little black pencil. I sit
on the bed and close my eyes.
“So,” she says, “big night tonight?”
Colin’s image pops into my head, with his polite smiles and polo shirts.
This is what you want, Violet. A nice guy who isn’t Will.
“Sure,” I say with a quick smile.
She applies pressure on my left eyelid. “Did I ever tell you how David
and I met?”
I go to shake my head, but Nora’s hands hold me in place. “Don’t move.”
She returns to her work. “It was my twenty-first birthday. A few of my
girlfriends brought me to a bar in Greenwich, and let’s say I took this
drinking thing to heart.” She chuckles. “So there I was, a crooked plastic tiara
on my head and a shot glass in each hand—don’t tell your parents I told you
that.” I laugh. “And here comes this guy dressed in a clean-cut suit who
looked so pampered and perfect, and he asks me to dance with him.” She
wipes a thumb on the side of my eye before moving to the other. “I obliged,
and when he asked me to go out with him, I actually laughed in his face.
There was no way a guy like him and a girl like me could fit. Dancing with
him while I was drunk was one thing, but going on a date with him was a
whole other game.”
I open the eye she’s not working on. “So what happened?”
She grins. “What do you think? I ended up saying okay, and that was the
best decision I ever made.”
After a moment, she says, “All done.”
I open my eyes and go look in the mirror, smiling when I see the end
result. “It’s perfect. Thanks, Nora.”
“You’re welcome, beautiful.” She walks up to me and drags a hand down
my arm. “Just give him a chance. You never know what could happen.”
I smile and nod when a soft knock sounds from the open door. Will is
standing there, in black swim trunks and—surprise!—no shirt. I think Nora
says something to him, but I couldn’t say for sure. I’m too transfixed by his
gaze on me, roaming and dark. I look away first.
“Okay, well, good luck tonight,” Nora says before she gives my cheek a
kiss and goes to leave the room, grabbing her novel in passing.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“So,” Will says once his mom has left, “Colin, huh?” He’s leaning against
the doorframe, his hands buried in the pockets of his trunks.
With a shrug, I say, “Um, yeah.” I don’t quite meet his eyes when I grab
my favorite necklace—the one with a miniature sand dollar pendant that Will
sent me for my birthday in December four years ago—and say, “Do you
mind?”
He walks the steps separating us and grabs the necklace, smiling softly
when he sees what it is. I turn around and lift my hair away from my neck.
For some reason, my heart feels squished in my chest, and when the tips of
Will’s fingers graze my skin as he puts the necklace around my neck, it stops
beating altogether. I don’t know how long it really takes for him to tie it, but
with his hot breath on my neck and the heat from his body so close to my
back, it feels like a whole week. Finally, he puts his large hands on my
shoulders and says, “All done.” His voice is so low, it causes goosebumps to
rise on my skin.
Get yourself together, Violet.
I turn around and take a step back, then another. “Thanks.”
He puts his hands back in his pockets, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You
like him?”
My whole body tenses, and I decide to busy myself in my closet. I was
planning on going in flip-flops, but now I’m analyzing my three pairs of
shoes sitting on the floor as if my life depends on it.
“He’s really nice,” I answer, which we both know is not what he asked
me, but I don’t think he’ll call me out on it. At least I hope he won’t.
I steal a glance over my shoulder. Will is nodding softly.
“Remember what you asked me, about me telling you when I meet
someone important from now on?”
I nod. His words are like a bucket of cold water dousing the flames on my
body, and this is good. Really good. Exactly what I need. The reminder that
Will sees other people. We’re friends, who see other people, and that’s how
we work.
“I hope it counts for you too,” he says, “and you’ll tell me if this gets
serious. Right?”
I turn to him and give him a quick smile. “Right.”
He starts nodding again. “Okay. Good.”
I expect him to hug me, like he usually does before I leave for
somewhere, but I’m thankful when he stays in place. I don’t need to catch on
fire again.
“I guess I’ll let you go, then.” He grins then, his soft Will smile that is so
real and reminds me of s’mores over bonfires and goodbye waves through car
windows. “You look beautiful. Colin’s a lucky guy.”
I want to sigh. Is it his life’s mission from now on to prevent my little
pocket of feelings to go away? I don’t trust my voice to answer, so I just give
him a smile that feels shaky. That’ll have to do.

***

“So? What are your plans for college?” Colin asks over a plate of tortilla
chips and salsa.
I look up. Did I drift off again?
“I’m not sure yet,” I answer after clearing my throat. “I’ll be taking basic
classes for the moment until I figure out what my life’s purpose is all about.”
I let out a little chuckle, but he doesn’t. His lips are pursed.
“Oh,” he says. “Don’t you have anything you like?”
“You mean, in life?”
“Yeah.”
 I lick my lips. “Well, I love to draw and paint, but I guess that’s not a safe
path to take as a career.” At least that’s what my mom has told me over and
over again. And what I’ve started to convince myself of.
“Yeah, no, it’s really not. How about a business degree? It opens so many
doors.”
I hide a wince, and not because it’s a bad answer. It’s a good one. The
one Mom or David might’ve given me.
But it’s not the one Will would’ve chosen.
Will would have said doing what I love is the most important thing, and
that my talent is a gift I need to use. Actually, he already has said that,
multiple times. And even though it’s not the practical answer, it’s the one I
love the most.
God, I need to stop doing this. Ever since we got here an hour and a half
ago, I’ve compared all of Colin’s answers to what Will’s would’ve been. It’s
bad. I’m not here with Will, so I don’t know why I keep expecting Colin to
act and talk like him.
Our waiter comes to grab our plates, and Colin starts talking about
investment opportunities for young adults. I nod and smile at the right times
—at least, I hope I do—but I’m completely out of the conversation, like I
have been for the past hour or so. I don’t know why. Colin has been nothing
but a perfect gentleman all night. He told me I looked good. He pulled my
chair out for me before I sat down. He’s shown interest in me and my life. I,
however, haven’t been able to find a single ounce of interest for him, and I
don’t understand why.
Maybe I’m a psychopath. I’ll have to look up the signs of that when I get
home.
The waiter brings us the check, and Colin insists on paying even when I
ask to split it. I haven’t been the best date tonight, so I really don’t deserve
for him to pay.
“Would you like to go get dessert somewhere?” he asks as we get up
from our chairs and walk outside the cute Mexican restaurant he picked for
us. “Or go for a walk on the beach, maybe?”
I should say yes. Maybe tonight was only bad because I didn’t fully give
him a chance. Maybe we could go for ice cream, and while some of it drips
down his fingers and he licks it up, I’ll find myself falling for him big time.
Maybe all I need is a few minutes more with him for my heart to understand
he’s the one, like Nora felt with David.
 But the more I think about it, going there with him probably means more
conversation I’m not interested in, followed by his hand grabbing mine and a
polite kiss goodnight on the front porch of the beach house. I could do all
that. I could pretend I’m interested in what his favorite color is and what his
favorite sport is, and then kiss him. But his favorite color won’t be blue, and
his favorite sport won’t be swimming, and I can’t imagine his kiss being
passionate.
I don’t bother thinking about what this means.
“Actually, my parents asked me to come home before nine,” I lie. It’s
eight forty-eight.
“Oh, okay,” he says before we climb in what I assume is his parents’
Mercedes.
The drive home is quiet, soft music playing in the background. My back
is ramrod straight in the seat.
When we get to the beach house, I don’t stick around in the car. I hop out
before I feel like I have to kiss him.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say, standing outside and holding the door open.
“Thank you. It was a lot of fun.”
My smile is tight-lipped.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asks.
I nod and close the door. Thank God he hasn’t asked to schedule a second
date. I don’t know what my answer would’ve been.
The sound of his car leaving the driveway doesn’t come until I open the
front door. He really is a true gentleman.
When I walk inside, the house is almost too quiet. None of Samantha’s
old soccer games are playing on the TV, and no one is squealing from the
boys’ pranks, and Dad isn’t teaching someone about the correct use of a
specific word. It’s almost like a different house when it’s empty.
Except it’s not empty. When I enter the living room, Will is there,
sprawled on the couch, his phone in hand. From the sounds coming out of it,
I think he’s playing…Candy Crush?
“They’re right. Gen Z-ers really go crazy on Friday nights.”
He looks up and drops the phone. “Ha ha. You’re here early?” He says it
like a question.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say as I take a seat next to him.
“How was it?” he asks, his attention fully on me.
Stiff. Awkward. Boring.
 “It was good.”
Will nods. “Good, good.” His eyes stay on me for a long moment,
looking inquisitive, as if he wants me to divulge more about my date. But I
don’t feel like talking more about it, especially since I spent the whole night
comparing Colin to him.
“Where’s everyone?” I ask, looking around to make sure I didn’t miss
anyone hidden somewhere.
“They all went to the new steakhouse on Main Street.”
“Why didn’t you go?” I nudge him with my elbow. “Too busy beating
your own Candy Crush records?”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t meet my gaze as he says, “I didn’t feel like
going out.”
Before I can think of what I’m saying, I blurt out, “Well, I’m really happy
you’re here.”
He half smiles. “Me too.”
“Wanna watch something?” I ask after clearing my throat. “Or would you
rather I leave you to your very serious affairs?”
He shoves me lightly. “You’re the worst.”
I smirk. “You mean the best.”
“I do.”
A beat passes before I say, “Mean Girls?”
He groans, but I know deep down he likes it. “Fine. As long as it’s the
first and not the second.”
“You know it.”
I put on the movie and get comfortable on the couch. Will and I could
probably recite the whole film by heart at this point, and at some points, we
do. Will does some voice-overs, and I cackle every single time, no matter
how stupid what he says is.
Halfway through the movie, I find myself thinking this is so much better
than even the most perfect ice-cream date or the sexiest kiss I could’ve
received.
It’s also the moment I think, Shit, I’m in real trouble now.
 13

Present

“Hey,” Will says as he enters the living room, where I’m working on photo
edits on my computer.
“Hey, what’s up?” I close my computer and look at him expectantly.
While the ice has definitely been broken between us after my toilet incident a
week ago, we don’t spend a lot of time together apart from when we’re
working on the house. Will sometimes sets up beside me to work on lesson
plans for the coming school year, but it’s rare that he seeks me out without a
specific reason. Usually, it’s because he needs help holding his ladder so he
doesn’t fall off the roof of the house.
“I didn’t get enough cement, so I can’t finish the bathroom today,” he
says. “I’m thinking of going for a surf. Want to join?”
Shit. I would’ve preferred holding the ladder again. “Oh, I’m not sure—”
“Come on,” he interrupts. “The waves are supposed to be good today at
the tiny beach near Kennebunkport.”
I take too long to answer, words stuck in my mouth. Sure, we shared a
good laugh in the bathroom last week, but this is something else. Something
that resembles what we used to do before. It can’t bring anything good.
As if reading my mind, Will says, “This is nothing big, Violet. Just two
people surfing at the same time.” His jaw shifts back and forth once the
words are out.
Right. Just two people surfing.
I guess it could be good for the both of us to get out of the house.
“All right, let’s do it.”
He dips his head. “Good.”
We get changed rapidly. I didn’t pack a bathing suit with me before
leaving Syracuse, but luckily, I found an old bikini while cleaning my old
bedroom closet, so I put it on. Once I’m done, I head outside, where I wait
beside my car. Will meets me there a minute later. His eyes move from my
compact car to me. They stay a moment on my naked legs, and I try not to
squirm under his gaze. Get a grip. Who cares if he looks at me differently
than all the men I’ve been with? It doesn’t mean anything.
“So, you’re not scared to drive anymore?” he says as he walks toward me.
His posture is more relaxed than before, and I find my shoulders getting
looser at the sight.
“Nope,” I say, leaning against my car. It was a stupid fear anyway. There
are much, much worse things in the world than driving.
Will goes to grab two boards from the garage. When I try to help him set
them on top of my car, he rolls his eyes and tells me to go sit down. I might
be a very bad feminist, but when someone tells me they’ll do the work for
me, I don’t complain, so I wait for him in the car. Soon he’s done, and I start
driving toward the beach we used to visit frequently when we were kids. The
sun warms my skin through the window, and I find myself getting more and
more comfortable.
I can’t say the same for Will.
“Violet, they have priority!” he shouts a few minutes later, then, “There’s
a red light!” and then, “There’s a speed limit for a reason!”
He’s holding onto his handle with both hands when I look at him at a stop
sign. Weakling.
“I think I liked it better when you were afraid,” he mumbles as I turn onto
the street leading us to the beach.
“Oh, stop whining.”
“I’m literally afraid for my life right now.”
“You need to grow some balls.”
“I think it’s your balls that are—” His words cut when I stop abruptly to
let a stray cat cross the street. “Jesus. It’s your balls that are too big.”
“Prick.”
“I’m driving next time.”
I throw him a fake smile with narrowed eyes. “Be my guest.”
He chuckles, the warmth of it filling the car. It wraps around my skin and
infiltrates my blood.
Stop thinking about this.
We finally arrive to the beach a minute later, and I let Will bring the
boards near the water while I park the car and change into my wetsuit. Once
I’m ready, I join him on the beach, and as soon as I see him, my breath
catches in my throat.
I thought Will looked good at nineteen. But now? Now, he’s sex
incarnate.
He’s on his knees, waxing the two dusty boards we got out of the garage.
Only the bottom half of his wetsuit is on, leaving the top of his body to the
prying eyes of addicted women like me. I can’t keep my gaze away from the
drip of sweat gliding between his abs, or from the muscles cording his
forearms as he works the boards like a professional.
Jesus. I think I need to get laid, and soon.
I personally put on the wetsuit completely before getting out of the car.
My body has changed quite a bit since we last went swimming together, and
I’m fine with the idea of having it covered, especially when he looks like this.
I get down on my knees by his side. “Can I do anything?”
“Nah, I’m all done.” He lets go of the wax and hands me the pink board,
which is the longest we have at the beach house, while he keeps the shorter,
yellow one to himself. The longer the board, the easier it is to surf with.
I raise an eyebrow. “You have that much faith in my balance, huh?”
He tries to mimic me, and just as before, both brows lift instead of only
one. “You said it, not me.”
Huffing, I grab my board and head to the water. He thinks I can’t do this?
Game on, bitch.

***

After an hour and careful consideration, the game is not on. It’s actually very
well off.
My head emerges out of the freezing-cold water, hair in my face, salt in
my eyes, and water in my lungs. I try to inhale but only choke and start
coughing.
And it’s at this exact moment my extremely uncooperative board decides
to fall on my head. Literally. When I tried to catch a wave for the twentieth
time and fell before I could climb on my feet, the board was projected in the
air as I plunged to my near death. But since the board was still attached to my
ankle, of course it had to fall right on top of my head when I got out of the
water.
Fuck you, Newton.
I yelp as I bring a hand to the bump that’s already starting to form on my
scalp because while a surfboard isn’t that heavy, I still kind of feel like
someone hit the back of my head with a shovel.
“Fuck,” I hear Will mutter behind me before he starts paddling in my
direction. “You okay?” he says, louder this time.
“Yeah.” I push myself on top of my traitorous board and slump down,
legs dangling on both sides, hands between them.
Will arrives on my left a few seconds later. “You sure you’re okay?” He
examines me all over, but when he takes a good look at my defeated face,
amusement starts to taint his expression. From the pinch of his lips, I know
he’s having a hard time not laughing.
With a stern look, I say, “Don’t.”
Apparently, I said, “Go ahead,” because he bursts out laughing. He’s now
seated on his board too, head thrown back and white teeth glinting in the July
sun.
“It’s okay,” he says between bouts of laughter. “You were always a shit
surfer.”
I scoop some water and splash him, which, granted, is not a great attack
for someone who’s already drenched and in a wet suit, but it’s the best I can
come up with. “Go to hell, Seaberg.”
He laughs again. “It’s okay, really. It’s not like you had a billion people
try to teach you for eighteen summers or anything.”
I blink. It’s the first time he’s explicitly mentioned our common past
since I shut him down the last time, but somehow, it’s not too painful. If
anything, this feels like putting on an old scarf you used to love but forgot
about. I can’t explain why. Maybe it’s because the past week in the house
went okay, or maybe it’s because the mention of our surfing days isn’t related
too closely to bad memories. In any case, I don’t feel like punching
something, so I’ll take it as a win.
I throw him a glare. “You’re so annoying.”
“I could try to teach you again.”
My eyes narrow on him. “Right now, you’re acting like the guy in gym
class who acts like they’re in the goddamn Olympics.”
Will makes a face, one I’ve seen at least once when he bit into a lemon
quarter he thought was an orange.
I gasp. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
He shakes his head vigorously. “Never.”
“Oh, it was most definitely you.” I try really hard to hold off my smile,
but it’s impossible. I end up smirking. “You were the insufferable guy.”
 “Fine, maybe I was, but in my defense, I wanted to become a professional
swimmer, so…”
My smile dims. I didn’t ask him about what happened with his swimming
career, and he never brought it up, so I’ve been wondering all this time. But
the answer he just gave is an opening if I’ve ever seen one, so I take it.
“Why did you stop?”
His face doesn’t twist in surprise from my abrupt question, not that I
expected it to. That’s how we’ve always done things. No sugarcoating, no
smooth introductions. Straight to the point.
What he does, though, is sigh and lay down on his back. He doesn’t tell
me, but I can feel he’s more comfortable talking to me without us looking at
each other, so I lay down too. This is so not two people simply surfing at the
same time, but I want the answer too much to care. I leave my feet in the cold
water my body’s gotten used to in the past hour. My head rests on the rough
board, the sun rays burning hot on my face. The ocean behind us seems calm,
so we can allow ourselves to float on our backs, only rocked by the soft
movements of the water under us without fearing a giant wave shrouding us,
at least for a few minutes.
Some of the Southern Maine beaches are jam-packed during the summer
season, making the shore and the water impossible to navigate. You can’t
possibly surf without almost killing a little kid swimming in the waves or a
lady floating on a neon inflatable bed, way too far from the beach. In all the
years we’ve come here, we’ve discovered the best spots to find space on a
beach without being squeezed between two pride-flag-style umbrellas and
families shrieking when a seagull steals a ham sandwich from someone’s
extended hand while they’re talking. The secret spots are few, but when you
find them, you can let yourself float on a surfboard without a single sound
other than the waves roaring when they hit the shore, the water lapping
against your board, and the faint growl of an airplane engine far up in the sky.
I guess I’ll miss this when we sell the house at the end of the summer.
“My second year in college was…rough, to say the least,” Will says
beside me, voice low and soft, as if he thinks he might scare me off. “But the
third one? It was a pure nightmare.”
“What happened?” I ask before I can think about whether or not I want to
know the answer.
When he takes a moment to talk, I know I probably should’ve shut the
hell up.
 “My parents split up.”
I inhale sharply, so fast I think I might choke from it. But I don’t. I
survive this moment and the next one and the next one, no matter how much
it feels like I’m dying on the inside.
All of this. All for nothing.
Eyes closed, I keep breathing slowly, letting the warmth of the sun on my
skin soothe my raging heart. Will doesn’t say anything, like he knows I need
this time-out. We’re both aware of what this separation means, and what
we’ve sacrificed—or more like what he’s sacrificed—for it not to happen.
Fire builds in my chest, and I start to feel the sting of angry tears building
behind my eyelids. Teeth clenched, I turn to him, but what I see in his eyes
acts like a warm blanket around my shoulders, calming the emotions inside
me. He seems in pain. Like he doesn’t want to talk about this any more than I
do, but he still does.
You promised yourself you’d be friendly.
I take a few calming breaths, thinking about my promise over and over
again. Once I’m eighty percent sure I won’t burst out in anger, I clear my
throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t tell me he’s sorry too, and I don’t ask why. Frankly, I’m not
sure I’m ready to hear it.
Will sighs. “Anyway, it was really hard, and I was…” He lets his right
hand float on top of the water. “I couldn’t keep going. It was hard enough to
just survive, let alone practice twenty hours a week on top of four classes per
semester.” His fingers create ripples between us, and I stare at them. “I ended
up going to therapy, and I was medicated for a long time. I got through it, but
by then, I wasn’t on the team anymore and I didn’t feel like I could handle
that kind of pressure anyway.”
For the second time in a matter of minutes, my heart bleeds, but now for
the man who lost the thing he loved the most. During all these years, I
thought he had it good. While I was going to grief groups, I kept thinking, “I
got the short end of the stick.” When I started losing followers and sponsors
on my Instagram account during those first months because I couldn’t draw
anymore, I thought, “Will’s lucky. At least he went back to his normal life.”
When I couldn’t fall asleep because I could hear Dad sobbing in his room at
the end of the hall, I was thinking, “At least he still has his perfect little
family.”
 Maybe the lives we lived during those five years apart weren’t so
different after all.
I tilt my head toward him. His slightly curved nose is pointing at the sun,
a few droplets of water covering his tanned cheek. His cheekbones are
sculpted, hard lines I could picture in my sleep.
“I don’t understand why you want to keep this place if you had a hard
time once we left too.” The words escape my lips before I can think them
through.
His jaw automatically tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. When
we do heavy cleaning or work on the house, he never mentions the fact that
we’ll be selling it by the end of the summer, as if we didn’t agree on it. I’m
not leaving before summer is over. I’ll be winning this, and I’m pretty sure he
knows it. Still, when he talks about the house, it’s always as if we’ll be
keeping it.
“Because I’m better now, and I can see that the positives outweigh the
negatives. It’s…” He exhales, licks his lips. “It’s hard, living in constant
anger and regret.” His eyes narrow in on me. “But it’s possible to get out of
it. To choose to focus on the good parts. To choose not to give up.”
I force a swallow down. He’s not just talking about himself or the house
now, and we both know it.
But I’m not ready to talk about my own internal problems. Not now, and
probably not ever.
With a swing of my arms, I sit back up, then lie on my stomach. “Ready
to go back?”
Will looks at me for a long moment before he says, “Um, yeah, sure.”
I don’t remain here to talk. As soon as he gives me his answer, my arms
start to paddle and paddle, and when a wave catches under me, I let it carry
me to the shore.
 14

Five summers ago

I am drugged.
Very, very drugged.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.
“Honey, you okay?” Dad asks from the driver’s seat. He makes a weird
face when he looks at me, like I’ve just grown a second head. Maybe I have?
Laughter bubbles out of my chest.
“Oh boy,” he mutters, and I feel the car accelerating.
“I heel gweat, Dad, don’t wowwy.” I let my head fall to the side a little
too fast, and it hits the window. “Ow.” Pain lances through my cheeks and
teeth. Two giant cotton balls are squeezed between my teeth at the back of
my mouth, where my wisdom teeth used to reside. Out the window, I catch
my reflection in the side mirror and crack up again. I look like a giant
chipmunk.
“Boy, did they give you a horse’s dose of painkillers?”
I chuckle. “I’m a chiwmung, Dad, not a horf.”
He shakes his head, and I laugh again.
A song I think I’ve heard before starts playing on the radio. I shake my
shoulders to it, not giving a single care about the pain. This is good music!
Right as I close my eyes to enjoy it more, the song stops, and I scream,
“Heyyy!” just as my Dad says, “Hello?”
“Alan? Is everything okay with Violet?” It’s Mom’s voice!
“Hiiiiii, Mom,” I scream into the radio.
“She’s completely out of it. I think they gave her the wrong dose for her
medications,” Dad says.
“Are you kidding me? I’ll have to call them tomorrow to ask for an
explanation,” Mom says with her “I’m the boss” voice. I don’t know why she
sounds mad. I feel great!
“Sorry I couldn’t be there,” she adds. “We still have a couple hours to put
in on this tiny complication, but I promise I won’t be home too late.”
 The car turns onto a road with the most spectacular view of the ocean. I
gasp. “We should ho shwimming! Mom, come wishh ush. I mish you!”
Without noticing, I’ve leaned forward and gotten close to the car’s radio to
talk. Dad gently pushes me back.
“Oh, I wish, honey,” Mom says. “Another time, okay? Now you rest.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms like a big, pouting chipmunk.
Mom and Dad continue talking for a bit—about me, I think—but I lose
track of the conversation. I don’t understand Mom. She always says she
misses me, but when we’re here and we have time to be together, she’s
always working. She makes no sense.
Something vibrates in my lap. I look down to find a text from Samantha.
Sam: Your mom is freaking out. Are you okay?
I roll my eyes, then take a picture, smiling with a thumbs up. I don’t
bother looking at it before sending it to her.
Sam: Yikes.
Me: middle finger emoji
I lean my head back against the window. “Dad, we should kidnap Mom
sho she doesn’t have to work ever again.”
“Oh boy,” he mutters, not even looking at me. I don’t know why he
doesn’t say it’s a great plan because frankly, I’ve never thought of anything
smarter before.
“Yep, that’sh what we’ll do,” I state again, eyes drifting closed before I
force them back open.
“We’re almost there, Violet. Hang tight.” He’s looking at me now, so he
must’ve hung up with Mom.
I nod, my movement slow. I’m so tired all of a sudden. Dad puts on the
radio, and I sway to the rhythm of 70s songs I used to think were terrible
when I was a little girl but now think are awesome before drifting off.

***

Something hard is under my body.

It takes me a long time to emerge from the deep sleep I was in. My body
feels heavy, and for a moment, I allow myself to stay in this half-awake state.
It’s comfortable here. The hard object under me has sharp ridges, but it’s so
warm, I feel like I’m lying next to a fireplace. And the smell. Ugh, it’s so
good. It’s soft and fresh and summery. It smells like…
I force my eyes open, and as I do, all my suspicions are confirmed. The
object under my face is actually Will’s shoulder. We’re both seated on my
bed, his long arm draped around my shoulders. I have an arm tucked by my
side between our trunks, and another arm slung over his chest, my left hand
resting on his right shoulder.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Will says as he looks down at me. He’s smiling
softly, and boy, he’s beautiful.
“Hiiii,” I answer groggily. I wince a little at the simple movement. The
pain meds have started to wear off—I can feel it—but I’m still pretty high.
Maybe not thinking-I’m-a-chipmunk-and-laughing-at-everything high, but at
least a good wine-drunk level. Which would explain why I don’t move my
arm from around Will’s body right away. Deep down, I know I should, but
the instinctual part of me has taken over my body, and right now, my instinct
tells me to enjoy Will’s warmth for a little longer.
Sadly, he moves away first, amusement clear on his face.
“Don’t laugh at me,” I say with a frown.
Laughing, he says, “I’m not.” He brings a hand closer to my face, and as
he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, my instinct tells me to snuggle my
face against his hand. So I do.
He chuckles, scratching my cheek softly. “You’re still pretty drugged-up,
huh?”
Cheek rested on his hand, I smile and shrug.
Suddenly, I look around the room again, realizing I have no idea how I
got out of Dad’s car.
“How did I get hewe?”
“I carried you,” Will says simply, like it’s normal for him to lift me up
and carry me around.
“Oh,” I answer, the wet cotton balls in my mouth tasting like blood and
old saliva. Still, I’m too lazy to get up and go change them.
“The boys were getting antsy out here so your dad took them to the
arcade. Told him I’d make sure you were okay.”
“My hewo.”
He smirks. “Not your hero, only your best friend.”
My neck hurts from sleeping sideways, so I shift in bed to lay on my
stomach facing him, head leaned on my hands. While moving, I say, “A besh
fwiend who’sh been hiding shings.”
He raises one (both) of his eyebrows. “Hiding things?”
I nod. “Y’know, Willy—”
“Willy?” He snickers.
Face straight, I say, “Yesh, Willy.” I lift my chin to look at him. “I know
you’ve been dishcreet about college and your love life.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“No, you haven’t.” I shake vigorously, only stopping when pain lances
through my jaw.
The discomfort must be written on my face because he asks, “Do you
need more meds?”
I’m still feeling hazy, but the analgesia has mostly worn off, so I nod.
Will hands me a small pill and a glass of water, and I drink it (yes, with the
cotton balls in my mouth). I spill half of it on my shirt because I can’t close
my mouth completely.
Very chic, I’m sure. I giggle at the thought.
Once I’ve handed him my glass and he’s put it on the nightstand, he
slumps on the bed and crosses his arms behind his head. “Fine, then. Ask me
what you want to ask, and for each question I get a question too.”
“Fine. Where did you meet Kari?” The question escapes my lips before
I’ve taken the time to think about it. Although in my current state, it would
probably have gotten out anyway.
His lips twitch. “You’ve been waiting to ask this one, huh?”
“Anshwer, Willy.”
He exhales loudly as he looks at the ceiling. “She’s on the team. We
dated a few months, and that was it.”
“Wha happened?” I ask.
“Uh-uh. My turn.” He throws me a smug grin before saying, “What
happened on your date with Colin?”
I make a farting sound with my mouth. “He wash boring. I shink he
wanted to kish me sho I left.”
Will hums, nodding.
“Who did you date before her?” I ask.
His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he shifts on the bed. “Just this other
girl at the beginning of the year for a month or so.” He scratches his jaw,
which is covered in a light dusting of black hair. “What about you? Did you
date anyone before…well, in the past?”
I shake my head. “Noshing sherious.”
He nods again.
Back to my turn.
Questions swarm my head by the thousands, although everything’s a little
hazy. I wish I was more focused. I’ve rarely had the opportunity to ask him
such personal questions. Sure, we’re always honest with each other, but some
subjects have always been a little more taboo between the two of us. At the
same time, if I wasn’t a little high, I don’t think I would ever find the courage
to ask those questions.
I tilt my head left and right trying to find the perfect question to ask, and
when I find it, I grin and blurt it out. “How many people have you had shex
wish?” The usual Violet is nowhere to be found. I ask the question with a
straight face, not even hiding behind a pillow while asking my best friend
about his sex life. It’s something I’ve always wanted to know, and now that I
see a light blush covering his cheeks, I’m even more glad I asked.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea for us to be talking about this?”
I blink. “Oh, come on, Willy. I’m not twelve anymore.”
His eyes snap back to mine. Voice low, he says, “Trust me, I know that.”
A swallow goes down my throat. Must be this crazy surgery that’s
making me feel so weird.
“Jusht…anshwer the question.”
“Four.”
A drip of sweat runs down my back.
I don’t know what I expected his answer to be. Will is a hot young adult
in college, so I’ve always known he would get laid at some point. Still, who
were these girls? I need to know.
I swallow again as a wave of fatigue and dizziness hits me, and I close
my eyes for a moment. “Good for them,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry?”
I open my eyes back up and grin at him. “You look sho good right now,
do you know that?”
Will laughs. “The drugs are hitting again, aren’t they?”
I shrug again, a dreamy smile on my lips.
“Wanna go back to sleep?” he asks.
“Nahhh. I wanna look at you a little longer.”
He drags his tongue across his plump bottom lip as he laughs. I wonder
what it tastes like. He’s a real work of art.
“You think so?” he says.
Oh, I guess I said that out loud. Hope it was only the last part.
“Yeah,” I say as I flip to my back. “My followers loooooove you.”
“Your followers?”
“On Inshtagram.” I snap my fingers twice. “Wake up, Willy!” My head is
now at the level of his thighs, so I have to arch my head back to look at him.
He shakes his head. “I’ll choose to ignore that and ask, what about you?”
“Whah about me?”
“How many people have you had sex with?”
“Zero.” I lift my hand and make a big O with my fist. “I’m ash pure ash a
baby lamb.” I giggle. “Although I’ve tried stuff before, but jush by myshelf.”
I giggle, not sure why. I’m sure I wouldn’t want to have this conversation
normally, but now it feels awesome.
Above me, Will’s Adam’s apple bobs once, twice. Then, in a husky
voice, he asks, “And who do you think about when you touch yourself?”
I yawn, moving so my head is resting against Will’s thigh. So strong and
warm. “Depends. Shometimes actors. Shometimes models. Shometimes a
friend.”
Will is stiff as a rock beside me as I snuggle his thigh. My eyes are
closed, and I fight to stay awake a little longer. This is so fun! We’re sharing
so much!
“Whah about you? Who do you think about when you touch yourshelf?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I feel sleep dragging me down. It’s not
a battle I can win, no matter how hard I fight it, especially when he starts
dragging his fingers softly through my hair.
But right before I’m taken away, I vaguely hear his answer.
“You. I think about you.”
 15

Present

“Hey, wanna go for ice cream? I won’t even tease you about your disgusting
choice of—What are you doing?” I stop halfway up the stairs leading to the
attic, my hand on the railway as I see Will crouched in front of two dozen
boxes.
He winces. “Sorry, maybe later? I was thinking of starting to sort some of
the stuff cluttering the space here. We need to bring some of it to Goodwill in
the next few weeks.”
Right. Because that’s why I’m here too. Making sure the house is sellable
so I can get rid of it by the end of the summer and never come back here
again. It was starting to slip my mind after the nice week we just had. Since
we went surfing, it’s like something just clicked into place. I realized it was
impossible for us not to be friends. We just don’t have it in us. And it’s not
that our current friendship is an incredible one, but it’s…nice. We’ve
watched movies together at night and shared meals and talked about this and
that. I’ve started to enjoy myself. Even forgot on some occasions that this
wasn’t a typical summer at the beach house.
But seeing him going through our old stuff fully anchors back in my mind
the reason why I’m here.
“Oh,” I say, going up the rest of the stairs as I look around. Boxes are
littered all over the floor, some open and filled with old decorative trinkets
and silverware and dusty bedding. “I guess I can help you out with that,
then.”
The attic here isn’t creepy like some houses. Sure, it’s not finished, but
the ceilings are high and there are no hidden corners or shadowy spots. It also
helps that all of us kids played tag around here so much, I know all the crooks
of this place by heart.
Taking a seat in front of one of the boxes, I open it and peek inside. I
don’t know who made these boxes. When my family left, we didn’t take the
time to pack anything, and I doubt the Seabergs did. Maybe they sent
someone later.
This box is full of toys and board games I remember seeing spread all
over the living room floor. On top of the pile are twin planes the boys could
pilot remotely. They would sometimes go out in the yard and fly them into
the house to scare Nora while she was knitting a scarf or reading a magazine.
Under them, there’s a set of Legos Ollie swore he didn’t play with anymore
as a tween even though I’d caught him on multiple occasions building towers
beside his bed. There’s the dusty box of an Operation game, and at the
bottom of the box lies the famous pack of UNO cards. I grin as I take all of
the objects out and examine them, a thousand memories flooding my brain.
Before I can think of what I’m saying, I blurt out, “Do you think I could
keep this box?”
He turns to me and pauses for a moment before smiling slowly. “Yeah,
yeah, of course.”
“Good,” I mumble, putting the card game back in the box. Now that I
think of it, I’m not so sure what I’ll do with all these, but board games are
always useful in a house, right? Maybe one day I’ll have guests over at my
place, and then I’ll be happy with my decision.
After putting all the games back inside, I close the box and move on to
the next. On it is written BEDROOM STUFF. Whose bedroom?
Inside the box are two pairs of sheets, which I quickly discard in Will’s
pile of things to donate. I think they might have been in my parents’
bedroom, but I’m not sure. When we were at the beach house, I almost never
went in there. Dad would usually hang around the kitchen or the living room,
and when Mom was in her room during the day, it was usually because she
had a migraine or had to work, so I wouldn’t go bother her in there.
I gasp, a smile creeping up my lips when I return to the box and find one
of my dad’s plaid shirts. He’s been looking for it for years. He told me he
was sure he hadn’t brought it that summer, but I guess he did. I snap a pic and
text it to him. He answers a few seconds later.
Dad: Oh, wow!
A few seconds later, I receive another text.
Dad: What are you doing?
I frown. This isn’t suspicious, right? I could be doing this by myself,
especially since I’m technically still here to sell the house. There’s no reason
for him to doubt I’m alone here.
 Me: Sorting through some stuff.
It takes a short while for him to answer.
Dad: Oh.
Dad: Okay.
Dad: You can call me anytime if you need to talk. You know that,
right?
I grin.
Me: Yes, Papa bear. xx
Dropping my phone down, I return to the box, prepared to find some
more goodies. There are a few more pieces of clothing I think used to belong
to my dad, but underneath them is something I recognize in a heartbeat, and it
definitely doesn’t belong to my dad.
Mom’s cellphone.
Slowly, I pick it up and examine it between my fingers. We wondered for
days where that damn phone was. It wasn’t on her the night she died, which
was so weird. She never left without her phone. It would always be on her, if
not between her fingers, then at least in the front pocket of her fitted cigarette
pants. Finding it… It’s like finding another part of her.
I must’ve stopped moving, stopped breathing, because after I relive the
entirety of my childhood in a single moment, Will says, “Hey, you okay?
Wait, is that…”
Keeping my eyes on the phone, I say, “Y-yes. It is.”
There’s some shuffling to my right, where Will was sitting, and next
thing I know, he’s kneeling beside me. “Are you okay? What do you need
from me?”
I don’t answer either of his questions. It’s not like I have the answer
anyway.
Minutes pass as I keep staring at the phone from all angles.
“This thing contains so many answers I never got.”
“Violet…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, my name only rolling from his tongue like
a plea.
“I never got those answers.” Heart in my throat, I drag my eyes up to his.
“Maybe you did, but I didn’t, and it’s been eating me up inside for years.”
He swallows. Opens his mouth to start, then closes it. He does this again
and again, until he sits on his heels and says, “I did get some answers. Not all
of them, but some. And I’ll tell you what I know if that’s what you want, but
honestly, I’d rather not. It’s not going to help you. That I can promise you.”
His gaze is wide. Distraught. In it, I see that maybe, just maybe, he’s
right, and knowing might be worse than not knowing.
Still, I look at the phone and feel a little envious. This tiny metal thing
knows everything. Why my mom did what she did. What she might’ve been
thinking before she died. What truly happened in the days, weeks, and even
years before it happened.
I could plug it into the wall, and in a few minutes, I could know
everything, once and for all. I could go through her texts and search history
and even bank statements from that time. I’m sure I could guess her
password. Probably my dad’s birthday.
At least I hope it’d be.
It would be an invasion of privacy, real and true, but it’s not like I haven’t
earned it. She owes this to me, after the nightmares that have woken me up
countless times and the weeks of crying into my pillow and yelling at the
entire world, followed by the days of complete blankness where nothing
could cheer me up or make me mad or sad or excited. I would go to class and
stare at the wall and not feel a thing, then fail my exams and not give a shit
about that either.
Will must see the temptation in my face because he says in a low voice,
“Don’t.”
I let the phone fall to the ground, and my shoulders drop. I’m so tired all
of a sudden. Actually, it’s like I’ve been tired for the past five years, never
able to have one true good day that isn’t filled with grief-stricken thoughts
and chest pain from memories I wish I could release like petals in the wind.
“You don’t understand.”
His jaw shifts from side to side. “You’re right, I don’t. I haven’t lost a
parent, but I know what it feels like to be lied to by someone you thought
would never do anything like that.”
I breathe in and out slowly, so slowly. Stop this, Violet. I won’t talk about
this. Especially not with him. He abandoned me when I needed him the most.
If he’d been there for me when it happened, I would’ve talked through all
these feelings with him. But he wasn’t, and I’m not about to let myself rely
on him again. Not even when there’s a part of me that’s craving to tell him
everything. My heart still sees him as my person, no matter what my brain
says.
As if reading my mind, he says, “Talk to me, Violet.”
And that unlocks something in me.
Head snapping up, I say, “And what do you want me to say? Huh? What
part of what you missed would you like me to tell you?” He flinches but lets
me continue. “That I never knew how to grieve for her? That I wished I could
think of nice memories I had of her, but that the mess that surrounded her
death made it impossible?” The phone digs into the skin of my hands from
how strongly I hold it. “That sometimes, when I’d think of her, I wished she
could come back just so I could punch her in the face for how bad she hurt
me? Hurt us?” My voice cracks over the last word, just as a tear escapes my
eye. I wipe it fast with the back of my hand. “Or would you rather I tell you
about the other times when I’d be so sad that I couldn’t talk, couldn’t sleep,
couldn’t eat, because what was the point of living when the person who loved
me the most was gone?” The last words come out as barely more than
whispers. More tears stream down my face, faster than I can hold them in. “Is
that what you want to hear?”
Will’s eyes mirror the pain I’m feeling as he sighs and does the last thing
I would expect. He opens his arms wide and says, “Come here.”
I shake my head vigorously.
His eyes never leave mine, so full of tenderness and understanding.
“Violet, come here.”
“No.” I wipe my cheeks again, these fucking tears keeping falling despite
the effort I put into holding them back. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Violet.”
When I don’t move and keep shaking my head, Will takes matters into his
own hands. In one quick move, he’s right next to me and his arms are
wrapped around my body.
“No. Don’t,” I say, fighting him off, but he simply hugs me tighter.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
“Please,” I beg as I hit his torso again, voice weaker than ever before.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” One of his hands cups the back of my head. “You’re
okay. I got you.”
And that’s the moment everything inside me breaks.
Tears pour out of me as I start sobbing uncontrollably. Will rocks me
back and forth, and I don’t have the strength to move away from him, even
though I know I should. But it feels incredible to be held. Like someone is
finally there to hold me back together. So, for this moment alone, I allow
myself to cry. For my dad, who lost the one person who was supposed to be
by his side forever. For my brothers, who were so young when Mom died and
who were probably scarred by it.
And for myself, who’s so broken that she agreed to rely on the one who
hurt her the most, despite all the times she told herself, “Never again.”
With a sniffle, I let my head fall on Will’s shoulder. The scent of his
shampoo and body wash envelops me, so soft and warm. One of his hand
moves so it rubs large circles over my back while the other continues to cup
my head, long fingers tangling in my hair. He continues to whisper words of
reassurance as he holds me tight. It’s the first time we’ve touched this way
since we got here weeks ago, and I wish I could move—this is dangerous
territory—but I can’t. Not when it feels this good.
We stay like this for a while, his body wrapped around mine like a
blanket while I match the rhythm of my breathing to the rise and fall of his
chest.
“I know it’s really not the same,” Will finally says in a low voice, “but I
felt a similar way when my parents divorced and Dad moved away. And I
don’t think I ever could’ve gone through that phase of my life without a lot of
the help I’ve received.”
The sound of his voice is enough to break me out of my trance. Wiping
my cheeks, I move away and sit at a reasonable distance from him. Eyes on
my lap, I say, “I tried therapy.”
“Yeah? How long did you go?”
I bite my lip. “I went to grief group counseling three times, but in my
defense, it made me feel worse every single time.” Talking to people face-to-
face was different than exchanging messages with people who didn’t know
me online.
Will gives me a sad smile. “I don’t think that’s enough for the kind of
situation you went through.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Therapy isn’t
always fun, and sometimes you need to face the hurt and feel a little worse in
order to get better. I know I did.”
I tangle my fingers together. “I’m not sure I see the point.”
“Well, the point is that it may take months, or even years, to sort through
all those feelings, but eventually, you’ll get better.”
He slowly lifts a hand, and with a hesitant look, puts it on my knee. “It’s
always going to be your decision, but honestly, it kills me to see you suffer
like that, and I know that talking about it with a professional could only help
you.”
I purse my lips.
“At least think about it, yeah?”
It takes a lot out of me, but I nod.
That gets him to smile. “Thank you.” With a tilt of his head against mine,
he adds, “It’s great that you’re helping all these people, but I want you to try
helping yourself for once.”
My jaw slackens. “What?”
“Your Instagram,” he answers sheepishly.
And that’s when I remember that Will knew about it when it was an art
account. Followed me, even. How did I not think of this before?
“You kept following it?” I ask in a small voice.
“I did.”
Shit. All these times I emptied my mind when I thought I was addressing
strangers, he was reading it all.
“It felt good to hear from you, even if it wasn’t directly,” he says. “And
when you started helping all these people with your photo montages?” His
fingers shift on my knee. “I’ve been so proud of you, even from a distance.”
I swallow. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Too late.
“But seriously Violet, what you do for others is amazing. I just want you
to try to give yourself the same compassion you give others. Okay?” A
squeeze to my knee.
I nod again because deep down, I know he has a point. I’ll have to think
about it more at some point. Just not today.
In a quick movement, Will gets to his feet and extends his hand to me.
“Now, how about we take a break away from that old stuff and go get that ice
cream?” With a smirk, he adds, “I promise I won’t tell you again about all
that you’re missing by not ordering mint chocolate chip.”
I know what he’s doing right now, and damn me, it’s working. A weight
is taken off my chest, small enough that I know our conversation will stick in
my mind for days, but still big enough that I can nod and take his offered
hand.
 16

Five summers ago

I think I might be dead.

At least that’s what it feels like when I open my eyes the next morning.
Mom wanted me to wait until summer to get my wisdom teeth removed
because the dentist here is supposedly great, but with the pain in my mouth
right now, I’m starting to think he probably got his license in a Cracker Jack
box. I know it’s been less than a day, but… Actually, how long has it really
been? I don’t remember much from after the moment I was given the
anesthetic drugs, so really, I could’ve been in a coma for a year and I
wouldn’t know.
With a groan, I roll out of bed and check my phone. It’s 10:30 a.m., and
yes, my surgery was really only yesterday. Pain radiates through my jaw and
head as I get up, and suddenly, I’m very thankful I don’t remember what
happened yesterday. The pain must’ve been unbearable.
Once I get to the bottom of the stairs, I find Dad, Nora, Ollie, Jensen, and
Will seated at the kitchen table. Samantha must still be asleep—that girl is
impossible to wake up—and Mom and David must’ve already left for one
meeting or another. Everyone turns to me at the same time, and their faces
change in a spectrum going from light discomfort to outright horror.
“What?” I say, feeling the swelling in my cheeks without even seeing it.
Ollie pinches his lips for a second before blurting, “You look like total
shit.”
I narrow my eyes. “Thanks, Ollie. Always there to make me feel better
about myself.” My words sound slurred, like I’m talking with a potato in my
mouth.
Nora gets up from her seat and comes to give me a big, warm hug. It
hurts where my cheek presses against her chest, but I don’t mind.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, rubbing her hands up and down my back, “looks
like you’ve had a rough night.” She pulls back and holds me by the
shoulders. “Want me to make you a nice bowl of Jell-O?”
 Right. Because on top of looking like a big pile of dump, as my dear
brother so nicely said, and being in a ton of pain, I can’t eat anything with
any kind of consistency.
Growing old stinks.
“Yeah, okay,” I say with a nod.
While she walks to the kitchen, the boys start arguing about who it was
that replaced the toothpaste in the parents’ bathroom with cream cheese. Dad
has his somewhat-pissed face on (he’s never been able to truly look mad at
us), his classic cup of green tea sitting untouched in front of him.
“Stop lying!” Jensen bellows with a throw of his arms.
“You stop lying!” his twin answers, and I roll my eyes. Everyone here
knows if one of them did a prank, the other participated too. Dad’s going to
wait a long time for a confession, though.
“Hey,” a deep voice says beside me.
I turn to find Will standing there, his hands in the pockets of his black
swim trunks, and obviously, no shirt on. His hair is already wet, and I realize
what day it is.
“Oh crap, I missed your practice,” I say, pouting—well, as much as I can
with my stupid swollen mouth.
He gives me a half smile. “It’s fine. Think you needed the sleep more.”
“I really look that terrible, huh?”
While wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing, he chuckles
and says, “You look beautiful. It’s actually much less swollen than
yesterday.”
“Guess I need to celebrate the little things,” I say as he drags me toward
the couch in the living room.
Once we’ve sat down, he turns to me, and the fun, relaxed expression he
wore a second ago is nowhere to be seen. In fact, he looks a little tense when
he asks, “So, um… Do you remember anything from yesterday?”
“Not really, no.” Now it’s my turn to tense. “Why? Did I say something
stupid?” I lift a hand. “If I did, I plead being drugged out of my mind.”
He shakes his head, looking stiff. “No, you were fine. Just fine.”
“Okay. So why are you making a face like you’ve got a stick up your
butt?”
He laughs, and when he comes back to me, the muscles in his shoulders
seem looser. “Nothing serious. Just thinking of something you said yesterday
that…intrigued me.”
 My blood freezes in my veins. Now, I’m not sure whether it’s better to
remember the clearly crazy things I’ve said or to be amnesic like I am.
I guess I like pain because I ask, “What did I say?”
Just as the question leaves my lips, I realize there’s one thing I could’ve
talked about that would mean the end of the world: the feelings I haven’t
been able to get rid of. If that’s what Will’s about to say, then I guess I’ll
have to move to Panama and build a life for myself there.
“You talked about ‘your followers,’” he says with finger quotes.
I repress a sigh, both of relief and annoyance. It could’ve been worse, but
Jesus, drugged Violet, what were you thinking?
Forcing myself to look as surprised as I can, I say, “I don’t know what
that means.”
Will rolls his eyes while he laughs. “Come on, V. You know I can tell
when you lie.”
“No, you can’t, because I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are.” He taps my nose with his index finger. “You always
scrunch your nose a few times when you do.”
Go to hell, scrunchy nose.
“So, what is it?” he asks.
Guess I don’t have a choice anymore. Groggily, I pull out my phone and
open my Instagram account. “Fine.” I throw him a glare. “But don’t you dare
mention this to anyone.”
He nods, and then, before I can change my mind, I hand him my phone.
I close an eye, then both, while he scrolls down the hundreds of pictures
of my drawings from the past four years. It feels like someone reading the
deeply personal birthday card you wrote for them in front of you, except a
thousand times worse. But I realize then that the silence is the worst part of
all, so I start talking.
“I started doing this for fun, just drawing the people I love, and then I
posted a few on this account, and people started to ask for more, and—”
“Violet, that’s…” Will interrupts. I open my eyes and find his jaw slack,
gaze wide. “That’s fucking amazing.”
A smile creeps up my lips.
“I mean, look at this.” He turns the phone to me, showing one of my most
recent drawings. It’s one of Nora and him seated side by side, both with a
book open in their laps. “I look good!”
I chuckle. I can’t tell him how much better he looks in person.
 He flips the phone back to him. “And thirty thousand followers? That’s
insane.” A second later, he laughs and says, “Hey, some of them are calling
me, and I quote, ‘Your Dark Knight.’” He waggles his eyebrows.
Pushing down a laugh, I shove his shoulder and take my phone back.
“So, yeah. I assume those were the followers I was talking about
yesterday.”
Will softly shakes his head. “I can’t believe this. Every time I think I
know everything there is to know about you, you find a way to knock the
breath out of me.”
Lungs inflated to the max, I force a smile.
Likewise, Will. Likewise.

***

After a week of eating like a toothless ninety-five-year-old, I’m finally back

to—mostly—normal. It would probably still hurt if someone punched me in
the face (obviously), but other than that, I can talk and eat and swim like
normal.
“V, you ready?” Will asks from behind me once we’re done eating
dinner.
I turn from where I’m doing the dishes with Jensen and Samantha. “Sure.
You can do my part of the dishes today, can’t you, Jensipoo?”
My brother kills me with his stare. “You’ve already taken a week of
vacation.”
I fake scowl. “I was recovering. That doesn’t count.”
“Next year, I’m the one who’ll ask for dental surgery,” Sam mutters
while scrubbing harder.
I bump her with my hip.
“Besides, you wouldn’t want your sister to fail her math classes in
college, would you?” Will asks Jensen as he steps beside me and leans his
elbow on my shoulders. The simple contact makes my entire body erupt in
flames. My problem is getting out of hand, I know, but right now, I’m
playing the denial card, and I’m planning on keeping it that way until
summer ends. We only have a month left, and then I’ll have a whole year to
forget about my stupid feelings. Even though we’ll continue to talk every
day, I’m hoping the “far from the eye, far from the heart” saying will prove to
be true.
Jensen rolls his eyes so far, I think they’ll stay stuck backward for a
second. Then, he returns to his dishes, groaning, “Recovering, my ass.”
“Jensen!” Mom bellows from the table, a glass of red wine half full in
hand. “Language.”
I laugh at Jensen’s other eye roll. It’s like Mom has bionic ears. We can
never talk back, no matter how low we say the words. She catches
everything.
The four parents are seated at the dining table, chatting and laughing
loud. This afternoon, they made sushi for us, but I’m thinking the main
reason for their cooking activity was for them to be able to day drink. David
has told the same joke three times during dinner, and Dad guffawed all three
times like it was the best thing he’d ever heard, so I guess their drinking plan
worked.
Will and I start to leave the kitchen when Dad gets up from his seat so
suddenly, everyone stops talking.
“Alan, what’s wrong?” Nora asks, giggling. David laughs like she’s just
told a fabulous joke.
“I have an idea. For tonight,” Dad says.
Will and I stop in our tracks, waiting.
Dad gives us all a mischievous grin, his gleaming eyes so different from
his usual composed self. “Let’s go for a night swim. All of us.”
Mom puts her glass down, her smile gone. “I don’t think that’s—”
“That’s a great fucking idea, Alan!” David says as he gets up and slaps
Dad on the back.
“David, language! The kids!” Mom bellows, pointing at us.
As if we’ve never heard anyone say the word fuck before.
Meanwhile, Will and I are smiling wide. “Yes!” I say. “Let’s do it!”
Even Ollie, who was in the bathroom for the whole duration of the dishes,
rushes out and says, “I’m down!”
Everyone nods and looks at Mom with pleading eyes, as if she’s the
master of the house and we can’t do anything without her agreement. I guess
the pressure—and the wine—makes her crumble because she says, “Fine. But
we all stay close to the shore! It’s dark out.”
Since we snuck a bottle of wine during the afternoon while the parents
were cooking and I’m a little tipsy, I run to Mom and kiss her cheek. “You’re
the best,” I say, giddy, before running up the stairs to put on my neon-pink
bikini.
We almost never go swimming at night. Mom and Nora don’t like it
because it’s supposedly dangerous. When we were younger, they would tell
us sharks came closer to the shore at night and they could get to us if we went
in there. I’m still not sure whether that’s a myth or not, but right now, I’m
thinking we all need to die from something, right? David and Will (and Will
and I) have gone a time or two in the past, but never all of us at the same
time.
This seems to be a summer of firsts.
Once I’m dressed, I go down to grab a towel and wait for everyone else.
They all come down in the following minutes dressed in their swimsuits—
even Nora, who must be really drunk because she usually never goes in the
water—except for Mom. She’s still wearing her straight white shorts and
black tank top that shows her toned arms and milky skin. I don’t say anything
as we head out the door and start walking toward the beach; at least she’s
coming with us for once.
“Look at this night, guys,” David says, his arms in a V shape toward the
sky. “It’s so…so…perfect.”
“And they tell me I shouldn’t drink,” Samantha mumbles in my ear. I
snicker.
“You guys are slow!” Jensen yells, already a block past us with Ollie.
“Come on!”
“Oh yeah?” David shouts back. “Challenge accepted!”
He starts running, and I follow with Samantha, laughter bursting out of
me. The air is warm, but as I run down the street, wind in my hair and sounds
of laughter from the people I love most all around me, goosebumps raise on
my skin. This is what summer is all about.
“Slow down, David!” Mom yells, farther and farther behind us. “It can be
slippery near the beach!”
I turn around and see that Will and Nora have started racing us. Mom is
still walking normally, but Dad is tugging at her hand, and she’s smiling.
He’s going to get her.
We soon reach the beach, and farther down, I spot a hint of firelight. I
went back to the bonfire two days ago with Sam, and seeing Colin was
awkward, to say the least. Since our date, I hadn’t ghosted him per se, but I
had told him I saw him more as a friend. When he saw me again, he gave me
a polite smile but talked with someone else all night, and I was fine with it.
However, I’ll need to ask Sam to find another friend to go back to the bonfire
with her because I’m not interested in feeling that uncomfortable again.
I slip off my flip-flops before returning to my racing. It’s so much like the
run we made the first day of summer, which was only a month ago, but I
somehow feel different than I did on that day. Older, maybe.
The water comes into view as we climb the hill and pass the footbridge,
all black and shining under the moonlight. I have to agree with Mom for
once; this is a little scary. Right now, we can’t discern the end of the water
from the night sky, so it looks as if we’re entering an infinite abyss of
darkness. Maybe I wouldn’t do it if I was alone. But when I see my brothers
running in without a moment of hesitation, Samantha squealing while riding
piggyback on Jensen, followed by David, who splashes water all around him
with his big movements, I know I couldn’t not go in. I’d follow these people
anywhere.
I scream as two hands squeeze my shoulders from behind. Turning with
wide eyes and my fists ready to fight, I relax when I see Dad’s smile, wider
than I’ve ever seen it.
“Oh, it’s—Ahhh!”
Dad picks me up like a potato sack before I even have a chance to say
another word. I start kicking and squirming on his back as he runs toward the
water.
“Dad, no, you wouldn’t!” The water is colder than Antarctica, and while I
know going in all at once is the best strategy, right now, I’m not feeling that
brave.
“Oh, Violet, honey, you know I’d do anything for you.”
His feet reach the water and a mix of yelps and giggles come out of my
throat as water starts splashing around my face. “No, no, no, let me down.”
Finally, he stops moving when my face is an inch above the water line
and picks me up. “Gladly,” he says, his smile more wicked than the devil’s,
before throwing me in the water.
I only have the time to squeal for half a second before the ice-cold water
engulfs me.
When I get out, my hair stuck to my face, I gasp, half laughing. “Oh,
Alan, you’ll pay for this.”
He smiles wider, something I so rarely see on his face. I love it so much.
“Alan? Where did Dad go?”
I trudge back in his direction. “Dad disappeared the moment he showed
his traitor face.”
He laughs, head thrown back, as I run to him and tackle him like a
football player, pulling him down with me. When I get out of the water, Dad
still chuckling beside me, I see Will doing something very much like what
Dad did with me, except it’s Nora being thrown in the water.
“I didn’t want to wet my hair, Will!” she shouts when she breaks the
surface, her red mane all slicked down, but she too is laughing harder than
I’ve ever seen her.
“Oops,” Will says before diving beside her. When he comes back up, he’s
yards away from his mom, now closer to Samantha and the boys, who I see
brought their boogie boards with them. The waves are pretty tame, but they
still try to catch some of them, riding their boards for a few seconds before
swimming back and doing it again.
Samantha yelps when Will jumps on her back, and they both lose their
balance and fall backward in the water, laughing loud.
My cheeks are hurting from how hard I’m smiling. We’re living a
summer night’s dream, and I never want it to end.
I turn toward the beach, where Mom is standing, bare feet almost
touching the water line, her arms crossed in front of her, while Dad is
heading back toward the shore. When he reaches her, he grabs her hands and
pulls her softly toward the water, but her feet are firmly planted in the
ground. From where I am, I can’t hear what they’re saying—especially with
the sounds of water splashing and people shrieking and laughing around me
—but I see the moment her resolution starts to wane. Dad never lets go of her
hands, and at first, she shakes her head and keeps a straight face, but
eventually, she starts smiling, and even giggling like a schoolgirl. I only see
her in this state, so relaxed and comfortable, when she’s with Dad. No one
can make her laugh like he does. Even when he says a stupid joke that no one
finds funny, we’ll hear Mom laughing at it, alone.
After a minute of what I assume is hard bargaining, he does the
impossible: Mom is following him in the water. She’s going in, clothes and
all, and with a smile, at that! My mouth is wide open as I look at them
running into the water, Dad’s body already wet while Mom finds out just
how cold the water is. I can’t believe he did it.
When they’re close to where I am, I run in their direction and jump
around Mom’s body, koala-bear-style. We quickly lose our balance, and she
falls backward, but since we’re not in the deep end yet, she can touch the
bottom with her butt and stay seated in the water.
She laughs. “What was that for?”
“I’m happy you came.”
A beat passes before she hugs me back and kisses the top of my head.
“Me too.” She shifts under me. “But now you’re crushing me.”
I pull back and grin one last time before running back to the other kids.
Will has stolen one of the boys’ boards—I think Jensen’s, but in this darkness
and with my mind twirling with alcohol and giddiness, I can’t be held
accountable for differentiating between my brothers. Behind us, the moms
stay in the shallower end while the dads start doing laps, diving only to break
the surface twenty seconds later, and then back in the water again.
I reach a deeper spot and start swimming in place, watching the three
boys shouting and laughing as they ride some of the small waves.
“So, Will, huh?” a voice I’d recognize anywhere says beside me.
Samantha is looking at me with an eyebrow raised—she’s better than her
brother at that—and a smirk on her lips.
“What?” I say.
“You have feelings for him,” she states simply, like she’s telling me she
knows my favorite cake is coconut.
“Wha… I don’t… I…” I look left and right, heart speeding, before I
return to her and say, “How?”
Samantha smirks. “Come on, Tig.” She nods her head in his direction.
“You look at him like he’s your heaven on earth.”
I swallow hard.
“I’ve had doubts for a few years now, but this summer, it’s written all
over your face.”
I open and close my mouth a few times before saying, “Sam, I’m sorry, I
—”
“Hey, it’s fine. You don’t control that sort of thing.” She nudges me with
her shoulder. “Just… You know, make sure this is what you really want
before you make a move. Not just because he’s my brother and I don’t want
him hurt, but—” Her eyes roam around the ocean, where our families are
swimming and laughing and talking together, intertwined like the roots of
neighbor trees. “—this should never be broken over romantic problems.”
I nod. “I know that. I’d never do anything to ruin it.” With an exhale, I go
underwater, giving myself a second to regain my wits. Samantha knows. This
is not just a pocket of feelings anymore if it’s written on my freaking face.
 It’s truly getting out of hand.
When I emerge, my eyes find Will’s silhouette instantaneously, playing
with the boys’ boards. It’s like he’s my true north, and I have no choice but to
follow him. I push my hair off my forehead and say, “It doesn’t matter,
anyway. We’re friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be.”
Samantha huffs beside me. “Are you sure about that?”
I turn to her.
“Because I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen my brother more smitten than
he’s been this summer.”
My brows furrow before I turn back to the boys. At this exact moment,
Will turns to us, too. Well, to me. Our gazes connect, and while fireworks
pop in my belly, his face transforms. The corners of his eyes crinkle, his lips
stretch in a big but oh-so-tender smile. The lines in his forehead soften.
And for the first time in my life, I find myself thinking, maybe, just
maybe, this isn’t one-sided after all.
 17

Present

“I still don’t understand where we’re going,” Will says.

I look away from the road just to see him examining me. It’s still a weird
feeling to be the one driving Will somewhere. Sure, I’m not scared of taking
the wheel anymore, but before, he would always be the one driving when we
took the car.
“I told you,” I say, “we’re going to run some errands.”
“But what errands? And why did you need me there?”
I repress a groan. “Since when did you become such a curious little
creature?”
“You’re being weird,” he says with a glare.
“Am not.”
But I am. I really am.
It’s Will’s birthday today, and something compelled me to organize
something for him. I’m not exactly sure what’s behind this. Maybe it’s that
he’s been there for me in the past week, encouraging me to call a local
psychologist and just being a good listening ear. It doesn’t matter anyway; I
decided I’m doing it.
The thing is, I wanted to keep this activity a surprise, so I didn’t wish him
a happy birthday this morning. And to my surprise, he didn’t bring it up.
When we were younger, he would come wake me up at six in the morning for
me to tell him happy birthday. Every. Single. Year.
But today, he didn’t even mention it.
“Come on, just tell me,” he says as I flip my blinker to turn in the parking
lot to my left.
“We’re here!” I half yell. Thank God. I don’t think I could’ve kept him
off my back for long.
I get out of the car before he can ask me questions, and after a pause, he
follows me.
“I don’t understand,” he says after looking around at the Lobster and Co.
sign on the old wooden shack we’re standing in front of.
“Happy birthday, Will,” I say with a small smile.
He turns to me, eyes wide.
“You always said you wanted to try the whole lobster fishing experience,
so, um, here we are.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I feel my smile dimming. What if he
did try it in the past five years and now my idea looks stupid?
“Are you serious?” he asks.
My throat bobs. “Well, yeah.”
Then, and only then, does his face split into a giant beam. “Thank you, V.
So much.”
The sound of my old nickname coming out of his lips rolls over my body,
tickling my skin. It’s so comfortable, like slipping into a pair of old slippers.
I don’t correct him this time. Instead, I exhale and smile.
With a giddy expression I try to keep in check, I say, “Okay, let’s go in,
then!”
We head inside, where we’re handed the most stylish pair of highlighter-
orange coveralls and large rubber boots. To top the gorgeous outfit, the
elderly lady working the front desk gives me a matching impermeable hat,
which I’m sure fits just right with my pale hair.
Once we’re dressed, Will takes a good look at me before pinching his
lips.
“Shut it, Seaberg.”
A chuckle bursts out of his lips.
“Just go out by the back door, and the captain should be there to instruct
you,” the lady says.
After thanking her, we walk out the door, where a sixty-something man
with a big, white beard welcomes us, all smiles and crinkly eyes. His skin is
tan and wrinkled, the proof of a life spent outside in the sun. He leads us to
the front of the boat, where we wait for a few more people to climb in. Then,
we’re off to the seas, the smell of fish and seaweed and salt water pungent on
deck.
The boat doesn’t go that fast, but we still catch on some waves, which
make us bob up and down. One of them is particularly intense and makes me
lose my balance. I start falling to the side, half shrieking, half giggling as I
think I’ll soon be a big blob of orange on the floor of the boat. Thankfully,
Will is there to catch me with a strong arm wrapped around my back.
 “Oof, thanks,” I say.
His arm stays on me longer than it should, then he nods and moves it
away. My skin keeps tingling where he touched it, even moments later.
The wind is strong, catching in my braid and Will’s short curls. It’s not
exactly sunny, but the air is warm, and with our heavy suits, we’re thankful
for the gray skies and heavy breeze. Will’s eyes close for a while, as if he
needs all his attention to enjoy the feel of the wind on his face.
“This is so great,” he says, looking so serene for a moment.
“I’m glad.” My hands tighten around the side of the boat. I’m not about to
tip again. Feeling his body against mine is messing with me, and I don’t need
that any more than what can’t be avoided.
“Hey, Will?” I ask as the boat starts slowing down a few minutes later.
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday this morning if you thought
I’d forgotten about it?”
He shrugs, then tugs at the clips of his coveralls. “I don’t really feel like
making a big deal out of my birthdays anymore. After that last summer…”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, it was the last time we’d all celebrated
together, as a family, and it didn’t feel the same after that, when you all
weren’t there.”
I give him a sad smile. I want to tell him that I’m here now, but I’m not
sure that’s the whole truth. A big part of me still has no idea what will happen
with us once summer ends and we sell the house.
“Everyone, gather ’round!” the captain calls from the back.
Swallowing, I look away. We join the group around the large cords that
are lifting the lobster traps, and Will and I gasp when the traps are dropped to
the ground, filled with plump, red lobsters and a few crabs.
“Ahh, we got a good catch today!” the captain says.
We’re then showed how to measure the lobsters to make sure they’re big
enough for us to keep. When we find one that’s too small, the man hands it to
me so I can drop it back in the water. The little beast seems to have some
fight left in it because it tries to pinch me. Luckily, I drop it at the right
moment and avoid a large cut.
“You’re good at this,” Will says with a smirk as I get back to our cage.
The captain handed one to every group, and it’s now our turn to sort through
the lobsters to know which ones we can keep.
“Right? Maybe I should make that my next major. Lobster sorter.” I say it
with a grin, but Will doesn’t seem to find it so funny.
“About that,” he says as he measures a huge lobster that we’ll no doubt
keep, “I didn’t ask, but what are you studying?”
I drag my tongue over my teeth, eyes on the lobsters. “I’m a business
major now.”
He pulls back, frowning. “Really?”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just…surprising, is all.”
“Right.” I pinch my lips. “Well, who knows if I’ll even finish it.”
“What does that mean?”
Oh, how I wish I didn’t have to explain that. Sitting on my heels, I say,
“I’ve struggled quite a bit to find something I loved in the past years.” I still
haven’t called to find a new internship for the fall semester, and I know I
shouldn’t keep delaying it, but every time I think I’m ready to make some
calls, it’s like a thousand-pound weight is dropped onto my shoulders, and I
decide it’ll wait until the next day. And the next. And the next.
“And do you love it?” Will asks.
“What?”
“Business school.”
“Sure,” I say with a nod.
His stare is disbelieving. “Then why did you just scrunch your nose?”
Damn it. I forgot about that. Shrugging, I escape to go put a small lobster
back into the water. Once I’m back, Will thankfully doesn’t bring it up again.
Instead, he keeps his eyes down and says, “So I gather you caught up with
your math classes after all?”
I clear my throat. “Actually, I received a diagnosis last year. Apparently,
I’m dyscalculic.” I shrug. “Explains why I was so bad at it, and at least I get
more time to complete my exams now.” I’m still struggling a lot, but this
extra time allows me to pass, even though I’m always on the verge of failing.
I won’t mention that, though.
“Oh,” he says while putting elastics around a lobster’s claws. “Well, I’m
glad you got some answers after all.”
“Yeah.”
He stops talking for a moment, and just as I get back to work, he says,
“Still, that doesn’t explain why you’re studying something you don’t like.”
“I told you I liked it.”
“But—”
 “Will, let’s just drop this, okay?”
He studies me for a moment, jaw ticking, before he lifts his hands and
says, “Sure.”
I give him a quick smile, then refocus on the task at hand. I start helping
him with putting rubber elastics around the claws of the selected lobsters, and
while I never get pinched, Will’s hands are bleeding all over. I can’t stop
laughing, seeing him getting attacked left and right.
“They really don’t like you,” I say, smirking.
“We can’t all be lobster whisperers.”
I stick my tongue out.
“What about you?” I ask as I drop another lobster in the crate. “Is
teaching everything you wanted it to be?”
If I thought he’d looked happy before, it was nothing compared to the
light that just got turned on in his eyes.
“It’s amazing, Violet. I mean, there’s some hard days, that’s for sure, but
the feeling of passing on my passion to these students… It’s something else.”
I smile. “I’m happy for you, that you found your calling.”
As if knowing what I’m thinking, he says, “You will too.”
I don’t bother telling him that after starting countless majors, I think it’s a
lost cause for me to keep wishing I’ll find something I love. Hopefully, I can
just finish this one and find a job that doesn’t make me want to cry every
single day. If I can do that, then I’ll be okay.
“Okay, crew,” the captain calls as he puts the empty cages back into the
water. “You can all pick the lobster of your choice to bring back home for
dinner.”
Both our gazes flick up to the other’s at the same time.
“Bet I can find one bigger than yours,” I say.
“You think?” Then, before I can answer, he’s on his feet, running.
The cheat.
In one swift movement, I’m running after him. Only, I must be more
stable on my feet because just as we reach the halfway mark to the big bucket
of lobsters, Will slips over something and falls face first on the nasty surface
of the boat.
“Sucker!” I shout as I pass him.
His laughter is loud and clear. “Aren’t you going to help me up?”
“Nope!”
“You little minx,” he mutters behind me. I’d bet my life there’s a smile
on his face.
I reach the bucket a good five seconds before him, and that’s enough for
me to grab the biggest lobster I’ve ever seen.
“Mine’s just as big,” Will mutters as we walk back to our resting spot.
“In your dreams, you sore loser.”
“Says the girl who pushed me while racing.”
I scoff. “You know damn well I didn’t push you.” Smiling in a way I
know will annoy him, I add, “You just suck.”
With a roll of his eyes, he nudges me with his shoulder. I laugh, and he
soon joins me.
The boat slowly starts speeding back to shore, and the wind returns to
flinging my hair—and hat—all over the place.
I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Will’s looking far ahead, a tiny smirk taking form on his lips. “Remember
that time when your dad was making lobster rolls for all of us and before we
started eating, Ollie yelled that lobsters suffer a lot before dying?”
“Oh my God, I’d forgotten about that!” I chuckle. “He’s such a dork
sometimes.”
The sounds of the engine and the waves lapping against the shell of the
boat are the only things between the two of us for a moment. Most of the
other passengers are busy gazing at the infinite-looking ocean, so wide and
beautiful, especially when the sun peaks through and lights it up a
magnificent cerulean blue.
“I miss them,” he eventually sighs.
His words are like a hit to the stomach, a reminder of all that we’ve
missed. Still, the pain is less than usual. Almost like my body is soothed by
the closeness of him, which is a thought I won’t linger on.
“They… They miss you too.”
He doesn’t answer, just nods as he keeps his eyes on the water.
It’s not like the boys and I have talked a lot about the Seabergs in the past
years. Actually, we’ve mostly avoided the subject, especially when Dad was
around. But sometimes, in the past years, I’d hear them talk about something
Will would’ve liked, or something that Samantha used to hate, and I knew
deep in my heart I wasn’t the only one who felt like I’d lost part of my world.
Once the boat reaches the shore, we hop out and go inside the shack to
hand back our lovely costumes. As we walk out, Will starts heading to my
Fiesta, but I stop walking midway through the parking lot. He turns to me
with raised eyebrows.
“Would you…” I lick my lips. “Would you like to video call them? The
boys, I mean.”
His eyes become rounder, and he stares at me for a long moment before
he says, “You think we could?”
I think about it, but just for a second. Will never hurt the boys directly, so
if I can be happy to see him now, I have no doubt they’d be too.
I nod.
The smile he gives me then is like a sunrise over the Atlantic.
Breathtaking.
“Okay, then. Come here,” I say as I walk toward one of the small wooden
benches facing the ocean. It’s getting late, and the sun is starting to set, a
gorgeous burning marigold enveloping us.
I call Jensen first, who’s in his dorm room with his roommate and best
friend. I make sure he’s free to talk first, and then hand the phone to Will.
“Hey, Jen.”
My brother’s jaw drops. “Wha… Will? What the hell’s going on?”
“We’re having a little meetup at the beach house,” Will says, voice
sounding a little unsure.
“What? And I wasn’t invited?” Jensen glares at the two of us. “You both
suck.”
Will grins. And just like that, I know this is all going to be all right.
The two of them talk each other’s ears off for at least half an hour,
sharing updates and exchanging jokes for old times’ sake. I eventually go on
a short walk to give them some time to talk alone.
Then, we do the same with Ollie, who’s in a park with his boyfriend. It’s
clear in my brother’s face he’s happy to present his special person to
someone who’s been a huge part of his life for so long. Will does most of the
talking on the call with Ollie, who’s become much more discrete than Jensen
over the years. Still, I know my brother, and he’s glad to see Will again. His
smiles are precious, and when he hands one to Will, I exhale, all the tension
left in my body gone. There. It’s done.
When he hangs up with Ollie, Will stares at the phone in his hand, an
expression of wonder on his face.
I get up. “Ready to go?”
He follows me, but instead of answering my question, he asks one of his
own.
 “Can I… Can I hug you?”
I stop breathing, only for a second.
He never would’ve asked before. He simply would’ve stepped forward
and wrapped me in his arms. And I would’ve been more than happy to
receive it.
There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before. His shoulders
are hunched a little, and while he’s taken a step so we’re closer, I know he
won’t touch me if I say no. And I should say no. But he looks so sincere, and
I know how that shirt will smell if I get just a little closer. I know how his
arms will feel around me. How his stomach will contract while brushing
mine.
And fuck me, the temptation is too strong. Who cares about my stupid
feelings anyway?
I don’t bother answering. Instead, I take two steps forward and wrap my
hands around his body. We both exhale at the same time.
I didn’t realize how much I’d been craving this until I feel his Seaberg
hug again. It’s so warm and tight and strong. It means so much, in a way
words could never. Yes, he comforted me a week ago when I found my
mom’s old phone, but this is something else. It’s so… So intense, in a way
normal hugs never are.
I relish it.
“Thank you for today,” he whispers on top of my head. “It was the best
birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
“My pleasure,” I say, squeezing him a little tighter.
And it really is.
 18

Five summers ago

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him swim this fast.

That’s the thought that hits me as I watch Will try his fifty-meter again,
the tile floor of the public pool cold beneath my feet. The stopwatch in my
hands is ticking rapidly, but it’s like Will is faster than time itself.
A few days ago, he was met with the realization that he had to return to
Brown in less than a month. That means less than a month to reach his speed
goals and be able to stay on the swim team. And, yes, I know I told him I’d
admire him regardless of his performance, but I know Will, and I don’t think
he would ever be the same if he couldn’t swim competitively. The sport is
him.
After a swift turn at the other end of the pool, his lithe body comes back
my way in a front crawl. I don’t know what it is about this style of strokes,
but Jesus Mary Joseph, he looks so sexy I could die. The movement of his
arms causes his trapezius muscles to pop forward, while the rest of his back is
the epitome of strength and definition. Water sluices down his body every
time he comes up for air, and I find myself thinking I’d lick the droplets on
his face if I could.
What the heck is wrong with me?
He’s almost there, barely more than a few feet between his outstretched
arms and the border of the pool, and—
“Yes!” I scream, jumping to my feet as I push on the button to stop the
stopwatch. My jaw drops as I take in the time on the screen.
“What?” Will asks, hands by the side of the pool, chest heaving. “How
did I do?”
“You did it,” I whisper, still looking at the timer before glancing his way.
“You did it,” I repeat louder.
He removes his goggles and his cap. “I did it?”
Nodding, I run to the side of the pool and kneel to show him the
chronometer.
 21.27.
His eyes move back and forth over the screen, again and again and again.
“I did it,” he says, voice low and incredulous.
A grin curls my lips. “You did.”
Finally breaking his heated exchange with the timer, he lifts his eyes to
me and slowly smiles, a spring flower in full bloom. Then, before I have time
to understand what’s happening, he propels his upper body out of the water
and wraps his wet arms around my neck, drenching the front of my shirt and
my two golden braids. Laughing, I squeeze him back.
“I knew you could,” I murmur on top of his head.
“It’s all because of you,” he says, still stuck to my body like glue.
We’ve been coming to the pool at least four times a week since the
beginning of the summer, but I could never say I did this. It was all him and
his incredibly stubborn mind. I was only along for the ride.
I don’t know what I’ll do when summer ends. If Will has to go back to
school in less than a month, that means we only have that much time to spend
together before we don’t see each other for another year. It’s always been
hard—saying goodbye—but I don’t think it’s ever been like this for me.
When I let Will go in the past years, I thought that I would miss my friend,
but we would still talk almost every day, so I wasn’t too troubled. But now, I
keep thinking about whether he’ll date someone else next year, or about the
fact that he might fall in love with his person and not come back to the beach
house next summer or that he’ll forget about me and stop texting because
he’s found someone. Or maybe he will continue talking to me but will start
sleeping around, which I know is what college is all about for most boys, but
I can’t think about it. Not that I can control it, but these freaking feelings that
aren’t letting me go make the simple image of Will kissing someone else feel
like swallowing nails. A whole bunch of them.
And even if my intuition from the night we went swimming was right and
Will does have feelings for me too, it doesn’t mean he’s willing to risk our
friendship for them. I’m not even sure myself. The only thing left for me to
do is shut my mouth about it and hope the end of summer isn’t too painful.
Will pulls away from me, and I force a smile to my lips. No need to get
lost in what-ifs for now. We still have a month together, and I won’t let these
stupid thoughts ruin the time I have with my best friend. I’ll deal with my
ridiculous jealousy and what exactly it means once I have no choice but to
face it.
 “Ready to get back home?” I ask.
He smiles sheepishly. “Do you think it would be pushing it to try and do
it again?”
“Of course it would be,” I say before smirking. “That’s why you’ve got to
do it.”

***

The moment we open the front door to the beach house, Samantha comes
barreling down the stairs and jumps on my back, almost making me fall on
my butt.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” I say after I regain my balance.
“They’re here, and they’re doing a live show!” she says, her eyes wide
with panic.
“Who?” I say at the same time Will exclaims, “What the hell are you
talking about?”
“The Caged Lions!” she all but yells.
I gasp. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Samantha and I have been listening to their music since we were barely
old enough to understand what their (sometimes trashy) lyrics were about.
They’re the best alternative-rock band I’ve ever listened to, but they almost
never perform live. Every once in a while, they pop up somewhere and
announce a live show for the same night. Every time, it’s packed. The last
one they did was in Los Angeles a year and a half ago.
Excitement fills my body, and just like she did before, I jump on Sam.
“Are you freaking serious right now?”
“Yes,” she says, but while I continue to jump in place, her shoulders drop
and she makes a dejected face.
“What’s wrong? This is happening. Why aren’t you excited?”
I move away from her when she gives me the most despairing look I’ve
ever seen.
“I have a date with Michelle tonight,” she says.
“Okay… So? She’ll understand.”
Sam shakes her head. “I think she was going to ask me to make things
official. I can’t bail on her.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
 “Can’t you invite Michelle with you?” Will asks.
“You don’t understand,” she says. “I really, really like her.” Her teeth
gnaw at her bottom lip. “I think we might have something special going on.”
I close my eyes. I want to be happy for my friend, I really do, but good
God, is she serious right now? A date with her new girlfriend instead of the
show of a lifetime?
“I’m so sorry, Tig, I—”
“I’ll go with you,” Will interrupts with his deep voice.
“What?” I turn to him. “But you don’t even like them.”
He shrugs. “They’re fine, and I know you want to go. Amy would never
let you go alone, so I’m your only option, I guess.”
“You really would do that?”
“Yeah,” he says like it’s the simplest answer he’s ever given.
“Oh, but there’ll be rules, though,” he adds. “If you wear dorky merch,
I’ll act like I don’t know you, and don’t even think about asking me to carry
you on my shoulders the whole time.” He grins.
I fake-gasp and shove him, but what I really want to do is kiss him.
Holy crap.
Where did that come from?
I’m not sure exactly, but it’s the truth. When I look at him now, I want to
climb on my toes and kiss him. I want him to kiss me back. I want his chest
flush against mine and his skin under my fingernails and promises of forever
on his lips.
This is even more intense than I thought. I force a gulp down.
“So where is it exactly?” I ask, turning to Samantha.
“Boston. Eight o’clock tonight.”
I look down at my phone. It’s almost six already.
“We have to go now if we want to make it in time,” I say. “There might
be some traffic.”
“Okay, let me just grab a shirt and then we can leave,” Will says.
Nodding, I follow him up the stairs.
This is crazy. I don’t know exactly where the show is taking place. We’ve
never driven to Boston by ourselves—at least I haven’t. I have no idea where
my parents are, and I think they might have a heart attack if they learn I’ve
left without their permission. Yes, I’m technically an adult, but in their heads,
I’m a maximum of eight years old.
“Will, do you think we—AHHHHH!”
 Two creepy clown masks pop in our faces, almost making me pee my
pants. By the scream Will lets out, I think maybe he did.
Laughter comes out from under the masks. Laughter I recognize. I grit
my teeth and pull the masks off the hysterical laughing faces of my brothers.
“You stupid knuckleheads!” I say, swatting the two of them.
“You should’ve seen your faces,” Ollie says while Jensen is folded in two
beside him.
“We don’t have time for this! Ugh! Where are Mom and Dad?” If they’re
going to be in my way, the least they can do is be helpful.
Still laughing, Ollie says, “Mom’s at work with David, and Dad went to
the grocery store with Nora.”
Crap.
“We really need to get going soon,” Will says.
I sigh. “Okay, guys, Will and I have to go somewhere, and we don’t have
time to wait for Mom and Dad to get back, so you will need to tell them that
we’ve left for the evening and that they can call us if they need to. And
convince them this is nothing big.” If I call them now, they’ll start asking
questions, and I know it won’t lead to anything good.
Jensen purses his lips and crosses his arms over his chest. “And what do
we get if we help you?”
“How about I don’t tell Mom about the pictures you have of Angelica
Stanley in your phone?”
His mouth opens. “What… How do you… You wouldn’t.”
“Want to bet?”
With Ollie staring at his twin like he’s grown a second head, Jensen says,
“Fine, we’ll cover for you.”
I smile brightly. “Thank you so much, Jensipoo.”
I hear his groan all the way to my room. In a minute, I’ve changed into a
cute tank top and shorts, put on some deodorant, and packed my phone and
wallet in my purse. Will and I meet at the bottom of the stairs, where
Samantha gives us a grief-stricken face. “I’m so jealous. You guys have fun
for me.”
I steal a glance at Will, who’s watching me, smiling. “I think we will,” he
says.
I feel his words all over my skin.

***
We find a spot in the crowd a little over five minutes before the show starts.
We met a few spots with traffic, but when it cleared, Will sped just a little,
and as soon as we found the empty field in the Boston suburbs, we parked in
the first spot we saw and ran to the scene. In the car, my mom called—I
guess Jensen wasn’t convincing enough—and I reassured her that we were at
a party but would be coming back tonight. I might have kept what the party
was and where it was located to myself, but an omission isn’t a lie, right? She
would’ve freaked out if I’d disclosed everything, and I didn’t want anything
to ruin this night.
The sun is slowly setting behind the makeshift scene, creating a lazy glow
of red and orange and yellow over Will’s face that’s so beautiful I don’t think
I could draw it. Before leaving, he changed in a white T-shirt and Bermuda
shorts, classic Vans on his feet and a backward hat on his head. It’s a simple
look, but I die a little bit inside every time I steal a glance in his direction.
“What’s up?” Will asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at him.
I could go with an easy answer and say “nothing,” or I could go with the
real answer. What’s up? So much. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about
you. I don’t know if this will ever pass. I don’t want to ruin our friendship,
but I don’t think I’ll be able to act as a friend forever with these intense
feelings. I’ve never felt that way for anyone. When I imagine someone
touching me, I picture you. And I might be a virgin, but that freaking
backward hat makes me want to do wild things to you.
I open my mouth, uncertain of what will come out, but am interrupted by
a deafening guitar chord blaring through the gigantic speakers near the stage.
I turn to the front and start howling as my favorite band comes on stage.
From the corner of my eye, I see that Will stares at me for a long moment
before bringing his eyes to the show ahead.
Thank God the music started. If it hadn’t, I might’ve said some things I
couldn’t have taken back.
The Caged Lions belt out song after song, each better than the previous
one. At first, Will isn’t that into it, standing pretty stiff behind me, but I keep
dancing to the music, and eventually, he joins me. The air tonight is warm
and humid, making our skin sticky. The crowd around us is enormous,
covering most of the field. I let my body sway to the rhythm, the music so
loud it invades every single one of my cells and drowns all of my thoughts.
Here, I can just be.
After they have played most of their popular songs, the singer, a tall guy
with long black hair and silver rings on every finger, says, “All right, we’re
gonna slow it down a bit.”
The drummer starts playing a slow beat, and I immediately recognize my
favorite ballad of theirs. It’s mellow and heartfelt and delicate, but also a little
wild. I sway left and right, eyes closed, feeling the music, but mostly the
lyrics, deep inside my bones. And when the lead sings the words Who’s
fooling who? We both know it’s always been you, a pair of hands lands on my
hips. My heart stops beating, and my body may or may not become frozen. I
don’t need to turn around to know whose body is curling around mine. I
could recognize him from the feel of his frame, from the timbre of his laugh,
or even from the smell clinging to his skin. I know him like I know myself.
Slowly, I start swaying again, Will’s hands pressing ever so softly against
my hips. His body isn’t stuck to me, but I still feel him everywhere. His
breath over my bare shoulder. The hairs of his legs caressing the skin of
mine. The heavy presence of his chest behind me. And while I’m sure we
both realize this isn’t what friendly dancing looks like, I find myself enjoying
it too much to care. Maybe there’s still a line we won’t cross for the sake of
everyone, but for this song, I allow myself to feel it all. Just this once. I let
my head drop on Will’s chest and dance now, not to the song, but to the
rhythm of his beating heart.
When the song ends and the singer moves on to an upbeat cadence, Will
moves away, returning to his spot behind me, but still leaving phantom marks
all over my body. I don’t turn around, and when my heart rate finally returns
to something close to normal, I can enjoy the rest of the show.
By the time the band leaves the stage, my voice is hoarse from screaming,
an everlasting smile is on my lips, and my hair is plastered to my forehead.
Luckily, there’s a breeze, and as the crowd dissipates, it becomes a little
easier to breathe.
“So,” Will asks while we walk back to his car.
“I don’t have words right now.” I shake my head. “It was just too good to
explain.”
With a soft smile, he says, “Yeah, it was really special.”
My eyes catch his, and suddenly, I wonder whether it’s possible to let go
of the feelings we put out in the open while we were dancing together. He
doesn’t look at me like Friend Will does; his stare is one of a man who’s
craving something. And with this look, I know there’s no way in hell my
feelings are one-sided.
 I swallow and keep on walking.
Despite this knowledge, it’s not as simple as two people who meet each
other and decide to get together. We’ve got too much history to risk
everything on a whim. If ever it happens, it’ll be because we both realized
living without the other is impossible.
“Oh, shit,” Will mutters a few minutes later.
I look up to see what can only be described as a traffic jam on the field.
Cars were parked pretty much everywhere (and in every direction) so getting
out in an orderly fashion isn’t an option. Horns are blaring left and right
while most cars are stuck in place, unable to move.
I look at the time. 10:30.
“How likely is it that we’ll get back home before midnight?” I ask.
“How about zero percent?”
Crap.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to get out of this field tonight,” Will adds.
“We’re parked at the opposite end of the exit.”
“So what do you suggest?”
He looks around us before saying, “I guess we could lay down the
backseats of my Jeep and sleep there. We can leave early tomorrow
morning.”
After all the glances we’ve thrown each other tonight, the last thing I
need is to be stuck in a closed space with Will, but what choice do I have?
“Okay, then let’s call our parents and tell them we’re sleeping at the party
after all.”
We part ways to make our calls. I ring my dad first, and thank God, he
answers. Mom would’ve been way more suspicious, but Dad only tells me to
be careful and wishes me a good night before hanging up. Will also spoke
with his Dad, who was chill about the whole thing.
When we meet back up, we continue our trek to the car. Once we finally
reach it and Will pops the trunk to arrange our makeshift bed, it feels like a
ball of lead lodges itself in my stomach. I used to love how spacious Will’s
car felt, but now, it’s like I’ve never seen anything smaller. How am I
supposed to keep things platonic when I’m enclosed in such a tiny space with
the man who lives in my thoughts and whose smell alone makes my mind go
wild?
Stupid Samantha and her stupid date.
I help Will push the seats down. Thankfully, he has a sleeping bag in the
trunk from the time he went camping with friends from school, so we spread
it out to create the most uncomfortable bed to ever exist, but it’ll have to do.
“After you,” Will says as he points at the bed.
I feel like I could throw up, but as soon as he gives me a small smile, I
relax. It’s just Will after all. Will, who I’ve seen throw up after swallowing
too much salt water, and who was there when I peed my pants in the summer
of third grade after Samantha dared me to hold it in as long as I could.
I climb into the car, and he follows me in before closing the trunk behind
us. Thankfully, it rained this week, so Will put his doors and roof back on.
While it makes the space we share appear smaller, it also makes me feel
safer. Although it’s definitely Will who makes me feel the safest.
We lie down side by side, keeping a few feet of space between us.
“Thank you for coming here with me.” I turn my head to him. “I loved
it.”
“My pleasure.”
I shift on my back. “At least if we get killed by an axe murderer during
the night, I’ll have died a happy woman.”
He laughs. “Right, because everyone knows axe murderers hang around
Caged Lions shows.”
“You never know.”
After a moment, Will’s snicker replaces the silence that started to fill the
car. “Remember that time when we were, like, twelve and we went to this
play at the Ogunquit theater and we were convinced that the entirety of
Hollywood would be there and we started spotting celebrities that were
clearly not there?”
I chuckle. “Of course. How could I forget the day I saw Marilyn Monroe
in the flesh?”
“We didn’t know she wasn’t even alive anymore.”
“We were so stupid.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I nudge him with my elbow. His skin is so warm, I feel it even through
his shirt. My heart is suddenly tight in my chest. “We should probably go to
sleep since we need to wake up early tomorrow.” And since my feelings
seem to be all over the place at the moment.
“All right, you old curmudgeon,” he says, and even though I wasn’t
looking at him, I know he just rolled his eyes.
I’m so surprised by his comment, laughter bursts out of my chest. “Did
you actually use the word ‘curmudgeon’?” I chuckle louder, and his laughter
joins mine. “Only a true old curmudgeon would use that word seriously.”
“You’re the worst, you know that?”
We snicker together until our laughter dims down like a candle in the
wind.
We spend the next few minutes in silence, but while Will stays still, I
keep twisting and turning. A box of tissues is digging into my back, and what
might or might not be a pair of dirty socks is much too close to my face for
my taste.
I return to my back and say, “I can’t sleep.”
“Oh, really? I thought Jeep backseats and cars honking were the perfect
mix to fall asleep faster.”
“Shut up.”
He grins. “Come on, let’s play a game while we’re awake.”
I eye him suspiciously. “What game?”
He chuckles. “Not that kind of game, trust me. We can, um… Oh, I
know! Turn around.”
I give him another side-eye before complying.
“Okay, so I’ll draw something on your back and you’ll have to guess it.”
“Wow, what an original game,” I say.
“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t sleep, so shut up and play.”
“Fine.”
I wait for a finger to touch my back, but a warm pair of hands start lifting
the back of my shirt instead. My breath catches.
“You can detect things better with skin to skin,” he says as an answer to
my unspoken question.
When his finger finally comes into contact with my skin, a shiver racks
my body. It’s too much. His proximity, his body heat, his skin directly
against mine. Still, I don’t tell him to stop. It feels too good.
He draws a few lines on my back and stops before I say, “I have no idea
what that is.”
“Come on.” He draws the same strange shapes again.
“I don’t know if you decided to draw the weirdest thing in the world or if
you’re just a crappy artist.”
He huffs, then draws something else. I smile. “That’s a sun.”
“See? I’m good.” Then, without warning, he brings his hand back down
and redraws the sun, again and again. It’s only the tip of a finger, but it’s
enough to make me hot. I feel like I’ll start sweating if this game doesn’t end
soon.
I clear my throat. “Okay, my turn.”
We turn on our other sides, and I think for a moment before drawing
something I know he can recognize. I use the tip of my index finger just like
he did, but now I wish he hadn’t. If he’d used his whole hand, then I’d have
been free to touch the expanse of his back, golden and muscled, but I’m only
given less than a square inch of contact.
Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.
I draw on his back like I would on a canvas, all soft lines and slow
movements. With one try, Will starts chuckling. “Oh, I know. That’s Mr.
Fluff!”
“Yes!” I loved that stuffed bunny so much when I was a kid. I’d bring it
with me everywhere, so Will got to hang out with it numerous times.
“See, it’s all in the talent of the artist,” I say.
Looking over his shoulder, he hums.
And so the game goes. We take turns drawing some of the craziest things,
from the pizza place on Main Street to the Caged Lion’s lead singer. I don’t
get most of Will’s drawings on the first try, but I don’t complain, only
because I’ve never felt anything better than being touched by him.
“Okay, one last turn,” Will says as he softly pushes me to turn around.
My shirt is now bunched around my neck, exposing the back of my bra, but
it’s okay. Will has seen me in bathing suits all my life, and that’s basically
the same thing. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
He releases a long breath over my back before he starts tracing lines, but
differently, this time. I realize after a few strokes that it’s not a picture.
It’s words.
When he’s done, I say, “Again.”
He waits a little before writing, but again, I can’t say exactly what it is.
“There’s two O’s in there, and one L, I think, but man, your handwriting
is really bad. Do it again but not in cursive.”
He groans.
“I don’t know!” I say after he’s done it a third time. I guess my nerve
endings aren’t as good as my art skills. “What does it say?”
When he doesn’t answer, I turn and ask again, “What does it say?” I’m
smiling wide, but when I catch his face, my grin dims down. He’s gotten so
serious all of a sudden, although his eyes are wider. Storming. I don’t know
how it happened, but we’ve also gotten closer in the last few rounds, closing
the feet between us. Now, I can feel his breath on my skin and hear when he
swallows.
My chest is rising and falling fast, so fast, and while the ache in my
stomach has disappeared as we played, it’s been replaced by something else.
Want, I think. Or is it called lust? I’ve never felt that way, like I needed
someone to touch me. Heat is building between my legs, and is that what
people mean when they say they ache for someone’s body? It’s dark in the
car, but we’re so close, I can feel the heat in Will’s cheeks.
Slowly, he shifts forward, and I do, too. We’re both on our sides, but if I
just leaned a little farther, my nose would brush his. The gray of his eyes
appears darker, more like a tempestuous sea than a calm sky. If I had to paint
only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be this.
His eyes dip to my lips faster than lightning, but I still catch it. And while
I know I said before how we wouldn’t do this if we weren’t sure this was
forever, I think it’s inevitable.
Eyes fluttering, I bring my lips a hair’s breadth from his and breathe,
“What did you write, Will?”
It all happens so fast. One second we’re staring into each other’s eyes—
into each other’s souls—and the next, his lips are on mine, and my lips are on
his, and it feels like breaking the surface after being stuck underwater forever.
It’s as pure as a breath of fresh air and as vital as that first lungful of oxygen
after being deprived for so long.
Will’s kiss is possessive. Branding.
There’s nothing tentative about it. It’s like we’ve had years to prepare
ourselves for this, and now that we’re there, we want it all. Both our mouths
open immediately, and when our tongues collide, I moan—yes, actually
moan like a crazy person, but this is too good to stay quiet. He tastes like
mint, both familiar and new.
In one swift movement, Will lifts me on top of him so I straddle his lap. I
peer down at him, both our chests heaving. We’re not kissing now. We have
time to back down, to say this isn’t what we want after all. While the first
kiss was instinctual, the next will be reflected upon, at least a little.
“V,” he whispers, eyes on mine.
I slowly inch my mouth towards his, and he closes the space between us
by pulling me down by the neck. He groans as I crash against him, and I feel
the sound from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. He sucks on my
tongue and bottom lip before starting to kiss me down the column of my
throat.
Will Seaberg isn’t just a hugger anymore. He’s also a neck kisser. A great
neck kisser, might I add.
This feels so good, I wonder why we haven’t done it before. It’s like our
bodies were made to fit together, like his mouth was created for the sole
purpose of exploring my skin.
A pulse throbs between my legs, where I feel Will getting hard, and I
can’t help it. I grind my pelvis against his, moaning at the perfect feeling of
friction.
“Jesus Christ, V, you’re killing me.” He softly bites my collarbone.
“You’re… It’s… God.” Apparently, Will has rendered me literally
speechless.
In another quick motion, Will’s body pins me to the ground before
bringing his kisses lower, from my sternum to the top of my breasts. His
tongue works wonders on me, and when his erection grinds against my
middle, I bite my lip to repress another gasp.
His hand climbs from my hip to the hem of my shirt, and slowly, he starts
lifting it. “This okay?” he asks.
I nod because good God, this feels incredible, but then I remember who
we are and what we’re doing and what the stakes of all of it are, and I grab
his wrist. Instantaneously, he lets go of my shirt.
“Actually, I think maybe we should take things slow tonight. I’m not…
um… I’m not experienced, and—”
“Hey, V, it’s fine. It’s just me, remember?”
I nod.
“Besides, I could kiss you all night.” He drops a peck on my lips. “You
don’t know how long I’ve waited to do this.”
I swallow. “So we’re really doing this?” He’s shown me tonight how real
this is, but I need it put into words, just once.
“I don’t think we could avoid it even if we wanted to,” he says. “You’ve
always been mine, V, and I’ve always been yours. We just didn’t realize it.”
I smile. He’s put my thoughts into words.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
So he does.
 19

Present

“Hey, Agnes!” I shout as I walk into the gallery a week later. It’s nearing the
end of the day, the sky clear while the sun is hanging low outside the
windows of the shop.
“Back here!” she answers.
I go to meet her in the gallery’s back room. I’ve started coming here
every week to see the new pieces she gets—and to talk to her. She’s easy to
talk to, and since Kamali’s always busy with her daughter or the guy she’s
started seeing and there are some things I can’t quite share with Will, Agnes
it is.
“What are you working on?” I ask when I spot the paint-stained coveralls
she’s wearing over her mom jeans.
“Got some inspiration during the night, so I came down here and started
working on this one.” Her eyes never leave the piece in front of her as she
answers.
It’s beautiful. The colors are flashy, neon pinks and sunshine yellows and
blood reds. It reminds me of an East Coast sunset…or maybe of a heart in
love. It’s still far from complete, so who knows what it will look like once
it’s finished.
“I like it,” I say, taking a seat in one of the beanbags in a corner of the
room.
That finally gets her to look at me. “You do?”
“Mmhmm.” I don’t add that it’s something I would’ve wished to be able
to paint a few years ago. I wasn’t very good at landscapes. “The colors are
gorgeous.”
“Hmm,” she says, examining the piece. A spot of pink adorns her nose,
but other than that, her dark skin appears ashen.
“Have you eaten anything today?” I ask.
The questioning look she gives me is all the answer I need.
I get up and hand her one of the granola bars I always carry in my purse.
“There you go.”
She takes a bite while sitting cross-legged on the floor facing me. “Oh,
that does feel good.”
“I bet.”
After a few more bites, she returns her gaze to the painting. “I can get
caught up in the work sometimes.”
“Yeah, I get it.” During winter break seven or eight years ago, my mom
came into my room thinking I was dead because I hadn’t come down to eat in
more than twenty-four hours. I hadn’t slept in all that time, focused on a
drawing I was trying to turn into a painting.
Still chewing, Agnes frowns. “Have you worked on anything lately?”
I shake my head.
She watches me for a while but doesn’t make any comment on my answer
other than, “Well, if ever you feel the need to paint, feel free to come here.”
“Thanks,” I say, knowing damn well this will never happen.
Once she’s finished eating and I’ve brought her a glass of water, I say,
“Well, I guess I’ll get going then.”
“You can stay if you want.”
I shake my head. I know what it’s like to be in the zone, and while it’s
good to be interrupted every once in a while to remind you to eat and drink
and sleep, the last thing you want is for someone to stick around and mess
with your inspiration.
“But you just got here. Are you sure?” she says while she mixes some
pink and yellow on a stained plate.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I start walking toward the door. “I’ll come back
tomorrow to make sure you got some sleep though.”
A knowing grin adorns her lips. “See you then.”
Leaving the shop, I decide to take another route to go back home,
exploring more of the town. Again, as I cross shops and residential streets, I
notice things that have changed drastically, but mostly things that have stayed
the same. Surprisingly, it gives me a certain comfort now, to know that not
everything has changed. It’s like the town is telling me it’s okay to grow
because, at heart, I’ll always be the same person.
Just as I enter the beach house’s driveway, my phone vibrates in the back
pocket of my shorts. I pull it out, heart stuttering when I see the name on the
screen.
Duong Nguyen, realtor.
 He and I haven’t talked in a while. Even though I told him I won’t be
ready to sell the house until the end of the summer, he’s called me once a
week since then to let me know of any updates he got. We’ve also discussed
market prices and possible times for visits. But right now, I really don’t feel
like talking to him.
Before I can overthink it, I decline the call. I’ll call him back another
time.
When I walk inside the house, Will is hunched over the kitchen counter.
“I feel like going to get tacos tonight,” I say, toeing my sneakers off.
“You in?”
Turning around, he allows me to spot the cooler he was hiding with his
body before. “Actually, I was thinking of going on a picnic. I made
sandwiches for you too, but if you’d rather—”
“That sounds great,” I cut in. It feels good to know he assumes we’ll
spend our time together when I’m at the house now. It’s not exactly the same
as before, but it’s starting to feel pretty damn close, and I’d be lying if I said I
didn’t like it.
“Great, then let’s go,” he says as he grabs the cooler and leads the way
out the door.
I pick up two folding chairs in the garage, the early-August wind warm
on my face. I’m still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt from my visit to the
gallery, but I’m not planning on going in the water, so it should be fine.
We set up on the beach, our sunflower-patterned chairs digging into the
sand as the sunset creates a halo of hot fuchsia and burnt orange over the
water. I remove my sneakers and bury my feet in the sand that’s been
warmed by a day of pure sunshine and kids playing with their parents. Now
the beach is mostly empty, except for a middle-aged couple walking with
their feet in the water and two teenage boys throwing a ball back and forth.
It’s not our secret beach, but since it’s going to be dark soon, most people
have left already.
My heart sighs. This place is gorgeous.
“Tuna or chicken?” Will asks as he opens the cooler.
“Uh, chicken. Thanks.”
He hands me a sandwich and picks his before taking a big bite. I copy
him and hum.
“Wow, you’ve really gotten better at this cooking thing.” There’s so
many flavors mixing on my tongue. It’s far from a regular sandwich. I take
another bite.
“Didn’t really have the choice.” He shrugs. “You can only go through so
many episodes of food poisoning before you decide to do something about
it.”
I chuckle. “Thank God I didn’t get to eat with you then.”
He turns to me and gives me a bittersweet smile.
Shit. Wrong thing to say.
But before I can apologize for putting my foot in my mouth, he says, “I
would’ve made more of an effort for you.”
“Always my knight in shining armor.”
He grins, his freaking dimple pitting his cheek. “At your service.”
And with that, all of the tension evaporates.
We finish eating our sandwiches while Will pours me some sparkling
white wine and listens to me talk about my day, minus the part at the gallery.
I haven’t exactly told him about Agnes and my going there a lot. I don’t
know how I would take it if we brought up my old passion and I had to
explain why I don’t draw or paint anymore. It’s fine if Agnes does it, but only
because she’s unaware of everything tied to it.
In the last few minutes, the sun has gotten even lower behind us, now
coloring the water a deep purple with light streaks of violet. The waves are
moving back and forth on the beach, all the while producing nature’s most
beautiful melody. It is rhythmic while also being soft and comforting. Two
seagulls are flying above the water, their wings touching, almost as if they’re
holding hands.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say.
“It is,” Will answers, but when I turn to him, I see his eyes aren’t
admiring the idyllic scene. They’re on me, and in his hand sits his phone,
camera flashing the second my mouth opens in a gasp.
“Oh, no, you did not.”
He smirks. “What if I did?”
At a speed I didn’t know I possessed, I jump on him, my arms wrapping
around his shoulders as I try to reach the phone. Sadly, his arms are longer
than mine, so while I can see the picture he took—with my eyes wide and
mouth half smiling, half gasping—I can’t reach it.
“Delete this,” I say, struggling in his lap.
“Never.” His voice is strained from keeping the phone away from my
claws.
 “Why? It’s ugly!”
“It’s not ugly at all. It’s just… It’s so you.” A corner of his lips quirks up.
Chills spread all over my body. Still, I keep trying to reach the phone and
breathlessly say, “Delete this, or I swear, I’ll end you.”
He chuckles, belly jumping up and down under me. “All good things
come to an end.” The bastard shifts the phone from one of his damn long
arms to the other. “Guess it’s time I give sweet baby Jesus a visit then.”
Despite my annoyance, I laugh out loud. “God, you’re stupid.”
He shrugs, and realizing it’s a lost cause, I get up and move back to my
chair.
Looking around us, I realize the other people who were on the beach have
left, and while I’ve been alone all summer in the house with Will, it’s like I
feel it for the first time right now, especially after I’ve touched his warm skin
and his scent has clung to me. As if his presence is some palpable thing,
overwhelming every single one of my senses.
A lighthouse is creating a string of light a few miles to our right, but other
than that, only the newly present moon and stars are illuminating the beach
and water.
I can remember a time when I thought the ocean at night was scary, but I
don’t anymore. If anything, I think it’s soothing. Yes, it does blend with the
night sky, making it look endless, but isn’t that the most beautiful? Like when
you’re close to it, you’re part of something that’s infinite.
“Do you remember the last time we came here at night?” I ask.
“As if it was yesterday.” A breath, then, “The last time all of us came
here together, as a family.”
I force a lump down my throat. Not only the last time we were all here
together, but the last time I spent time at the beach with my mom. She didn’t
want to come, but once in the water, I’d rarely seen her that happy.
It’s not always easy to think of the positive moments I shared with my
mother, but tonight, it kind of is.
After a pause, Will adds, “That’s the moment I think of when I reminisce
on our summers here. It was a perfect night.”
My chin dips. “It really was.”
Will’s gaze is aimed at the water, giving me his profile. His strong jaw.
The hair curling at his temple. His soft lips.
Looking at him in this moment, I feel something I haven’t in years. A
tingling in my fingers. The foreign urge to draw. I know exactly how I would
portray him right now. I’d use soft strokes to create thin lines, giving the
portrait a whimsical, delicate quality—exactly the way I feel looking at him
basking in the moonlight, both the boy I knew and the man I’m getting
acquainted with, all in one. Not that I ever will act on that artistic urge again,
but it’s a familiar feeling all the same.
Will’s expression holds a hint of envy as he watches the water.
“Do you still swim?” I ask. “For fun, I mean.”
“Not really, no.”
The corners of my lips dip down. This doesn’t make any sense.
“Then can I ask you for a favor?” I say.
He turns to me, brows high.
“Please do it. Even if it’s just once in a while. For me.”
I know it’s hypocritical of me to ask this of him when I don’t do what I
used to either, but if you’d seen Will swim, you’d understand. He swims like
Da Vinci painted, like Yo-Yo Ma plays. It’s almost poetic. And the way he
lights up when he does it is even prettier. It would be a shame if he didn’t
swim ever again.
He tilts his head before he says, “You know what? You’re right.”
Jumping to his feet, he holds his hand out.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still seated.
“Going for a swim.”
I gape at him. “Right now?”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, we don’t have our suits.”
“So what?” he says, walking backwards as he removes his Henley and
tosses it to the ground. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”
“But…” Think, Violet, think. With the tension I’ve been feeling all night
and the feelings I haven’t been able to drown out, doing this is the worst idea
I’ve ever heard. “But it’s going to get windy tonight, and then we’ll be cold
when we’ll have to walk home in our wet clothes.”
He throws me a wicked grin, dimple and all. “Let’s keep our clothes dry,
then.”
Before I get the chance to retort anything, his fingers undo his jeans’
button, and he walks out of them, clad in only his black boxer briefs.
Head shaking left and right, I jump to my feet and take a step back. “No.
We’re not going skinny dipping.” This is worse than even my worst
nightmares.
 “Why not? You scared?” His traitorous feet take him another step in the
direction of the water.
“I… No… It’s… Ugh, goddammit, Will.” I stomp my foot. He knows I
can never back down if I’m challenged. The live ant I swallowed when we
were seven is proof of that.
He smirks. “That’s my girl.”
With a groan, I say, “At least turn around.”
“Your wish is my command,” he says with his hands held in defense.
Then, he turns around, and just as his fingers start tugging his briefs down, I
spin on my heels and give him my back.
Jesus freaking Christ, how did I get stuck in this situation? Getting naked
to go in the dark ocean with my long-lost ex-best friend. No big deal at all.
I jump up and down, wiggling my hands, and before I lose my nerve,
undress in a flash. Meanwhile, I hear him make his way to the ocean, water
splashing as he probably runs in.
“Close your eyes, Seaberg!” I yell once I’m naked as the day I was born,
nipples pebbled under the cold wind and goosebumps over my arms and
thighs for multiple reasons.
“Closed,” he shouts back from the water, and I swear I can hear a smile in
his voice. Jerk.
“The things you make me do,” I mutter before turning around and
running toward the water. Will’s back is facing me—thank God—and he
doesn’t turn around, even when I shriek from the cold-ass water. I’ve never
felt the ocean water naked, and I’m not sure what to think of it. Honestly,
right now, I’m pretty sure my vagina is about to freeze and fall off.
I get in as fast as I can to get it over with, and when I finally have water
up to my shoulders, I say, “Okay, you can turn around.”
He does, his eyes flashing with something I can’t name as he gazes at my
naked shoulders and exposed neck. My pulse thunders in my veins, and while
I’m shivering, being under his gaze makes me feel hotter than the strongest
heat wave.
Chest heaving under the water, I say, “W-weren’t you going for a swim?”
He finally breaks his gazing spell and grins. “Why? You wanna get a
good view of my ass?”
Scoffing, I shove his strong shoulder while repressing a laugh. “You
exhibitionist.”
He chuckles, and when our laughter dies down, he licks his lips and, in a
low voice, says, “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”
I swallow so hard my esophagus might be bruised. It’s not like we’ve
established clear rules of what we can or can’t talk about, but we’ve never
brought up that part of our history before, and I have no idea what’s urged
him to start now. Maybe the wine. Possibly hypothermia.
“What? It’s true.” Ever so slowly, he marches forward as he watches my
shocked face. “I remember everything, you know.”
Around me, the air smells of saltwater and seaweed, but also of
lemongrass and clean soap. Will’s hair is wet, dripping down his cheekbones
and forehead. It’s intoxicating. So much so that when he moves even closer, I
—
“AHHHH!”
Within the next breath, I’ve jumped on Will’s back because fuck me,
something touched my foot. I try to keep my private parts away from him,
but it’s kind of hard to do.
“What the hell, V?” Will says as he catches his balance, laughing loudly.
“Was I that irresistible?”
“Shut up. Something touched me.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.”
Making sure I’m keeping my boobs as far away from his back as
possible, I scoop water and splash his face. “You’re terrible. Why can’t you
just be my own personal superhero for once?”
He snickers. “That’s not very feminist of you.”
“My feminist soul fled my body the second that thing touched my foot.”
“I’m sure there was nothing.”
“There was.”
“Well, you know what they say? Best way to become fearless is to face
your fears.”
Before I can stop him, Will shifts under me so that his hands grip my
hips, and he projects me far away from him. I don’t think my body ever gets
out of the water, or at least not enough to flash Will, but still.
“Oh, you jerk,” I say before splashing him again because what else can I
do?
“That’s a weird way to thank me, but I’ll still take it.” Then he smiles so
bright, I can’t help but shake my head and laugh.
“You’re the worst.”
He chuckles again, ending on a sigh. “See? This is why we can’t sell this
place. For moments like these.”
Cold seeps back into my body. “Will…”
“Tell the realtor no. Tell him you changed your mind.”
I close my eyes because for the first time since I got here, I’m not a
hundred percent sure he’s wrong. It’s a weird realization to come to, but I
know at least a part of this is true. Not all moments spent here are bad. Far
from it.
I sigh. “Still. This doesn’t erase all that happened in that house.”
“You can’t sell it,” he repeats, not considering what I just said. “You
can’t leave.” Will shakes his head vigorously, eyes fierce. “I know when you
look at me, you see everything that went wrong, but when I look at you?” He
licks his lips. “Violet, when I look at you, I still see the love of my life.”
Time stops. My breath freezes in my lungs. The world stops turning.
Sounds cease to exist. Even if I tried saying something, I don’t think anything
would come out.
“You might think everything has changed, but this is still the same,” he
says.
“Things are more complicated than that, Will,” I croak out, ignoring the
first part of his statement.
His expression falls for a microsecond before he picks it right back up. “I
know. And I’m not saying you need to make a decision now. I won’t pressure
you into anything. Just thought you should know that if you ever find it in
you to love this house—or me—again, we’ll be right here.”
I think I stay immobile for so long, it starts to freak him out. With a small
lopsided grin, he says, “Okay?”
Still not trusting my voice, I nod, ever so slowly.
“Good. Now let’s swim.”

***

“God, that felt good,” Will says on our way back home.
After his shocking declaration, he truly continued to act normally, as if he
hadn’t just turned my world upside down. He said he wouldn’t pressure me,
and he didn’t. I don’t know what I would’ve said if we’d kept talking about
this anyway. I’m so confused. My heart is telling me one thing, and my head
is telling me another, and I just couldn’t figure it all out tonight. So when he
asked me again to swim with him, I said yes and spent all my energy doing
laps in the darkest of waters. I chose to ignore all he’d said in the past hour.
And when came time to get out of the water, he turned around like a
gentleman and waited until I was dressed before coming out himself. I didn’t
even sneak a peek, though the temptation was definitely there.
“Yeah, it did,” I say honestly. I’ve never been the best swimmer, but
there’s something so freeing about diving underwater and only coming up for
air. During those moments when you’re buried under all that water, you can
drown out all the noise and the thoughts and only focus on swimming a little
longer, a little farther.
“Let’s not wait another five years to do it again, yeah?”
I smile weakly. I guess that will depend on what I decide to do by the end
of the month.
A shiver racks my body when the night breeze hits me, and I wrap my
arms around myself.
“You cold?” Will asks.
“A little.”
Before I can ask what he’s doing, his arm is wrapped around my
shoulders. I don’t know how, but his skin is warm even after swimming in
freezing water, and the weight of him around me is too good for me to push
him away. Not that I’d want to anyway.
We walk the rest of the way home in silence. His legs are much longer
than mine, but I don’t feel rushed, so I assume he’s cautious of not taking too
big steps. For those few minutes of quiet, I let myself enjoy his warmth and
the smell and feel of him all around me. I do everything I can to keep my
mind away from thoughts about the decisions I’ll need to make eventually.
And as I clear my head, I’m able to feel at peace for the first time in a long,
long while.
But all that gets blown in the wind when we reach the beach house and a
figure is standing in front of the door, peeking inside the window.
“What the fuck,” Will mutters as he wraps his arm tighter around me.
I don’t have the time to be truly scared, though. Because as soon as the
figure turns around, I recognize who it is.
“Samantha?”
 20

Five summers ago

The next week is a tango of stolen kisses behind the beach house and hidden
touches under the dining table. There’s been this unspoken rule that whatever
is going on will stay between Will and I for the time being. We need to first
establish what we are before we can explain it to anyone else, and lucky as
we are, the past week has been the busiest of all summer. Dad had to start
working on his ninth grade English Lit course plan for next year, so I was
appointed to be my brothers’ personal chauffeur, driving them to the mall and
to the skate park. When I’d finally be back home, Will would always be
called to help Nora cook dinner or go with Samantha to one of her soccer
tournaments out of town.
In other words, it’s been hell.
I still haven’t gotten over the fact that this is happening. Will likes me.
We’re kissing and touching and exchanging heated stares over dinner. Even
if we haven’t been able to spend as much time together as we’d like, I’ve
been in a constant state of pure bliss. The little pocket of feelings in my chest
has expanded to take over all of me, body, mind, and soul. He’s my person.
There’s no doubt about it.
“Hey,” Will says as he comes into the summer room, where I’ve been
starting a new sketch of him and Sam fighting for the soccer ball on the beach
—a scene that happened only yesterday. In it, Will is shirtless, all lean
muscles and tan skin, and while I still can’t get him just quite right, it’s fun to
try.
Will peeks over my drawing pad and smirks. Ever since he’s discovered
my Instagram account, he’s started leaving comments under each drawing,
saying things like Who’s that handsome guy? or I’ve never seen anyone so
talented.
“What are you doing?” I ask while looking back at him. My parents have
gone shopping for a new rug, the boys are playing on their PlayStation
downstairs, and I think Nora and David left with Samantha to the beach, but
I’m not sure.
“Oh, not much. Just spending time with some girl.” Leaning forward, he
dusts a kiss on my lips. I smile. I guess everyone truly is out.
“Some girl, huh?” I pull at the hair at his nape, and he groans as he
straddles my hips.
“Mmhmm,” he says before kissing me deeply this time. I hum in his
mouth, inhaling the salty smell of the ocean in his hair and the fresh
lemongrass of his body wash. His tongue delves into my mouth, making me
gasp as I imagine all the places I want him to kiss me. Ever since the show,
we’ve taken it slow, no clothes being taken off or lips straying far from the
face.
But it’s not enough for me anymore.
Dragging his face closer, I grind my hips up, meeting his solid length
with the parts of me that want him so much. He lets out a sound that is
nothing short of animalistic, and I do it again, and again. Our kisses become
more frantic, but soon, Will’s lips part from mine and he lets his forehead
drop to my shoulder. I’m breathing fast, filled with want and need.
“You’re killing me, V. Truly fucking killing me.”
I laugh. “Same goes to you, Seaberg.”
He lifts his head up. “As much as I want to keep doing this, I don’t know
when people will be coming back, so how about we go to the beach.”
“The beach?”
He shrugs like the sneaky devil he is. “Maybe we can have a very
platonic surf session.” A soft kiss lands on my lips. “And then maybe a not-
so-platonic post-surfing moment.”
My eyes roam over him, from the backward black hat he’s decided to
keep wearing after the show—I’m not complaining—to the long lashes
framing his gray eyes and the few freckles dusting his aquiline nose.
He’s a dream.
“You know what?” I say, pushing him off me so we can get up. “I think
that’s a great idea.”

***

“God, you’re bad,” Will says behind me with a deep belly laugh.
I throw him a glare as I pull my board out of the water, my hair
thoroughly drenched and my body freezing. We decided not to put on our
wetsuits because hey, maybe the water isn’t so bad this late in summer. Hint:
it is so bad. Still, I wouldn’t have wanted to back down on the opportunity to
see Will in only his swim trunks, and I think he would’ve agreed.
“It’s not my fault, okay?” I say, dropping the board next to the beach
grass-covered sand dunes that are so typical of East Coast beaches. “First,
you didn’t push my board hard enough, and then the wave broke in two, and
then—”
“You can’t admit you’re bad at something, huh?” His board lands next to
mine before he sits on it, body dripping wet.
“Oh, I can. I’m just not a bad surfer.”
“Uh-huh,” he says as he drags a hand through his wet curls. He hasn’t
gotten his hair cut all summer, so it’s even longer than it was when we got
here in June. During the year, he usually keeps it shorter and tidier, but this is
how I like it the most.
We lay down, our backs on the boards, the sun burning hot on our skin. I
hum as I feel some of the coldness seeping out of me. We’ve come to our
usual secret beach, which is still empty except for the two of us. Seagulls are
cackling around us, nipping at some brown algae that has wound up on the
shore.
Eyes closed, I enjoy the soft song of the waves coming and going to shore
for a little longer. This is the first time we’ve had an actual moment to talk in
a week, and while I’ve thought about what I wanted to say, I’m not sure I’m
ready yet. This is so perfect right now; why ruin it with questions about our
futures and what we really mean to each other?
So instead of asking about important stuff, I blurt out the first thing that
comes to mind. “Can I ask you just a little more about the girls you met at
college?”
“This again?” he says, laughter in his voice.
“You can’t fault me for being curious.”
“Of course, you can ask.” He turns to me. “I’ll tell you anything you want
to know.”
But right as he says so, my mouth becomes dry. Do I really want to know
all this? I feel like I could be opening a Pandora’s box with these questions.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I want to know.
I put an arm under my head, trying to act casual while I feel nothing like
it. “How many girls did you date?”
 “Last year? I already told you that.”
I turn to him. “What? When?”
“The night you got your wisdom teeth removed.” His brows furrow. “You
truly don’t remember anything at all from that night, do you?”
I shake my head.
“So what did you say?” I ask.
“I dated two girls last year.”
“Huh… And did I ask anything else?” That night is such a blur. I must’ve
been really high if I asked him things about his romantic life.
Will blinks. “You asked me how many people I’ve had sex with.” Before
I can ask, he says, “Four.”
I pinch my lips. I don’t know why I’m bringing this up again, but
somehow, I can’t stop. I guess once I know, I’ll be able to stop wondering.
“And is that it? Or have you…you know, fooled around with other girls?”
I expect him to laugh or brush it off like that’s not interesting. Instead, he
holds my gaze and says, “There were a few in high school. Maybe two or
three, I don’t remember.”
I nod, then look back to the water. I know it isn’t that many, but it feels
tremendous. All these people who’ve known Will in ways I never have.
“Hey,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. “All that, it doesn’t
matter.”
“Easy to say.”
“Yes, easy to say, because I know these girls are not who I want. You
are.”
I know he could be talking crap, but I also know Will, and this is serious
to him. I can see it.
He extends his hand between our boards, and I grab it, tangling my
fingers between his.
Turning to his side and leaning his head on his elbow, he adds, “You said
something else that was interesting that night.”
Oh crap. Heat climbs to my cheeks even though I don’t know what I’ve
said because somehow, I can see in Will’s eyes that this wasn’t something I
would’ve normally said.
“What was it?” I croak out.
“You said you’ve never been touched by anyone.”
Someone kill me now. I bring my hands to my face and repress a groan.
Will chuckles, deep and smooth. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says as he pulls my
hands away from my face and wraps them in his again. “I was actually really
happy to learn that.”
One of my eyebrows climbs up my forehead.
“I know it’s stupid, and it wouldn’t have mattered if it was any other way,
but there’s this caveman part of me that’s happy no other guy has ever
touched you.” His eyes roam over me, pupils dilated, as he brings a large
hand to my body and spreads it over my naked belly, inching it downward
ever so slowly. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “I want to be the
first one.”
I can’t breathe. We’re in a technically public space, and this is all so new,
but the feel of his hand on my body and his words in my ears is too
intoxicating for me to stop him. I keep looking up at the sky as the tips of his
fingers draw circles around my navel.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he murmurs before brushing a wet kiss
to the spot just below my ear, and good God, there’s no way I will survive
this.
But I must have no self-preservation instinct because I nod.
His fingers move lower and lower, now tracing lines above the hem of
my white bikini bottom. “Say it.”
“Y-yes.”
He spreads kisses over the column of my throat. “Yes what, V?”
“Touch me.” My voice is airy, almost unrecognizable. I don’t think I’ve
ever wanted anything more than his hands on my throbbing center.
I feel him smile wide against my neck as he says, “Gladly.”
His long fingers slowly breach my bottoms and glide to the spot where
I’m aching for him. I gasp at the feeling that is so foreign but so good, and
when he hums as he starts circling around my sensitive center, I almost come
on the spot.
“So responsive,” he says against my neck.
His fingers up their pace, making me arch my back and throw an arm to
the side to wrap it around his head.
“Is this good?”
“Yes,” I moan, eyes squeezed shut. Good is an understatement. It’s
magnificent. Electric.
“Is this how you do it when you touch yourself?”
I nod, but in reality, it’s nothing like when I touch myself. It’s so, so
much better. I’m more wet than I’ve ever been, dripping all over his fingers.
The coldness I felt before from the water has completely disappeared,
replaced by a fire scalding my entire body.
“And who do you think about when you do it?”
My cheeks and neck must be flushed, but right now, I’m way past
embarrassment. It’s Will who’s touching me there for the first time. He
knows every single part of me. There’s nothing to hide anymore.
With a moan, I say, “You.”
“Good girl,” he says before dragging his tongue over my collarbone and
pushing the tip of one finger inside me. I catch my breath, the combination of
his touch inside and out almost too good to be true.
My breaths come out in pants, and it’s even worse when he brings his
other hand to my breasts, slipping it under my bikini top and rubbing over my
peaked nipples.
“Jesus, Will.”
Heat builds in my belly, faster and faster with every brush of his skin
against mine.
“Are you gonna come for me?”
I nod fast, lips parted. I don’t think I could hold it off even if I wanted to.
Not with the way he’s wrecking me.
I open my eyes as I feel his tongue lapping over one of my nipples, and
when I catch his gaze matching the wild ocean behind him and watching me,
I go over the edge. Moaning, I grip his hair and pull as wave after wave of
pure pleasure crashes over me.
“That’s it, baby,” he says against my skin as he continues his circles.
When I finally come back to earth, Will is leaning over my board, gazing
at me with a smug grin. I’m still catching my breath, which seems to amuse
him.
“So? Better than by yourself?” he asks.
I shove him, laughing. “You know it was.”
“Just making sure.”
I roll to my stomach and extend a hand to his taut stomach. “My turn?”
I’ve been dying to touch him that way all summer, and now that it’s time, I
can hardly keep my hands to myself.
He stops my hand just as I’m about to put it in his swim trunks, his face
serious. “Only if you want to, V. I can wait.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his chest. “I really, really want to.”
A grin curls his lips. “Certainly not more than I do.”
 “You’d be surprised,” I say before wrapping my hand around his hot
length and learning all the ways I can make Will Seaberg curse.
 21

Present

“I was wondering what you were doing here that was taking so long,”
Samantha says to Will as he opens the front door of the house for us, “so I
decided to come and see for myself.”
Samantha doesn’t meet my eyes as she speaks, not that I really want her
to. I still haven’t quite recovered from the shock of seeing her here after so
long, and I’m not sure how to handle everything I’m feeling.
“I told you I was going to handle things at the beach house,” Will says
stiffly, closing the door behind him and walking toward the living room.
Samantha follows him closely, and after a quick breath, I meet them there.
“What does that even mean, Will? Besides, you’ve been dodging my calls
and—No, don’t tell me it’s not true because we both know it is.”
Will closes his mouth, shoulders back.
“But I get it now,” she says as she sits on the loveseat, finally glancing
my way. In this look, I see so much. Nostalgia. Anger. Hurt.
“It wasn’t planned,” I say. “We didn’t know the other would be here
before we got here.”
With her lips pursed, she bobs her head. “So you asked Will not to
answer my calls?”
“No! Why would you think that?” My face twists in shock. In all honesty,
I don’t even know why Will didn’t tell Sam I was here with him. I didn’t
think it was a secret.
She stares for a second before she gives a quick shake of her head.
“Anyway, I guess I have my answers now, so I can go.” Getting to her feet,
she says, “Will, give Mom a call sometime soon, please.”
“Wait,” I say, hand extended. “Can we… Can we at least talk a little?”
My voice is shaky, and I’m not sure why.
Her throat bobs as her gaze moves from me to Will.
“I’ll, um, go work on some plumbing in the kitchen,” Will says before
escaping from the living room, leaving me with his sister, who seemingly
hates me now.
Samantha slowly sits back down, her spine straight, hands in her lap. Her
brown hair is even longer than I remember, neatly arranged in a French braid.
Her frame is less lithe than it used to be, which makes sense since she hung
up her jersey after she finished college. At least that’s what I saw on her
social media.
I clear my throat. “This might not have been planned, but it’s really good
seeing you.”
Lips still pursed, she gives a single nod.
“I guess you’ve forgiven him,” she says, tone dry.
“It’s complicated,” I answer because really, I have no idea if I have or
not. I simply know that I’ve been enjoying his company recently. That’s the
only thing I’m sure of at the moment.
“Huh,” she says, eyes roaming around the room. “And you spend your
summers here again now?”
I have no idea what Will has told her about the upcoming sale of the
house, and I don’t feel like explaining the deal we struck, so I say, “It’s also
complicated.”
She doesn’t bother answering this time.
My hands are slightly shaking, so I ball them into fists. “So… How are
you?”
“I’m good,” Her gaze sticks to the coffee table. “I guess you’re good too,
from what I can see.” Eyebrows high, she adds in a low voice, “Would’ve
been nice knowing.”
“Sam, I…” My words are lost in the hurricane going on inside my head.
She’s changed so much, yet she’s still the same. I want to talk to her, but I
don’t know where to start. We have a lifetime to catch up on, and while I
want to know everything, I also can’t stand the wall she’s built between the
two of us.
Her head finally snaps up. “Look, if you want to do small talk, it’s fine,
but it won’t be with me.”
“What?”
“Let’s cut the bullshit, please,” she snaps. “Why did you think it was
okay?”
“What? What do you mean?” My mouth is dry, voice raucous.
“Why did you think it was fine to just go and never talk to me again?
Hm?”
 Her words are a punch to my sternum. I open and close my mouth, but
really, I have no answer.
“Because I never did anything to you, Ti—Violet.”
I freeze at her slip up, and she does too, but not for long.
“I know,” I admit, feeling smaller than a mouse. There’s no excuse. Or at
least, no excuse that she’ll understand.
“You know, huh?” She gets up and starts pacing. “Then I guess I can
finally see how little I meant to you.”
There’s a heavy pressure on my chest as I plead, “Sam, that’s not it at all.
How can you even think that?”
“How can I think that?” A huff leaves her lips. “Let’s see. You ignored
me. You stopped answering my texts and calls. You left me with no answers,
with no idea how you were doing. You could’ve been hurt, or dead, and I
wouldn’t even have known. Can you imagine what that did to me? It was like
I’d never been important to you.”
“Of course you were important. You still are.”
Ignoring me, she continues walking around the room as she says, “You
know, it made sense for you to be pissed at my parents. I guess it made sense
for you to be pissed at Will too.” She jabs a finger at her chest. “But I never
did anything.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she stops talking as she
takes in a shaky breath. A tear falls from her eye, and she quickly wipes it,
but another falls, and then another. And with every new one, the fissure in my
heart deepens. “They hurt you, not me. So why did you decide to stop
replying to me? Huh?”
I know she’s talking to me, but I still can’t answer, frozen in place and
time and thoughts. My whole body is shaking now. This is too painful, the
knowledge that on top of being hurt more than I could imagine, I also hurt
some of the people I loved the most.
“Why, Violet?” she says, begging for a reasoning I don’t have. “It wasn’t
my fault.”
I realize I’ve started crying when tears fall on my hands. I don’t move to
wipe them away. “You’re… You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want excuses. I want an explanation.”
“I don’t…” A sob racks my body, and I hiccup, barely able to breathe. “I
was hurting. I don’t have a better one. I wish I did, but I don’t. I was
hurting.”
“And you think you were the only one who was hurting?”
 I shake my head. “No, I—”
“Because, you know, I was in pain too. Everything in my life was falling
apart, and you weren’t there for me. We should’ve been there for each other.”
It feels like air in the room is scarce, and despite trying, I can barely get
any inside my lungs.
“I needed you,” she adds.
“I’m sorry. I’m—” I gasp. “I’m so sorry.”
“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Will says with a deep voice as he enters
the room. “Sam, you should go.”
“No,” I say, my voice low since I’m still having a hard time catching my
breath. “I need…” Wiping the palms of my hands over my cheeks, I exhale
through pursed lips and, looking right in front of me, say, “I need to make
this right.”
Will frowns. “You’re both upset. Why don’t you take some time to
breathe and think about this for a while?”
I shake my head, over and over again. We can’t leave things like this. I
need her to know I didn’t mean to hurt her. I need… I need…
“You’re right,” Samantha says as she gets up and wipes her face with the
neck of her shirt. “I need to get going anyway.”
She’s truly leaving. And the worst part is, she has every right to.
“I told Caleb I’d meet him at the motel not too late,” she adds. When she
takes a look at my confused—and shocked—face, she clarifies, “my
boyfriend.”
I nod in a haze. Really, I have no idea what it all means. It’s like too
much has happened in too short an amount of time.
Will puts a hand on Samantha’s upper back and starts leading her toward
the door when I get up on shaky legs and say, “But we’ll talk again, right?”
She looks over her shoulder and throws me a glance that is not exactly
warm, but it’s better than nothing. “Yeah, we’ll talk again.”
The two of them walk toward the door, where they talk for a while, but I
don’t know what they’re saying. As hot as I was feeling earlier tonight, it
seems cold has seeped through my bones and given me a permanent shiver.
I hear the door open and close, and then Will is next to me. He only takes
a look at me before opening his arms and pulling me into a tight embrace.
And that’s when I truly break.
“She was right,” I say through my hiccups. “I punished her for nothing.
She…she was hurting and I didn’t even think about that, and—”
 “Shh,” Will says as he drags me back to the couch and runs his hand
through my hair.
“I was awful, Will,” I sob in his shirt.
He leans his cheek on top of my head. “You were suffering, V. Try to be
a little gentler with yourself.”
“I can’t. She was like a sister to me, and now I-I don’t even know who
she’s dating.” A loud sniffle fills the space between us. “I never knew what
happened with her and the girl from that summer. I don’t know anything
about her life anymore. And that’s all my fault.”
My tears drench Will’s shirt, but he doesn’t budge. One of his hands
keeps moving in my hair while the other wraps around my lower back, never
letting me go.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He pulls my face back so our eyes can meet. “That’s
enough. Yes, we were all in pain, but we all coped the way we could, okay?
It doesn’t do you any good to reminisce on all that.” His thumbs wipe tears
under my eyes. “And as far as what you’ve missed about Sam’s life, well, the
beauty of a real friendship is that no matter how much time passes, you’ll still
be able to catch up on what you missed and pick up where you left off. I
mean, just look at us right now.”
“I don’t even know if she’ll forgive me.”
He chuckles, fingers still scratching my scalp. “Oh, knowing Sam, I think
you’re already forgiven.”
“I really did miss her,” I say, my breathing slowly getting back to normal.
“She really did miss you too.”
I lick my lip. “And I really did miss you.”
He pulls my head back to his chest, both hands squeezing me hard. “Oh,
baby, I really missed you too.”
 22

Five summers ago

A few days later, I’m trying to solve a math exercise Will asked me to work
on (and failing badly) when Mom knocks at my bedroom door.
“Hey, can I come in?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I close the notebook on my bed.
Mom takes a seat next to me. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to take
a good look at her in a while, and the dark circles under her eyes are larger
than they usually are.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
She nods, face serious. “Just a lot on my mind.”
“When’s the project coming to an end?”
She smiles, but it’s not one of the genuine, reassuring smiles she usually
gives me when I ask her for advice or when we have fun together. “Soon, I
hope.” She shakes her head. “But I’m not here to talk about me. I was
actually wondering if we could have a little chat.”
Just the sentence I wanted to hear, said no one ever.
“About what?” My pulse climbs despite telling myself to calm down.
“Oh, you know,” she says, leaning beside me, “just want a little update on
how you’re doing and if you’re having a good summer and what’s going on
between you and Will.”
Heat rises up my neck and covers my cheeks and nose. “I don’t… I…”
Mom chuckles. “What, you thought we hadn’t noticed? You guys aren’t
as subtle as you think you are.”
My throat bobs.
“Everyone knows?”
“Well, I think most suspect something’s up with you two, but I’m your
mom, Violet. I can read you like an open book.”
She’s telling the truth. I’ve never been able to hide things from her too
long. She’d always figure when I’d gotten into a fight with Samantha or
when I didn’t have a good time at school. I guess that’s one of those
superpowers moms just seem to acquire when they have a kid.
“Are you mad?” I say.
She sighs, laying down beside me. “I couldn’t be mad at you for listening
to your heart. Ever.”
Mom and I aren’t close like some of my friends are with their mothers,
but right now, I want to hug her so much.
“Do you love him?” she asks out of nowhere, dropping this bomb I
haven’t even given me the permission to ask myself.
My mouth opens, but no word comes out.
“Because if you do, then don’t wait to tell him. You wouldn’t want to
miss your chance.”
Chewing on my lip, I say, “I don’t want to ruin things.”
She shifts her head closer to mine. “Oh, honey. Things will get messy at
some point, that’s for sure. You’ve just got to figure out if he’s worth the
mess to you.”
While I play with a loose thread on my sweater, she asks, “Is he? Worth
it?”
I don’t know why, but a lump takes form in my throat. Looking at my
mother’s comforting brown eyes, I nod.
She smiles. “Then you know what to do.” Before getting up, she places a
kiss on my forehead and says, “Maybe take some time to talk about it
tonight?”
“Isn’t it Seafood Sunday tonight?”
She dusts some lint off her white cigarette pants. “Hmm, maybe we’ll do
it tomorrow instead. David and I have a really important presentation
tomorrow, so we need to go work on it tonight, and Dad’s taking the boys to
some fair in Old Orchard.”
“Oh, okay.”
Mom walks out of the room, and I follow her downstairs. Samantha,
Nora, and Will are all reading on the living room couch. Sam’s got a graphic
novel in hands while Nora reads another romance and Will is on to the
history of the leaders of the nineteenth century.
“I need to go get my things ready,” Mom says, a hand over my shoulder.
Then, closer to my ear, she whispers, “Hope you get some answers tonight.
Love you.”
I can’t begin to think of the answers I might get or whether I’m ready for
them, so I simply nod.
 “Hey, Amy, can I go look in your closet for a dress?” Sam asks, getting
up.
I turn to her. “Why? Got another date?” I waggle my eyebrows.
“You know it,” she answers with the same waggle. “Mom and I are going
shopping tonight but I still want to see if Amy has something for me.”
“Sure,” Mom says, “come with me.”
I sit on the rocking chair next to Nora as they both leave up the stairs.
“Guess that leaves just the two of us tonight,” Will says, a wicked grin on
his lips. He must know people are starting to figure things out too because he
doesn’t even hide the want in his gaze, even with his mother right there.
Heat pools in my belly like it does every single time our eyes meet. In the
last few days, we’ve had a couple more chances to explore each other’s body,
and it’s been nothing short of magical. I don’t have a lot of experience, but
I’d swear the fact that we know each other so well makes the experience that
much better. I know all the expressions he makes when he’s excited or
annoyed or bothered, so it’s easy for me to pick up on whether he likes what
I’m doing or not, and I’d say it’s the same for him. We haven’t gone all the
way yet, but I’m starting to feel ready. I don’t know who else I’d want to do
this with.
It’s always been him.
“I think the meteor showers start tonight,” Will says, closing his book
with a grin. “Want to go watch them? I know just the spot.”
“Sounds like a plan.”

***

The stars are breathtaking.

Will’s taken me by a cliffside in Cape Neddick, so far from any type of
city lights, it’s like we’re drowning in starlight. Shooting stars are falling by
hundreds, stealing a gasp out of me every time. The wind is making a mess
out of my hair as we lie inside Will’s Jeep, the roof and doors having been
taken off before we left. Below the cliff, we can see white where the waves
meet the shore, a stark contrast to the black-looking ocean. It smells like salt
and lemongrass and faintly of sunscreen, the most exquisite combination.
It’s all so beautiful, but when Will’s eyes meet mine, I know I could
never find anything as gorgeous.
 “How’d you find this spot?” I ask.
Folding an arm under his head, he says, “A few years ago, when you and
Sam went to Boston with our moms and I was stuck at home with the boys,
who kept playing pranks on me, I needed some air. I think I drove through
the whole coast of Maine in a single weekend.”
I chuckle. “That does sound like something they’d do.”
Another shooting star passes above us, making Will smile wider. I’ve
seen him smile so many times in my life, so why am I feeling all these tingles
in my body now? It’s not like the person he was or the person I was changed.
But I guess we changed, as a whole.
“Do you wonder sometimes what would’ve happened if my dad and Amy
had never met?” Will asks, bringing my thoughts back to the here and now.
“No, I’ve never thought about that. Why?”
“I don’t know.” He scratches his head. “I’ve thought about it a few times,
but honestly, I don’t think it could’ve been any other way.”
I snicker. “What do you mean? You believe in the stars and all that stuff
now?”
With a shrug, he turns to me and says, “I can’t believe it’s a coincidence
that out of all the people in their engineering class, your mom and my dad
met and connected, and that that connection somehow led me to…” He gulps.
“Led me to the most important person in my life.”
My throat becomes tighter. Said like that, something as unbelievable as
fate and destiny does make sense. I know people always say that there are
seven billion people in the world and that maybe you’ll never meet the one
you truly belong with, but I can’t imagine belonging to someone other than
Will. No one could understand me like he does. As if we share a soul.
I turn to my side, the meteor shower long forgotten. “I don’t know if our
parents were meant to meet, but I can’t shake the feeling that even if they
hadn’t, we would’ve somehow found each other.”
Will’s body shifts to face mine. His eyes roam all over me, filled with a
glint that means so much. “You want to know why it didn’t work with any of
these girls in college?”
I swallow. Do I?
Of course I do.
After I nod, he brings a hand to my face and traces the shape of it with the
tip of his index finger. Goosebumps form on my flesh, his touch so delicate
yet so meaningful.
 “They weren’t you,” he declares simply, like this is a well-known fact.
“What?”
“They weren’t you, V. I didn’t realize it before, but once I was with them,
I expected their hair to smell like your strawberry shampoo and their hugs to
feel like yours and their laughter to sound like yours. I was looking for you in
every girl I met.” His thumb brushes against my parted lips. “But there’s no
other you, Violet. You’re it for me.”
A tear spills from my eye.
“I love you,” I say, because how could I not feel this way? He’s it for me,
too. Always has been, always will be.
Will’s face lights up like the Fourth of July. “I love you, too.”
I return his smile, and next thing I know, his body is sprawled on top of
mine, his hands in my hair and tongue in my mouth. My hands travel across
over his broad shoulders and back, frantic. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted—
needed—something more than I do right now.
I reach for the hem of his T-shirt and pull it over his head. He does the
same with mine, leaving me in my simple white bra. The breath he takes next
is slow and deep, gaze burning a path on my skin. I lick my lips, squirming
under him. Heat rushes between my thighs, an ache slowly building.
I bring my hands to his hard chest, then pull on his shoulders so he comes
back to me. With a smirk, he dips down and traces the line of my bra with his
mouth, leaving wet kisses and soft bites that get me panting.
“Please,” I moan.
He struggles with the clasp of my bra, and I help him, laughing. This is
why it’s happening with him and not anyone else. There’s nothing awkward
about it. I know my body could look any other way and he’d love it just as
much.
Bra discarded, his mouth lands on my breasts, licking a path to my nipple.
He nips and kisses and bites, and I can only pull at his hair and beg him for
more, more, more.
Once he moves to my other nipple and lavishes it all the same, I can’t
take it any longer. Pulling his face back to mine, I press a soft kiss to his lips
and whisper, “I’m ready.”
His eyes search mine. “You sure?”
I nod, then kiss him again, deep and slow. With a groan, he backs away
and starts kissing down my body, all the way to my navel. His fingers reach
for the button of my shorts, and once they’re detached, he pulls them down
with my panties. I’m now naked under him, breathing hard and fast. He stops
moving as his gaze roams over all of me, appreciative and frantic all at once.
It’s a kind of reverence in itself.
“How did I get so lucky?” he whispers before plunging his mouth back to
my body, kissing again lower and lower and lower.
Oh my God.
When his lips brush against my throbbing middle, I pull his head up and
say, “What are you doing? I told you I wanted to have sex.”
Chuckling, he smirks and says, “I know, but we gotta get you ready
before that, baby.”
Then, he presses his tongue, flat and warm, against my middle, and I die
and come back to life, only to do it over and over again. I never thought he’d
want to put his mouth there, but now that I’ve had it, I don’t want him to
stop. Ever.
He laps against my center, first with long and slow strokes, then with
small circles. Wetness drips from me onto my thighs, but I’m loving this too
much to be embarrassed.
“Oh God,” I moan when he pinches one of my nipples.
“You taste so good, V. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
His lips are glinting in the moonlight from me, and I think I’m close to
coming from the sight alone.
He returns to his job, licking before dipping his tongue into me. I gasp
and grind my pelvis against his face.
With a chuckle, he returns to my bundle of nerves while plunging a finger
inside me. The moan I let out is so loud, I’ll need to thank him later for
bringing us to a private place.
His finger moves slowly inside me, rubbing against a spot that feels so
good it almost hurts.
“Faster,” I say, my voice so husky I barely recognize it.
He complies, his tongue creating the most delicious friction while his
finger moves in and out of me at the same rapid pace. My lips part, and on a
gasp, I go over, coming against his tongue and clamping around his finger.
“Will,” I moan, the orgasm taking my mind away from everything but
him and the magical way his mouth moves against me. My fingers are
tangled in his hair, holding him tight.
When I finally come down, I’m a putty mess. Will sits on his heels before
wiping his mouth with his arm, his face almost too smug to be true. “I think
you’re ready now,” he says.
It’s only now I realize just how unfairly we’ve gotten undressed. Will is
still covered from the waist down, and that just doesn’t sit right with me.
Sitting up, I unbutton Will’s pants. “Naked. Now.”
He snickers, then helps me tug his jeans and boxers down his legs,
bringing me face-level with his erection. When I touched him before, I never
really looked, but now I might be ogling it a little too much because Jesus,
this is big!
“Don’t worry, it’ll fit,” Will says as if reading my thoughts. “We’ll go
slow, okay?”
I nod, excited and terrified at the same time. Not able to help myself, I
keep looking at him. He’s so gorgeous.
“As much as I like having you look at me, if I’m not in you within the
next twenty seconds, I think I’ll die.”
Laughter bubbles out of my throat. “Dramatic much?”
He leans down and drops a peck on my lips. “I’m not even being
dramatic.”
Shaking my head with a dreamy grin, I ask “Do you have protection?”
“Yeah.” He takes out a condom from his jeans’ pocket and puts it on.
I lay down on my back, and he joins me there, his weight a comfortable
blanket over my body.
“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” he asks, eyebrows drawn.
I circle his face with my hands. “Will, I love you, and you love me. Why
wait?”
He nods and brings his hand down where our bodies meet. “All right, but
tell me if I’m hurting you or if you want me to stop, okay?”
“I will.”
Will’s hand shifts between us, and then his length starts filling me slowly.
His gaze maintains mine as he pushes in, worried but also wild with lust. He
stretches me, and I wince at the small discomfort. His lips find mine, kissing
me until he’s all the way in.
“You okay?” he asks, immobile.
I nod. “It’s really not as bad as everyone made it out to be.”
“Good.” The shit-eating grin he gives me is worth all the money in the
world.
Then, he starts moving in and out of me, his pace slow and steady. At
first, it’s still a little uncomfortable, but the more time passes, the better it
feels.
“I’m sorry, V. I don’t think I’ll last long,” he groans against my neck.
“It’s too good.”
I drag a hand up and down his back while pressing a kiss on his shoulder.
“It’s okay.” I don’t think I could come like that anyway. At least not the first
time.
His pelvis grinds faster against mine, my legs wrapped around his hips.
We move together, creating a perfect synchrony that ends with Will shaking
between my arms.
“Fuck,” he moans, pushing harder into me, his breaths coming out in
pants against my skin before he stills, then lets his body drop onto mine,
limp. Face pressed between my breasts, he says, “I…”
“I know,” I say, fingers playing with his hair. No words could describe
what we just did. I’ve never felt so respected, so worshipped, in my life.
Feeling this connected with someone else is such an incredible feeling.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my damp skin.
“Yeah. It was perfect. Thank you.” Lifting myself on my elbow, I
examine him, all naked and proud. “I definitely want to do that again.”
With a wicked grin, he says, “Good.” He spreads kisses all over me, from
my breasts to my neck to my cheeks. I giggle every time he comes close to a
ticklish spot. His kisses soon become slower, wetter, more languid. With his
hands coming back up to my nipples, he says, “Now let’s take care of you.”
“What?” I say, laughing.
“If I come, you need to come twice.”
“Oh, that’s how it works with you, huh?”
With a smirk, he says, “That’s how it should work for everyone.”
He continues kissing the column of my throat and pinches my nipples,
making me giggle.
“Wait, let me just check the time first,” I say, getting up. “Don’t want my
mom to freak out.”
He groans but lets me go. I get on all fours to reach for my phone in the
front seat, then sit back on my heels next to him. He’s on his back, arms
tucked under his head as he watches me without any scruples. I feel a blush
rising to my cheeks, but don’t cover myself. I never need to in front of him.
When I turn my phone on, a thousand notifications pop up.
Five missed calls from Samantha, and three texts.
Where the fuck are you?
 You need to come to the hospital.
Now.
“Shit, Will, we gotta leave,” I say before frantically picking up my
clothes.
He sits up. “What? Why?”
With my shorts halfway on, I say, “I think something happened.”
 23

Present

I have no idea what I’m doing here.

Actually, that’s not true. I know why I’m here. But I also know that it was
a giant mistake.
“So, Violet,” Dr. Gallini says as she shifts on her chair, a notepad in her
lap. “What would you like to talk about today?”
Is “nothing” a good answer?
I wipe my clammy hands down my leggings. This is terrible. Worse than
anything I could’ve imagined. How could I talk about everything that’s
happened to me with this perfect brunette who seems to have everything
going for her?
I can’t. That’s the answer.
“This is… I…”
“Is this your first time seeing a therapist?”
Chuckling nervously, I say, “Kind of.”
She smiles, and it is kind. Still not enough to make me feel at ease, but a
good try nonetheless. “I know this can be scary, but you have nothing to
worry about. We only talk about the things you want to talk about.”
My legs are shaking on the wide leather chair. I don’t know how I can
start talking about what happened to me—to us—and not break down. And I
really, really don’t feel like breaking down right now.
Watching me for a few seconds, she crosses her legs. “You know what,
let’s start somewhere else.” She extends a hand toward me. “Why did you
decide to come see me today?”
“Because…” I clear my throat. “Because my friend asked me to.” He’s
done enough for me in the past weeks; I owed him that.
“Okay. Good. And who’s this friend to you?”
Straight to the good questions.
How can I describe what Will is to me in only a few words? How can I
say that even though he’s associated with some of the darkest moments of my
life, he’s still the person that can make me laugh the most in the whole wide
world? That he can make me feel like the most important person in his life?
That he can trigger the most intense emotions in me?
How can I tell her that less than a week ago, he told me he still loved me
and that it was both the scariest and greatest thing I’d ever heard?
We haven’t talked about it since. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d give
me time. The subject was never brought up again. We’ve acted as if the
moment never happened, like we’re just good friends spending time together.
However, it’s always lingering in my thoughts. I’ve turned the words around
in my mind, thinking of what they mean to me and what I want to do with
them.
I haven’t come up with an answer yet.
“He’s an old family friend,” I finally answer. “We, um, lost touch for a
few years and kind of reconnected this summer.”
There. That wasn’t so hard.
Dr. Gallini tilts her head. “And why’d you lose contact?”
A shaky exhale leaves my parted lips, and I look up. I don’t know why
my eyes are burning right now. This isn’t even that hard of a question. But I
feel like I’m on edge, and no matter what she asks me, my mind returns to the
same things. Mom. Death. Loss. Heartbreak. An empty family room, a
destroyed father, a pair of high heels forgotten in the foyer back home in
Syracuse making me fall to my knees in pain.
A tear threatens to spill, and I wipe my eye before it does. I don’t know
what’s happening to me. It’s like being in this office, knowing that the truth
will need to come out of me, is too much. All my emotions are bubbling up, a
boiling pot ready to overflow.
Extending a tissue box, Dr. Gallini says, “It’s okay. Take your time.”
I take a tissue without meeting her eyes. It’s already embarrassing enough
to break down, but in front of a stranger? Someone please make me
disappear.
“You don’t need to tell me everything right now, you know. I’m not here
to judge you or to examine every single word you say. Frankly, I’m here for
you and not the opposite. It doesn’t matter to me what you decide to tell me
or not.”
Wiping my nose, I look up at her.
“But I do think that you’ll need to talk about this at some point. I don’t
know what it is exactly that brought you here, but I’m suspecting it’s
something that’s very heavy on your shoulders.”
Despite all the strength I invested in holding myself up, a sob racks my
chest. Heavy? It’s a goddamn boulder resting on me, letting me sink in the
quicksand and dragging me down no matter how many hands are extended in
my direction to keep me up.
“And again, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me about it, but I also
think that you’ll need to talk about it with someone at some point if you want
to heal.” She smiles, and for the first time, I find a sense of comfort in it. “In
the meantime, you can talk to me about anything you want.”
My sniffle fills the small but cozy space. “Like what?”
She shrugs. “How about the beginning?”
The beginning. The early summers that we spent all together at the beach
house. Our family time at home, separated from the Seabergs. The way it felt
to see them again in June. How that last summer started.
I can do that, I think.
Blinking, I nod curtly and start talking.

***

“I’m home,” I deliver flatly as I walk through the front door an hour later.
“In here!” Will answers.
I follow the sound of his voice to the kitchen as he says, “How did it go?”
“It was pretty o—” I stop in my tracks when I see what’s on the kitchen
table. “What is this?”
Drawing pads. Prismacolor pencils. Blank canvases. Oil paint. Brushes.
With a smile, Will says, “Surprise!”
I don’t move from my spot, mouth hanging open.
“This morning was probably heavy, so I figured this would be good for
you to relax a little.”
Slowly, I take a step back, then another. “I don’t understand. Why… Why
would you do that?”
Will’s smile falls, inch by inch. “I told you. To help you calm down the
way you used to.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t… Why… Why would you assume this
is what I want?”
“I don’t understand,” he says, brows furrowed as he takes a small step in
my direction.
It’s been weeks since I’ve felt this way. I’ve gotten used to looking at
Will and only wanting to smile. But now, the kitchen walls are closing in on
me, and I feel like screaming at the world. At the world, and at him. After the
hour I just spent with the therapist, thinking the pain inside my chest would
swallow me whole, this is too much. It’s the one extra degree that makes the
water start to boil.
Eyes closed, I whisper shakily, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I’m trying here, V, but I need you to explain what I did wrong.”
His brows are drawn, a mix of confusion and sadness in his face. I hate
that I’m making him feel like this, but why in the world would he do this?
The one thing that could make me miss my old life even more. The rational
part of my brain knows he only wanted to help, but the emotional, visceral
part of me wants to shatter into a thousand pieces at the sight of this. I
bundled too many emotions inside my chest this morning. This just propelled
them all out in the open.
Jaw tight, I look away and say, “I can’t do this.”
He flinches. “Why? You used to love it.”
“Because it’s not who I am anymore!” The words come out more
abruptly than I would like them to, but it’s like I have no control over myself.
I hate the person I’m being, but emotions are taking over me, and I can’t keep
them in anymore. My heart is speaking from now on. And my heart? It’s
bleeding through a million tiny holes.
His jaw twitches, lips pinched tight. “Then who are you?”
“I—”
“In fact, do you even know the answer to that question?” he adds, nostrils
flaring.
“Yes, I do,” I lie.
“Oh really?” His eyes bore a hole in mine. “So working in business is
right for you?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I swallow dryly. “I can do it.” I’m not
sure how true that is, but I hate that he thinks I’m not able to do so.
“I never said you couldn’t,” he answers matter-of-factly. “What I’m
saying is, what the hell are you doing? You’ve always hated everything that
had to do with math, and now you’re in a business program?” Dragging a
hand through his hair, he adds, “That’s not who you are, Violet.”
“Yes, it is!” I shout. “Stop trying to find things that are the same as
before! I’m not the same. You’re not the same. We’re not the same.” My
arms fling at my side. “Ever since that night, nothing has been the same.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His eyes are wide. Pleading. I’m hurting
him.
I hate how my pain overpowers everything in me. I hate how I can’t stop
saying things I know will cause him heartache.
I hate myself.
Will blinks. “I tried contacting you after it happened. Over and over
again. Don’t put this all on me.”
Lips shaking, I look away. Why did this have to happen today? I was
starting to get over it. Just this morning, I’d made progress by starting to talk
about it without being hidden behind a computer screen. But apparently, I’ll
never escape that fateful summer.
With a calm voice, I say, “You’re right. It’s not all on you. But that
doesn’t change the fact that everything has changed.”
His face crumbles.
I can’t keep doing this. Talking and repeating the same things and
bringing up the same issues. I need to get away. Before he can say something
else, I turn and walk to the front door.
“V, please, let’s talk about this.”
Back to him and hand on the doorknob, I say, “I need some space.”
An unsteady exhale fills the space behind me. “Will you… Will you be
back?” His voice breaks at the last word, and even through all the things my
heart is feeling, it still succeeds in cracking for him.
“Yes, I’ll be back.”
Then, I run out of the house.
I run and run and run, without any particular destination in mind. It’s like
I’m trying to run away from my demons—as if they don’t reside inside me.
I’m trying to get over what happened that summer. I’m trying so fucking
hard, but it’s like it’s always there, hanging over my head.
I only realize I was actually going somewhere when I stop running in
front of the gallery.
Strange, how I escaped art only to go find it again.
Breathless, I open the front door and walk inside. The show room is
empty, so I go directly to the room in the back.
“Ah, Violet, thank Christ you’re here!” Agnes says, only briefly looking
at me before returning her wild gaze to the dozen paintings spread out across
the room.
“What’s all this?”
Her dark gaze moves from painting to painting. “I’ve opened some
exposition spots in the gallery for other artists, but I never expected so many
of them to be interested at the same time!” She massages the back of her
neck.
“Okay, okay, I’ll help you with these. Just take a deep breath.”
She does.
It feels great, to be the one helping someone else for once. This summer, I
feel like I’m getting comforted left and right, without bringing anything to
anyone.
“Thank you,” Agnes says before giving me instructions on how to frame
each painting.
I start working on a painting of a beautiful landscape with very textured
strokes and sober colors. I don’t think about the fight I had with Will or about
the fact that he asked me to come back home or about how I have no idea
what I’ll do when summer ends. It’s not like Will’s remarks didn’t raise a
point in my head. He was right to some extent, as much as I hate admitting it.
The more time I’m spending in Ogunquit, away from my real life, the more
I’m realizing that business school is not simply something I don’t enjoy very
much. It’s something that makes me nauseous just thinking about returning
to. And sure, I could try to find something else, but after changing majors
nonstop for the past five years, it’s incredibly scary. It’s like I’ll never find
out who I am, and that’s even more frightening than thinking about having to
work in business all my life. In fact, I don’t know why I exploded at him
when he was right; I truly have no idea who I’ve become as a person.
“Thank God you came,” Agnes says after a while, voice calmer now. “I
don’t think I could’ve done all of that by myself today.”
“It’s no bother. I had some time on my hands.”
“Well,” she says as she leans a frame on the wall and picks up another
painting, “I’ll probably be opening more exposition spots in the future, so
there will always be a place for you to work here, if you want one. Would
give me some time to actually paint.”
I give her the best fake smile I can muster.
“So, what’s on your mind?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, come on now. You’ve come running here, and you think I didn’t
notice how distraught you looked?”
“I….” The words “I’m fine” are on the tip of my tongue, but they don’t
come out. Because I’m not fine. And I can usually lie easily about this, but
this time, I can’t. I don’t know if it’s Agnes’s warm eyes or the fact that I just
had a fight with Will that overturned all of my emotions or the heavy
tiredness in me, but the truth slips out of my lips like a held breath. “My old
friend surprised me with some painting supplies, and I kind of snapped at
him.”
“Why?”
My body slumps on a chair, feeling like a thousand pounds. “Because I
don’t paint anymore.”
Agnes lifts her head from the frame she’s working on and leans her hip
against the wall. “Yes, but why?”
I saw my bottom lip between my teeth.
Get it out, Violet. It’s what Dr. Gallini said.
Before I can start thinking too much about it, I blurt, “Because something
happened five years ago, and since then, I haven’t been able to paint
anything. It’s like I’ve lost my passion.”
There. I said it.
Agnes’s thin brows furrow. “And have you ever talked about that
something to anyone?”
“Not really.” I tried this morning, but opening up to a stranger face-to-
face is hard. Too hard. I was barely able to scratch the surface of my trauma.
The other people in my life I could’ve talked to about this all shared my
trauma, and they didn’t need a reminder of that night.
“It might help. Get your story out, you know.”
I blink.
“Want to try?”
In an instant, my sternum feels different. Wider. Agnes just said exactly
what my therapist mentioned this morning. And hearing it again, but this time
from someone I’ve come to trust and truly appreciate, shifts something in me.
Breaks a wall down. Maybe not completely, but at least some bricks, enough
to let some of the story pass through.
So, I do.
 24

Five summers ago

When we came to the cliffside spot an hour ago—God, how has it only been
an hour?—Will semi-forced me to drive so that I could practice. I hated it,
and he had fun watching me squirm at every red light. Now, though, Will has
taken the wheel for this, and he’s driving faster than I’ve ever seen him.
Meanwhile, my heart beats a thousand miles an hour as I try to get in
touch with Samantha or Dad or Mom or the boys, or literally anyone, in vain.
It’s like after Sam texted me to get my ass to the hospital, everyone
disappeared from the face of the earth.
There’s only one major hospital close to the beach house, so that’s where
Will is heading. I’ve turned off the radio, not in the mood to listen to any type
of music while I have no idea what the heck is going on. Will seems to be in
the same state of mind since he’s silent, knuckles turning white around the
steering wheel.
“Do you think everyone is all right?” My voice is shaky and high. I don’t
know why I’m asking the question when I know the answer in my gut.
Someone got hurt, and we’re both close to that person, no matter who it is.
And with the text Sam sent me, so serious and urgent, I know it’s not
something minor.
Dragging a rough hand through his messy hair, Will says, “I don’t know,
V.”
I can see in his eyes that’s not the truth. He knows just as much as I do
that something happened. Maybe he’s just saying this to preserve my heart.
I’d do the same for him.
The light in front of us turns yellow, and Will speeds to make it across the
intersection just in time before it turns red. We’re only a few streets away
from the hospital, and it feels like the closer we get, the louder my blood
thumps in my ears.
Sirens echo around us, ambulances speeding to our left. A heavy weight
settles at the pit of my stomach.
 “We’re…” I croak. “We’re gonna be all right. Right?”
Will turns to me in a flash, lips thin and eyes dark. Still, he manages to
say, “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
I don’t know whether he believes it or not, but just hearing the words
helps, at least a little. Will is my buoy right now. If he says the apocalypse is
coming, then I’ll look for cover, and if he says everything’s going to be fine,
then everything’s going to be fine.
When we finally get to the hospital, Will parks in a probably illegal spot,
and we rush out of the car to the sliding doors of the emergency department.
There, in the waiting room, we find the people we’ve known forever.
However, I’ve never seen them look like this. So tense and mad and sad.
It’s pure chaos.
The boys have their backs against the wall at the end of the room, their
heads down and their hands linked together. I’ve never seen them holding
hands before. Nausea automatically churns in my gut.
To our right, Nora is seated in a black plastic chair, eyes round and face
blank, body rocking back and forth. No one is beside her, but even if
someone was, I don’t think she would notice it.
And in the middle of the room stand Dad and David. Dad’s hands are
tugging at the roots of his brown hair as he paces in tight circles, ignoring
David who seems to be talking his ears off. David’s eyes are sad, almost
supplicating, as he follows my dad like a lost puppy.
Where’s Mom?
“What the fuck is going on?” Will asks, bringing my attention to him and
Samantha, who just appeared to my left. I don’t know what my face looks
like, but it’s probably a blend of shock and confusion as I take in her tear-
stained cheeks and the messy bun hanging from the side of her head.
“Where were you!” she says as she shoves Will’s chest. “Where the fuck
were you!” Another shove.
Will grabs her by the shoulders, stopping her from hitting him again.
“Sam, just tell us what’s going on. Right now.”
She opens her mouth shakily, but before she can say a word, David’s
voice resonates from the middle of the room.
“Please, Alan, just let me explain.”
Dad spins on his heels, his hands fisted at his sides. I don’t think I’ve ever
seen that kind of furious expression on his face. My dad is teasing glances
and grammar puns and tasty cupcakes. He’s not the man I’m watching bare
his teeth at one of his best friends.
“What the fuck were you two doing there together?”
“Alan, it’s—”
“Because from what I’m understanding, there was no reason for you and
my wife to be alone, naked, in a FUCKING HOTEL ROOM!”
No.
That’s not—
It can’t.
They wouldn’t do that.
I take a step back, mouth hanging wide open. I think Will might be
touching my shoulder, or maybe it’s Samantha. I don’t know. I don’t care.
To my right, I hear Nora crying, her sobs muffled in her hands.
This is not happening.
David steps forward, tipping his head and whispering, “Alan, please. The
kids are here. Let’s go talk about—”
In a swift movement, Dad grabs David’s collar and shoves the man I’ve
always looked up to as a second father figure into the nearest wall. “You
don’t get a goddamn say in what I do or not. This isn’t your fucking problem!
You need to get the fuck out of here before I smash your fucking face!”
Arms wrap around my body, and words are whispered in my ears, but I
don’t know what they are. My face is wet—I think I might have started
crying at some point, but I’m not sure.
Someone starts pulling me back in the direction of the sliding doors, but I
plant my feet down. Words come out of my mouth, a blur of “This isn’t true”
and “Where is Mom?” I think I say them over and over again as the scent of
lemongrass twists in the air with the tang of antiseptic.
“She’s in surgery,” someone says to my left, and that somehow brings me
out of my torpor.
I turn to Samantha, who’s started weeping again.
“What… What does that mean?” I ask, like I don’t know what a surgery
is. In all honesty, right this moment, I don’t even know my name.
“My… My dad called the ambulance after…” She hiccups on a sob. “The
doctors think she had a stroke. She’s having brain surgery right now.”
She continues talking, but the words become a blur again.
It’s funny, how your brain can decide to stop working to protect you
during difficult times.
Like when you learn your mother is having an affair.
 That she’s had a stroke.
That she’s being operated on.
It just stops working; your mind zones out.
You don’t hear Nora’s pleas for the pain to stop. You don’t see your little
brothers huddled together, praying for their mommy to make it out alive. You
don’t notice when the pair of hands that was on your shoulders disappears, or
when the voice of your lover arises in your ears, telling you he’ll call you
soon. You don’t realize all of the family you always considered your own has
left. You don’t try to make sense of what it means that your mom is lying
down unconscious on an operating room table.
What you actually do is take a seat on the pristine white tile floors of the
emergency room and stare blankly at the nurses’ station bustling in front of
you.
Eventually, your father comes to sit next to you, and you lay your head on
his shoulder, feeling the tremors in his body and the sobs racking his chest.
After what might be hours or days, a doctor comes out of the sliding
doors of the room. Your father gets up, and you follow him. Your little
brothers join you in the middle of the white, too-bright room, and you wrap
your arms tight around them, even though you’ve never been the cuddly type
as you listen to words you don’t really understand but know can only mean
one thing. Words like “clot” and “vessels” and “ischemia” and “brain death.”
You crumble to the floor with all the family you have left when you
understand that your mother is never coming back. You scream, begging for
the pain to stop as you think of the scoldings you’ll never get anymore and
the lavender-scented hugs you’ll never feel again and the rare but oh-so-
lovely smiles you pat yourself on the back for pulling out of her.
And then you pass out.
You come back to consciousness at some point, your mouth dry and skin
clammy. You’re lying in a hospital bed, a white paper bracelet with your
name on it attached to your wrist. There’s light coming through the window
of your room, the sun shining as if your world didn’t just end. Your dad is
sleeping on a leather chair in one corner of the room, your brothers nowhere
to be found. Your head feels like it got run over by a truck—actually, your
whole body feels that way.
A young woman with a white coat on comes into your room and gives
you a warm smile that doesn’t thaw the ice in your veins.
“Hi, Violet. How are you feeling?” she asks while walking in your
direction.
“Um, I’m… I’m not sure,” you say, because it’s the truth.
She gives you another close-lipped smile. “Can you follow the light for
me?”
You do, and while your eyes move in an H shape, you ask, “What
happened?” With a throat-clearing, you add, “To me, I mean.”
“You passed out, sweetheart. You hit your head quite hard while falling,
and then you were out for a few hours. You probably suffered a concussion,
so you’ll need to take it slow for the next few weeks, m’kay?” She tucks her
tiny flashlight in the pocket of her white coat before she starts asking you to
do a series of facial movements. You follow her orders, and she tells you that
everything is fine, but how could she lie that much? Isn’t she a doctor? Didn’t
she swear an oath to never lie to patients? She must be the worst doctor in the
world, then. How could you be fine when not only your biological family, but
your chosen family, was broken, too?
You don’t know how much time has passed since everything went down.
You wonder what the love of your life is doing right now. Is he thinking of
you? Even though he didn’t lose a parent, he must be suffering too. You
really, really wish he was here.
Once the doctor leaves and closes the door behind her, your dad wakes up
and breathes out a sigh that means more than a thousand words ever could.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “You scared us so much.”
“I’m okay,” you lie.
He gets up and grabs your hand, squeezing tight while his eyes blur. With
a not-so-subtle sniffle, he says, “I’m gonna go check on the boys in the
waiting room. Are you going to be okay?”
You nod, and once he leaves, you sigh too. You’ve tried your best to look
fine because he’s going through a lot, but fuck, your chest hurts so much, it’s
like the flames of hell are burning it from inside out. You’ve never felt
anything like it. Is this what it feels like to die?
A few seconds after your dad has left, the door to your room opens, but
this time with a face that soothes the pain instead of intensifying it.
“Hey, baby,” Will says as he rushes inside and hugs you awkwardly over
the hospital bed. Still, it’s the best hug you’ve ever received. You bring your
arms up and fist his wrinkled shirt while you hold onto him like letting go
means losing something you can never get back.
Yet when he pulls back, you have no choice but to release him.
 You try to give him a smile as he takes a seat next to you, but the agony
in his face prevents you from doing it.
“Are you… Are you okay?” he asks, eyebrows drawn.
You shake your head. With him, you can be honest.
His lips wobble, and he breathes in and out through his nose before he
says, “Fuck, V, I’m so sorry. For everything.”
You don’t know how to answer, so you grip his hand instead.
“At least you’re here,” you say, and at that, his face crumbles.
“I… I can’t.”
You sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“I have to go, V.” He jumps to his feet and starts pacing the room, hands
tangled in his hair. “My parents are going to try to work things out, and they
said we need to… put some space between our families. For now.”
You feel like crying, but it’s like there are no more tears in your body, so
instead you watch him blankly. “You’re leaving me? Now?”
A tear streams down his cheek. “It’s not like that, V. I have to.”
Ignoring him, you say, “Your parents tell you to let me go, and you just
agree? Just like that?”
He falls to his knees next to your bed, hands holding tight to the white
railing. “We just think you and I should spend a little time apart. That’s all.”
Your shoulders stiffen. “You think or your parents think?”
Shaking his head, he says, “Please don’t ask me to choose between you
and my family.”
Your throat tightens, like the God who decided to ruin your life with a
flick of his finger is crushing your windpipe with his stiff hands.
“Seems like you already did,” you get out, voice barely more than a
whisper.
Will closes his eyes, another tear following the path the first one drew on
his tan cheek. Then, he leans forward and takes your hand within his, kissing
each knuckle one by one. “I love you, Violet. Please remember that.”
You keep your head turned away from him and don’t look as he lets go of
your hand and gets up to leave.
And when you hear the door close, you know you haven’t only lost your
family, but also the man who owns your heart.
A few days later, you receive a call. Then another. And another.
Next, you receive texts. He tells you he’s sorry, that he made a mistake.
He asks you to please call him back.
 He tells you he loves you.
He says you and he can still work. You just need to call him back so he
can explain. This doesn’t have to be the end of the two of you.
But it’s too late.
You’re already broken.
 25

Present

“Wow,” Agnes says once I’ve told her everything.

“Yeah, wow.”
She crosses her arms. “So do you feel like he’s somewhat responsible for
what happened to your mother?”
“No! God, no. It’s just…” I clench, then unclench my fists. “It’s all
tangled in my head, everything that happened that night.”
She hums. “And you still feel anger towards him.”
The sound of my knuckles cracking fills the room. “Yes and no. I am
angry, but mostly at this whole fucked-up situation.” I wince. “Sorry.”
With a chuckle, she says, “It’s fine, honey. I understand how hard it must
be to differentiate all of it.”
I nod.
Agnes walks toward me and takes a seat on the chair next to me. “Let me
ask you a question,” she says. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
I wasn’t expecting for her to ask me this, and for a second, I freeze. I
could always lie—to her and to myself—and say I don’t. He’s only a friend
and that’s all he’ll ever be.
But I don’t want to live a lie anymore.
“Yes.”
Her head bobs. “That’s what I thought.” She leans back in the chair. “You
know, I was married for more than twenty years.”
“You were?”
“Mmhmm. And Carl, he was the love of my life, but sometimes, he was
also the biggest pain in my ass.” I chuckle at the look that overtakes her face,
filled with amusement and affection. “He would always want to watch his
stupid football games every Sunday even though he knew I wanted to go
hiking or to have a trip to the beach. And all this time, I could’ve been mad at
him and sulked all week afterward, but I made the decision to move past it
and be happy instead.”
 I dig my nails into my thighs. “You’re absolutely right. I know that. I
know I shouldn’t be stuck in the past anymore, but I can’t help it.” It’s like
every time there’s an opportunity for me to move on, I self-sabotage and hold
myself back in this cycle of hurt and anger, and I don’t know how to stop, no
matter how much I want to.
Agnes hums. “I hear you. It’s definitely not always easy to move past
something that hurt us.”
Biting my inner cheek, I say, “I just don’t know how to get better
anymore.”
She tap-tap-taps my knee. “I think talking about it and acknowledging
how you’re feeling is a good place to start.”
I know what she means. Not just to her, but to the people around me as
well. I need to be more honest with my dad and my brothers and Will.
Probably with myself too. I’ll need to consider that eventually.
Agnes gives my knee a squeeze, studying me like I’m one of the
paintings she’s trying to sell. “Can I give you one last piece of advice?”
“Please do.” I’ll take all the help I can get at this point.
“Don’t waste your time being angry when you could be in love.”
My throat tightens. I never saw my feelings as a choice. I always thought
I was stuck with this anger and couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe that’s
where I went wrong.
I don’t talk for a while and am only brought out of my thoughts when
Agnes puts a hand on my arm and says, “Is he still waiting for you at home?”
“He is.”
“Then make a decision, honey.” With a sad smile, she adds, “If Carl were
still here, I know which one I would make.”
I’m not sure everything is so black and white and I can just decide to get
over everything, but her words still make me feel a little lighter. They make
me believe that even though we’re not okay now, there’s a possibility that
one day we will be.
In one swift move, I get up and hug her. “Thank you, Agnes. For
everything.”
“As I said, anytime.”
Nodding, I leave the gallery and start back home.

***
When I open the front door, I take a step inside before hitting a wall.
A wall that smells like lemongrass and salt water.
Will’s hands wrap around my shoulders as he says, wide-eyed, “You’re
back.”
“Of course, I am. I told you I’d be back.”
His eyes alternate between mine before he leans forward and hugs me so
hard I can barely breathe. “I thought you’d left,” he murmurs in my hair,
cupping a hand around my nape. “I’m so sorry, V. For everything.”
His words hold so much more meaning than what they seem.
“It’s fine,” I say, squeezing him a little tighter.
“No, but—”
I pull back so our gazes meet. “How I reacted earlier wasn’t okay. I’m the
one who needs to apologize.”
“No, you don’t.”
I give him a bittersweet smile. “Yes, I do. It wasn’t your fault. You
couldn’t know just how much I’ve changed.”
Expression shifting, he looks at me like I’ve just told him the saddest
thing he’s ever heard. “But that’s the thing, V. I feel like you’re exactly the
person I’ve always known.” He shakes his head, moving his hands to my
shoulders, thumbs brushing my neck. “I don’t understand how you don’t see
that.” Another soft brush of my skin. “How you don’t see the person you are
as clearly as I do.”
My eyes flutter closed as I push against feelings that threaten to come up.
“And who am I, Will?” A sad laugh escapes my lips. “I’m not smart like you,
and I’m not loving and kind like Ollie, and I’m not sporty like Samantha, and
I’m not even an artist like I used to be. I’m—”
My shoulders get squeezed under his palms. “Stop this right there. You’re
not defined by what you do, Violet.” His eyes are incredulous as they
alternate between mine. “It drives me crazy that you think that. You don’t
have to do anything to be extraordinary. Just being you is enough. You’re
enough.”
A tear streams down my cheek, and I let it fall as I get lost in the storm of
his eyes. He has no idea how much I needed to hear this.
Will’s hand lifts, wiping the stray tear before landing on my cheek.
He swallows roughly. “I’m sorry I haven’t always made you feel that
way.”
“Please stop apologizing.”
 “But—”
“Will, it’s fine.” I force a smile on my face with a sniffle. I wish I could
tell him that everything is in the past and I’m over all of it like Agnes
suggested, but I know I’m not there. At least not yet. I can’t magically move
on in the snap of a finger. But talking about this is tiring, and I don’t think
there’s any use in continuing to talk about this right now. “Let’s drop it for
today. Okay?”
His eyes search mine, unconvinced. No word comes out of his lips for a
while, until finally he says, “Okay.”
“Good.” Trying to ease the tension, I say, “Want to watch a movie or
something?”
He scratches his head. “Actually, I have some lessons I need to plan, but
you go ahead.”
The smile he gives before leaving smells fake from a mile away, but I
don’t pester him on it.

***

“Fuck!”
I jerk up in my bed when I hear faint shouting, my heart beating out of
my chest. Thank God I woke up. In my dream, Mom was still alive and was
with David, making out in the living room of the beach house. When I caught
them, I gasped. They only laughed, telling me to shut up and go away. My
mother had a mean smile, and David was looking at me with eyes like the
devil’s. I shudder, even though I’m hot all over. This morning’s
conversations with Dr. Gallini and with Agnes have even tainted my dreams.
Sitting up, I try to listen to what’s going on, but no other sound comes.
That is, until I hear a low, “Shit.” Then, something breaking.
In three movements, I’m going down the stairs in my pajamas, following
Will’s voice.
“What’s going on?” I say as I reach the living room. Will is on his knees,
glass shattered all over the floor in front of him.
“I broke it.”
“Don’t move.” I turn to go pick up a broom. When I come back, Will is
picking up glass shards in his hands.
“What are you doing? I said don’t move!”
 But he doesn’t listen to me. Instead, he continues to try to salvage what
looks like an old picture frame. If I remember correctly, in it was a photo of
all of us from before.
“I was trying to pull at a rotten piece of wood in the wall. I knocked it
over by accident.”
“It’s fine, Will. It doesn’t matter.”
And that’s when he snaps.
“Yes, it matters, goddammit!” He throws the glass he had collected to the
floor, and I’m thankful I don’t see red all over his hands. “Everything’s
slipping through my fingers. Summer’s almost over, and you still want to get
rid of the house, and I have no idea what that means for you and me, and I
can’t even salvage this fucking photograph!”
I become immobile. That’s the last thing I expected to come out of his
mouth, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I end up saying, “I’m sorry. I
don’t know what to say.”
Head hung between his shoulders, he says, “I know you don’t. And that’s
part of the problem, isn’t it?”
The old Violet would’ve lashed out at this. She would’ve said it’s his own
problem he’s not happy. She would’ve gotten into a fight, gladly.
But this Violet knows that he’s in pain. She feels for him, despite
everything. And frankly, she’s had a hard day, and she just woke up from a
nightmare, and the last thing she wants is to fight and feel even worse.
Slowly, I crouch so I can wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get
you away from the glass, okay?”
He accepts my change of subject and gets up slowly, allowing me to
move him away from the mess.
“It’s all going to be okay,” I say as I face him, my hands sliding down his
arms.
“Is it?”
“Yes.” It’s rare that I’m the optimistic one, but if Will is down, then
someone needs to take the role.
“How can you know that?” His voice is soft. I’ve never seen him so
desperate before. It does something weird to my chest.
“I can’t.” My hands grip his forearms harder. “But if I want to keep
going, I have to believe that after all the shit we’ve been dealt, our future will
be okay.”
He nods once. “Right.”
 For the first time since I got downstairs, his eyes meet mine, then move
over my body, caressing it without a single touch. “Sorry for waking you up.”
“It’s fine.” I give him a corner smile. “You’re not the only one who can
do the comforting.”
His gaze travels to my head before he tucks a large strand of hair behind
my ear.
“Do I have bedhead?” I ask.
He grins, a sight that makes the tension in my shoulders disappear. “The
worst.”
I roll my eyes as he tucks another strand, but this time, he leaves his hand
there. And I’m not sure what it is—probably seeing him so vulnerable a
minute ago—but something pushes me to lean against it.
“How can this be so hard yet so easy?” he asks in a husky voice. His hand
flexes under my skin.
“I don’t know, Will. I don’t know.”
His other hand joins the first one around my ears. I close my eyes.
“Sometimes, I wish we could stop being Will Seaberg and Violet
Mitchell and just…just be, you know?”
Oh, I feel that. The temptation to leave all our history behind and feel
whatever it is we’re feeling. Life is not that simple, but God, it’d be nice if it
was.
This feels good, to be touched by him. To feel like we can be close, if not
emotionally, then at least physically. So good, in fact, that despite all the
thoughts running through my mind, my body shifts forward, chest becoming
dangerously close to his. My fingers move of their own volition to rest on
Will’s hard chest.
“And what would you want?” I ask in a low voice, head titled up. “If we
could just be for a moment?”
Will must be in the same headspace as I am, seeking comfort and warmth,
because he moves forward too. We’re so close, our thighs brushing, our toes
touching. If I just moved a little, I could feel his pelvis against mine,
something I’ve only allowed myself to think of in my dreams for the past five
years. His cheeks are covered in a five-o’clock shadow. For a second, I
wonder how it would feel against my skin. The last time we were together, he
was clean-shaven, and even if he’d grown a beard, it wouldn’t have been as
thick as it is now. I’m sure it would feel gruff now under my hands, in the
crook of my neck, between my thighs.
 “You know damn well what I’d want, Violet.”
Shivers run down my spine at the coarseness of his voice.
I don’t know when it happened, but his lips are so close to my face now,
nose almost brushing my forehead. And his smell. God, it’s all over me, so
intoxicating I think I could get drunk from this alone.
Giving in to the temptation, I shift forward and feel just how much my
proximity affects him. He’s already hard and thick against my lower belly,
and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone like this. Will hums. Still, he
doesn’t make a move to turn his desires into reality. He’s leaving that to me.
Tilting my head up, I brush my lips to his scruffy chin and whisper,
“What if I said I wanted it too?”
That single sentence seems to be the key to his resistance because one
second he’s staring at me, and the next his lips are on mine, soft and warm
and possessive.
It’s been years since we’ve kissed, but the second we connect, it’s like it’s
been mere seconds. Like this is what we were meant to be doing all along.
Keeping his hands tight around my face and neck, he starts walking
backward, never taking his lips off mine. I follow him, my hands roaming
over his chest before tangling in his curls. He tastes like mint, but mostly like
my Will, and I can’t help but moan as his tongue slowly enters my mouth.
It’s better than all the kisses I’ve received in the past five years combined. It
feels like coming home.
One of Will’s hands moves from my nape to the small of my back, where
he pushes me against him, glued so tight there’s almost no limit to where my
body ends and his begins. His mouth devours me, soft but also confident, like
he’s done this a hundred times before. Because he has.
We continue to back up until his knees meet the seat of the living room
couch, and then we both drop onto it, me straddling Will’s hips, his hard
length right against my middle.
This should give me whiplash, making out after we’ve established that
our relationship is too fucked up to be defined, but somehow, I feel like it’s
exactly what we need. With our actions, we can be completely honest and
connected with each other. So much easier than with words.
When his lips move away from mine to explore my jaw and neck, I moan
his name and blurt honestly, “I’ve missed this.”
With a lick of my skin, he groans, “Oh, baby, you have no idea.” The lust
in his voice does crazy things to me. He kisses my neck, my collarbone, and
when he reaches the collar of my T-shirt, he gives my skin a soft bite and
asks, “Can I?”
Eyes closed, I mumble, “Yes, please.”
My shirt is discarded in a fraction of a second, and the next thing I know,
I’m only in my bra, Will’s mouth trailing a wet path around the cups. His
eyes are hooded, focused on my breasts while his hands are hooked around
my ribcage, thumbs tracing the bottom of my bra. It’s like the worst kind of
barrier. In one quick movement, I unclasp it and throw it behind me.
“Fucking hell,” Will mutters before diving into my breasts and lavishing
them with licks and nips and kisses. His tongue twirls around one nipple
while his fingers play with the other one, and then he switches. It feels so
good, it’s almost torture to only feel him like this. I can feel I’m wet already.
Seeking relief, I grind against his erection, making him groan. Then he’s
moving against me, his lips on mine and his tongue in my mouth as we’re
dry-humping, the friction so good it’s making me dizzy.
“God, Will…”
With a bite of my lower lip, he stops moving and says, “You’re not
coming like this.”
I must make a whining sound because he chuckles and kisses me once
more. Shivers run down my spine as he moves to my ear and whispers, “The
first time you come, I want it to be on my tongue.”
My eyes close, ecstasy running through my veins at the simple image he’s
planted into my mind.
“You’d like that?” he whispers with a grind of his cock against my
throbbing middle. “My face between your thighs, my tongue rubbing your
clit, over and over—”
Biting my lip, I repress another moan, my panties completely drenched
now.
“Please,” I whisper.
With a wicked grin, he shifts us so he’s lying on his back on the couch
and I’m straddling his chest, my shorts and panties dragged down my legs. I
can see where my arousal is staining his shirt, but from the heated look he’s
giving me, I’d say he doesn’t give a single shit.
“What are you waiting for?” He licks his lips, already glistening and
swollen from my kisses. “Fuck my face, baby.”
Will Seaberg is no longer a simple hugger or neck kisser. He’s also a
dirty talker, and it must be one of the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
 I shift forward so I’m hovering over his mouth, but before I lower myself,
I say, “Will?”
“Yes?” he answers, gaze focused on where I want him so bad.
I swallow down, heat rising to my cheeks. “I just… Um, since you and
I…You know…It’s been hard for others to…”
He lifts himself on his elbows so he’s looking me in the eyes. “Are you
saying no other man has made you come?”
I avert my gaze as I nod. “I’m not sure this will work. I don’t know why,
it’s just—”
“Don’t worry, V. I got you.”
Then, he lowers back down, bringing my pussy with him. As soon as his
tongue darts out and gives a slow drag from my entrance to my clit, I moan,
back arching. My fingers look for something to hold on to before tangling in
his hair, which earns me a groan.
“You don’t have any fucking idea how much I dreamed of tasting you
again.” He flicks his tongue against me. “So sweet.” Another flick. “So
perfect.” Then he wraps an arm around my hips and holds me down, mouth
devouring me.
I didn’t have a lot of hope of ever having an orgasm with someone again,
but now I know it was foolish of me to have that thought, because this is
Will. He knows me like he knows himself. No one understands my body
better than he does.
“Oh God,” I moan as his tongue enters me, in, out, in, out. Leaning on his
thighs, I throw my head back and expose myself completely to him.
“I know,” he grumbles against me before bringing his tongue back to my
clit, making small circles that feel like heaven.
And then he inserts a finger inside me, and I truly am in heaven.
I grind against his face, circling my hips at the same pace as his pumping
finger. Heat builds in my belly, making my chest heave. His rhythm
accelerates, focusing on that spot inside me while his tongue works wonders
on me.
Never stopping his movements, he adds a second finger inside me,
stretching me so beautifully I gasp, then moan. I’m no longer only rocking
over him, but now riding his hand too.
My orgasm builds and builds, and when Will’s eyes meet mine under me,
full of love and trust, I go over the edge and come around his fingers, so hard
I can’t hold the loud moans in. My thighs tighten around his face, fingers
pulling harshly at the root of his hair as he keeps up with his pace, never
removing his tongue from me until I let myself fall backward, my muscles
nothing but a pile of goo.
“Jesus, Will,” I mutter, eyes half closed.
Chuckling, he sits up and sucks on one of his fingers, then the other. The
sight alone is enough to make me even wetter. It’s like I’ll never get enough
of this man. He could give me ten orgasms and I think I would still beg him
for just one more.
“So you don’t come anymore, huh?” he says, smirking.
I shove him. “Oh, shut it.”
He wraps his arms around my back and brings his lips a hairsbreadth
away from mine. Still grinning, he says, “I won’t lie. I love that it’s only me.
So much.”
I bite my lip before grabbing his face and kissing him hard. His mouth is
glistening, and I can taste myself and him both on his tongue.
When we break apart, he stays close and murmurs, “Don’t ever disappear
on me again.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I remove his shirt and start kissing him down his
throat and chest, leaving wet trails around his abs and navel. He throws his
head back, moaning. When I reach the line of his pants, I keep kissing his
stomach and unbutton his jeans. Removing them is hard with his erection
practically bursting out of them. Once they’re off, I lick around the base of
his cock before dragging my tongue all the way to the tip. The groan he
releases is so loud, I feel like laughing.
Just as I’m about to wrap my mouth around his length, I get flipped over
so Will is hovering over me, braced on his muscled arms in all his beautiful
nakedness.
Chest rising and falling fast, he says, “You got me too primed, and I want
to come inside you.”
I nod fast. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.”
His eyes alternate between mine as he says, “Me too.”
Pulling him down softly, I kiss him. He returns it, tongue tangling with
mine until I’m panting under him. His hands skim down my body, from my
breasts to my waist before landing between my thighs.
Just as I feel his length prodding my entrance, he says, “You sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
With a quick nod, he slowly pushes inside me, and I close my eyes,
moaning until he’s all the way inside.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s just…been a while.”
He smiles before kissing me and pulling out. Then, he gently pushes back
in, giving me time to adapt to him. Once I’m more comfortable, I start to
move against him, grinding my pelvis up to meet his. Again, I’m reminded of
just how well we fit together. It doesn’t matter whether it’s been days or
years since we were in this position. I don’t think there could ever come a
time when we wouldn’t know how to move with the other in perfect
synchrony.
“How can you be so perfect,” he grunts as he wraps his mouth around one
of my nipples, still moving in and out of me. I moan, head thrown back, but
he bites me gently before saying, “Eyes on me, baby.”
I listen to his command, more turned on than I’ve ever been. He feels so
amazing inside me, touching me like I’m his muse. And when I meet his
gaze, I know all of this isn’t just physical. We’re connected on another level.
Never breaking the contact, I bite my lip at a rougher movement and say,
“Can you go a little faster?”
He doesn’t answer, only picks up my cue and switches to a mind-blowing
rhythm. I move with him, and he moves with me, our lips tangled as my feet
lock behind his back.
When I break our kiss, I smile and breathlessly say, “We’re still good
together.”
Will doesn’t return my smile, though. Instead, he keeps the most serious
face as, pushing into me, he says, “We’re not just good. We’re perfect.” One
of his hands dips between my legs and starts circling my clit in delicious
circles. I’m already so close, heat building and building as he moves faster in
and out of me. “Because it’s always been you.”
I drag his head down and lock our lips just as I come around him, so hard
I almost see stars. I clench and clench, and it lasts long enough that I think I
might pass out. Will’s pace stays fast as his breaths come in quick pants, until
he pushes deeper in and freezes above me. He gasps as he spills inside me,
mouth open and eyes locked with mine.
Staying inside me, he exhales and drops his damp forehead on my chest.
“This is impossible,” he mumbles. “I didn’t think it could ever get better than
before, but somehow, it did.”
Petting his hair, I say breathlessly, “I know.” If I thought it was incredible
when he was nineteen, it was because I didn’t know what sex would be like
with Will at twenty-four.
We spend a few minutes in silence, catching our breath. Eventually, he
lifts his head from me and says, “Are you okay?”
I smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.” More than okay.
Some of the tension leaves his face, and then he climbs higher so he can
kiss me.
Tonight might not have solved our problems, but damn me if I don’t feel
better than ever before.
 26

Present

“What are you doing?” Will asks as he walks into the living room, hands in
the pockets of his swim trunks.
I get up from my crouching position in front of the couch, a bunch of
ocean-blue fabric in my hands. “I was thinking of covering the couch with
something new.” I scrunch my nose. “It smells a little like mothballs, and it
doesn’t fit with the new wall color.”
Will doesn’t move for a while, watching me cautiously. Then, his face
becomes the sun. “That’s a good idea, V.”
I return his grin before going back to my measuring. I’m no seamstress,
but I found an old sewing machine of Nora’s in the attic, and how hard can it
be to use, really?
Will keeps throwing me glances as he sets himself up to patch a part of
the ceiling that had water damage. My cheeks are burning under his gaze, but
I can’t look away from him. Ever since we gave in to the temptation four
days ago, we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other, and I can’t
explain how good it feels to be this close to him again. We haven’t been
talking about feelings or looming deadlines anymore. We haven’t been
talking about the fact that we only have two weeks left with each other. We
haven’t been mentioning our past. We’re only enjoying ourselves and living
in the present moment. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty close to it. Even my
nightmares have been less frequent, and when they do occur, Will is there in
my bed to comfort me.
That’s not the only thing that’s changed. The morning after we got
together, I went for a long, sweaty beach walk, which was kind of eye-
opening. I would look at the sand dunes I used to love sitting on and would
only be filled with waves of appreciation and amazement instead of nostalgia
and pain. I relished the feel of the rising sun on my skin and the salty tang in
my nostrils. I listened to the seagulls and closed my eyes and sighed, the
familiarity of it good. It was the first time I felt like I could truly enjoy this
place again.
Since then, I’ve started to rediscover the town of Ogunquit. I’ve taken a
walk in town every day, going into small shops and cute cafés. Will and I
went to the local ice cream shop that still sells my favorite flavor, an insane
raspberry-chocolate mix that almost made me cry the first time I tasted it
again.
I also spent more time with Agnes in the gallery, helping her to set the
place for her new exposition and even welcoming a couple clients inside.
Some of them were tourists who were just looking to enjoy the art, but others
were looking to buy a painting, and I counseled them the best I could. It’s
been really great.
And I’ve seen Dr. Gallini again for a second appointment. I’m not sure
when I’ll be able to open up to her completely, but I think I can get there,
slowly.
“My mom would freak out, seeing you like this,” Will says as I mess with
one of the buttons on the machine, and I chuckle.
“She did always try to teach me how the machine worked.”
“She’s still trying to teach Sam, if it makes you feel any better.”
“I don’t think Sam will want to learn anytime soon.”
“Never.”
My grin stays in place, but I still feel an ache swelling in my chest at
talking about her. We haven’t talked since she surprised us at the beach
house, and every time I think about it, I can’t help but fear that things
between us are irreparable. All because of me.
But I won’t think about that today. Things are good. I’m moving forward.
Bringing myself back to the present moment, I continue my
measurements, but then sit back on my heels. “How is she?” I scratch my
neck. “Nora, I mean. You’ve asked me about my family but I didn’t ask a lot
about yours.”
“She’s…” He sighs, stretching his head back. “I’m not sure how she
really is. She hasn’t talked much about their divorce.”
Another person who was terribly affected by what my mom and David
did and who I forgot to think about. That’s not going to happen anymore.
“She didn’t deserve all that happened,” I say, fingering the fabric spread
on the couch.
“No one did.”
My feet carry me to the couch, where I let myself fall. “No, I know, but
she’s just so…good.”
“She really is.” His gaze gets lost somewhere between here and New
York, between now and then.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened after their divorce?”
He puts the bucket of plaster on his ladder and comes back down so he
can sit beside me. Jaw tight, he says, “Once they realized they couldn’t get
over what happened, Dad moved out and found a place in New Jersey. I think
he met someone there, but I’m not sure. We don’t really talk anymore.”
I shift so our thighs touch, and he starts tracing lines on mine. It’s
soothing, after my throat tightened at the mention of David.
“Mom didn’t want to sell the apartment in New York even though she’s
living alone in it now. She found a job at an indie bookstore.”
I smile. “She must love it.”
“Yeah, she really does. I think that’s part of what saved her.”
Taking his hand in mine, I start playing with his long fingers. “Do you
visit her often?”
“Oh, yeah, all the time. Her job is right next to my school, so we meet
every week for lunch. I think Sam goes often too.”
“And what about you and Sam?”
With a shrug, he says, “We see each other on holidays and we text,
but…” A hand drags his hair all over the place. “Everything changed after
that summer. There’s nothing wrong between us, but I think we just all
needed some space after that.”
I nod. “The same thing happened with my brothers.” I try to see them as
often as I can, but it’s like we always have to avoid the elephant in the room,
and that’s draining, even though they’re my family. “I really try to see my
dad often, though, since he’s all alone at home.”
Just as Will opens his mouth to add something, my phone rings, Dad
written on the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” I say before I get up and answer the call in the
kitchen.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, honey. How are you doing?”
“Good,” I answer honestly. “I…I’ve been having a good time here.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” he says, not even a hint of confusion in his voice. “I was
just calling because I was wondering if you knew when you’re coming back
for the school year?”
 The jump in the conversation shakes me. He didn’t even ask about how
the process of selling the house is going. In fact, I don’t remember him
asking me about it once throughout the entire summer.
“I’m not sure,” I say. It’s time I start thinking about it, though. Last week,
I made an effort and looked for new internship opportunities in Syracuse for
next fall—seriously looked, this time. I found one that looked tolerable, so I
sent my CV. I didn’t get a call, at least not yet, and somehow, I’m
appreciative of this extra time I’m given to keep my mind free of all this.
Dad stays silent for a while, then says, “You take your time. And you
know, Violet, if you’re not sure about things…”
“No, no, I’m sure,” I say, even though it’s the furthest from the truth.
“If you say so,” my dad, who apparently has a sixth sense, says.
Remembering the conversation I just had with Will, I say, “And how are
you?”
“I’m good, honey. I’m really good.”
I try to listen for any hint of sorrow or boredom in his voice, but I find
none. I don’t like saying it surprises me, but it really does. He’s currently on
summer break, so unless Jensen and Ollie decided to spring a surprise visit
home on him, he must spend most of his time by himself.
When I don’t answer, he says, “I swear. Don’t worry about me. I’m
great.”
“If you say so,” I mimic.
He chuckles. “Okay, sunshine, I’m going to let you go back to your
things. Just wanted to make sure everything was good back there.”
“Yeah, it is. Thanks for checking in.”
“Okay. Love you, honey.”
“Love you,” I answer before hanging up.
When I get back to the living room, Will is on his ladder, putting plaster
on the ceiling while humming to a song I don’t I recognize. Hiding my
snicker, I grab my fabric and turn the sewing machine on, but I quickly
realize that this is, in fact, not as easy as it seems.
“Hey, Ne-Yo.”
Chuckling, Will looks down to me. “Yeah?”
“Did Nora ever teach you how to work a sewing machine, by any
chance?”
“No. Sorry.” Eyes drifting to the work I’ve started, he winces—with
exaggeration, of course. “I bet I could still do a better job than that.”
 Eyes dead serious, I throw a pillow at his head. He holds on tight to the
ladder, laughing. “Hey, you want to kill me or what?”
“Sometimes, I really do.”
An insufferable smirk curls his lips. “Nah, you don’t.”
“Watch your back, Seaberg.” Bringing my focus back to the fabric in
front of me, I mutter, “I can do this.”
Ten more minutes pass, and I try. I really try. But has this machine been
designed by aliens so humans could never learn how to make it work?
Because it’s impossible this thing is supposed to be beginner-friendly.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not admitting defeat, but I reeeaaaally wish
your mom were here right now,” I say before stopping myself from bitch-
slapping the machine.
I expect him to quip some smartass thing again, but instead, he stops
moving, expression serious. “Would you…like to call her? To ask for help, I
mean.”
“You think she wouldn’t mind?”
He gives me a soft smile. “I think it would make her happier than you
could ever imagine.”
“Then let’s do it.” I don’t even need a moment to think about it. I’m not
sure I’d be this willing to talk to David, at least not yet, but Nora isn’t
responsible for what happened.
With a curt nod, he gets down from the ladder and grabs his phone from
his back pocket. As he takes a seat beside me on the couch, he presses Dial
on Nora’s name. My heartbeat speeds up even though I’m not currently in the
camera’s frame. In a few seconds, I’m going to be speaking to the person I
considered like a second mom most of my life. It almost seems like this
moment is out of a dream.
“Hey, baby,” Nora says as she answers the phone.
Will smiles grandly. “Hey, Mom. I have a little surprise for you here.”
“Oh?”
He turns the phone so I come into view, and as soon as I see Nora’s face,
tears burn my eyes. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her until I saw
her again.
“Hi,” I croak.
“Oh my God, Violet!” she says as her hand goes to cover her wide-open
mouth.
“Hey, Nora.”
 Laughing, twin tears leak from her eyes, and I can’t keep mine inside
anymore. Smiling so hard my cheeks hurt, a teardrop runs down my cheek.
“It’s really, really good to see you,” I say, voice raw.
“Oh, you have no idea. Will, hand Violet the phone. We have so much to
catch up on.”
Grinning wider than ever before, Will follows the order and gets up. “I’ll
leave you two to it, then.”
Once he’s gotten up, he looks at me behind the phone and mouths,
“Thank you.”
I smile. He has no idea just how much I should be the one thanking him.

***

“That was so great,” I say as I walk into Will’s bedroom later that night. It’s
exactly as it was years ago, with the light-gray walls and dark wooden
furniture.
He’s lying down on his bed—well, the bed we’ve been sharing for a few
nights—a biography of someone I’ve never heard of in hand. As soon as he
looks up at me, his eyes twinkle in the night light.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I didn’t know so much had happened in my life until I started
updating her.”
“I’m sure,” he says as he sits up and closes his book. “Are you planning
on calling her again at some point?”
“Yeah, I am. I don’t want to spend any more time away from any of you
again.”
Getting up, he meets me halfway through the room. “That statement
couldn’t make me happier,” he says before leaning down and kissing me
tenderly. My heart expands, so big I don’t know how it fits inside my chest
anymore.
And that’s when I realize just how deep in this I am.
I’m in love with this man. Again.
Not that I fully ever fell out of love with him. I thought at some point that
my feelings had disappeared, but apparently, they were only hibernating. And
while our years apart were their winter, Will is their spring, his laughter the
fresh flowers and his grins the thawing of the ice.
 And now, that love feels stronger than ever. Like he’s tattooed on my
skin, on my organs, on my soul, and I couldn’t get him out even if I wanted
to.
I swallow, then let go of him so I can walk to the bathroom for a shower.
Just before I cross the room’s threshold, though, I look over my shoulder and
say, “Will?”
“Yeah?”
“I was wrong before. You really do know me.”
He inhales sharply, eyes round and sparkling. I smile at him before I
leave for the bathroom.
Brushing my teeth, I think back to all the realizations I’ve come to make
today. It should shake me, how intensely and rapidly my opinions and
feelings on things are changing, but somehow, it doesn’t. It’s like I was
astray for the past five years, and now I’m finally rediscovering the path I
was always supposed to follow.
Once I put my toothbrush away, I start removing my clothes, but before I
can get fully naked, the bathroom door opens and Will walks in.
Looking at me through hooded eyes, he says, “Can I take it from here?”
I bob my head yes.
Softly, so softly, he removes my shirt, then my shorts and underwear so
I’m naked in front of him. And I don’t mind it one bit. The way he looks at
me is as if I’m the Sistine chapel and the Mona Lisa combined.
He turns on the shower beside us while I start undressing him too, kissing
over the parts of his body I discover. His shoulders. His chest. Back. Belly.
Thighs. All so muscled and tan and perfect.
Once he’s naked and I get back up in front of him, he grips me in his
arms and kisses me so deeply, I run out of air and never feel like breathing
again. His kiss alone could give me life.
When he finally removes his lips from mine, I ask, panting, “What was
that for?”
A corner of his lips jerks up. “I know you.”
And there goes my heart. If I didn’t already know I was in love with him,
his sheepish smile and soft words would have done it.
I nod. “You do.”
Slowly, he backs up, pulling me into the shower with him. Hot water
drenches my hair and sluices down my body, where Will starts licking the
drops streaming down my chest. His tongue laps around my nipples and all
over my breasts, and I have to lean back on the ceramic wall to regain my
balance.
His mouth trails down to my navel, which he licks before spreading
sloppy kisses all over my belly. Then, he moves even lower, giving me soft
presses of his mouth.
“Want me to show you another way I know you?”
Not quite catching my breath, I grasp his hair and nod fast. “Please.”
I feel his grin spread over me. “As you wish, baby.”
Taking his sweet time, he drags his tongue all the way over my clit, and I
gasp, jerking against him.
“I’m the one who knows this pussy best,” he says against me before
giving me another thorough lick. I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out.
“Yes. Yes you are.” My eyes are closed, head thrown back.
“Say it,” he growls.
I bite my lower lip. “It’s you, Will.”
“That’s my girl,” he says before starting to eat me so thoroughly, it only
takes a minute for me to break down over his tongue.
And then he’s inside me, whispering words of love and lust in my ear,
and it’s enough to bring me over the edge another time, and him right along
with me.
What a great way to finish an already good day.
 27

Present

“He did what!”

Kamali snickers at my astonishment. “I swear, Vi, it was so great. There
were all these candles everywhere and chocolate and wine. Oh, so much
wine.”
“I’m so happy for you. But in a jealous way, obviously.”
She grins on my screen. “Obviously.”
“So you’ve gotten over his name after all?” I ask, smirking.
She blows a raspberry. “Didn’t have a choice. I’d rather have someone
with a bad name than a guy who tells me I should smile more.”
“Very good choice.”
“Besides, he’s so good to Aisha, and she loves him. And his boy is pretty
cute too, if I’m being honest.”
“That’s great, Kam. You deserve it.”
“Ahh, thanks, babe.” With a rise of her eyebrows, she says, “And what
about your boy? Any new developments?”
At the exact moment she finishes asking her question, a head of dark
curls pops into the summer room. “Hey, what—Oh, you’re on the phone,
sorry.”
I only hesitate a fraction of a second before jerking my head to the right.
“Hey, come here,” I tell him. “I want you to meet someone.”
His face lights up before he makes a quick path to the couch and sits so
close to me, our thighs overlap.
“Will, this is Kamali. Kam, this is Will.”
“Nice to meet you, Casanova,” Kamali says, grinning. “I’ve heard a lot
about you.”
Will dips his head. “Likewise.”
“Aw, girl, you told him about me,” she says as she wipes an imaginary
tear. “I’m touched.”
I roll my eyes as Will says, “Of course she did.” His eyes dart to mine
before quickly returning to the screen. “I was glad to learn my girl had
someone like you with her in the past years.”
My girl. Why do these two simple words make my body feel lighter, like
I could fly away with a single gust of wind?
They get into a conversation about what we’ve been up to in the last few
weeks—minus the mind-blowing sex, although Kamali knows most of it.
“I’ll need you to invite me there, Vi,” Kamali says.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, and Will’s head swings toward me. I give him a
small smile. “If this man right here doesn’t mind, of course.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will agree,” Kamali says before giving Will her most
convincing eyes. “He wouldn’t want to upset his girl, am I right?”
Will chuckles, deep and loud, the sound traveling all throughout my body
like my favorite song. “You’re right about that.”
“Okay, well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” she says with the most
infuriating smirk, knowing damn well using this expression while talking
about us will embarrass me and not giving a single shit about it. God, I love
this girl.
“Violet, you better call me back soon so we can talk more about this
lovely man right here.”
Will laughs again, and I only shake my head. “Bye, you crazy witch.”
“Byyyyyye,” she says just before I end the call.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Will, cheeks warm.
“She sounds amazing.”
“She is.”
He turns and leans back in the couch so we’re eye to eye. His smile is soft
and warm, like a midsummer breeze. It only makes me fall a little harder.
Deeper.
“I’d love for you to meet my colleague friends too someday.” Chuckling,
he adds, “Together, we’re proof that the teachers we thought had their shit
together are actually hot messes.”
My lips curl. I don’t focus on when I’m supposed to meet these friends,
or what will happen once summer ends. Instead, I lean forward and give his
cheek a peck.
“What was that for?”
I shrug. His lips curl up, and then the same peck is being dropped on my
own cheek.
“So, I was actually coming to ask you if you still wanted to go see the
meteor shower tonight?” His fingers move to my arm, tracing light circles on
my skin. It’s as if our bodies are magnets, never able to be apart for too long.
They always need to touch one way or another. The movement is enough to
keep my mind off what happened the last time we went to see the meteor
showers.
“Yeah, sounds great,” I say, not even recognizing my voice with how
love-struck it sounds. I’m sure Kamali will rub it in my face later, and I won’t
even be able to deny it.
“Good.” He licks his lips and moves even closer to me. The smell of mint
on his breath hits my nose, so enticing. I close my eyes, and—
Buzzing.
Will pulls back with a groan as he looks at his phone. In half an instant,
his soft expression falls, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Sorry, I gotta take
this.” Shoulders tense, he gets up and goes outside before I even have the
chance to ask him what’s going on.
Huh.
I open one of Nora’s old romance novels I left on the coffee table after I
found it in the attic as I wait for him to come back.
Five minutes slowly turn into ten, and still no sign of Will. I turn around
and climb onto my knees so I can look through the windows of the summer
room, but he’s not in the backyard. Weird.
I make my way to the front door Will disappeared through minutes ago
and finally spot him outside. At first, I only see him, but he looks like he’s
talking to someone. The conversation seems heated since his casual smile is
nowhere to be seen.
A bad feeling settles in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s watching Will’s
posture outside, or remembering how quickly he left the room, or a simple
negative gut feeling, but something is wrong.
And when I see who he’s talking to, I realize my bad feeling was
justified.
David is now standing in front of Will, apparently just as involved in the
conversation they’re having.
I swallow as I take him in. It’s honestly been a long time since I haven’t
thought about Will’s father. Seeing him here, feet away from me, feels kind
of surreal. His hair is now gray all over, skin paler than it was during
summers past.
It’s not that bad that he’s here, I keep repeating to myself. I’m definitely
not ready to forgive him for what happened with my mom yet, but this is still
his house. He has a right to come here and see his son. It’s no big deal.
Besides, I shouldn’t be watching them. Clearly, if he hasn’t come inside,
either Will doesn’t want him to see me or David himself doesn’t want to see
me. And it’s fine. I don’t want to see him either.
I turn around to get back to the living room, but just then, Will’s voice
climbs in volume, enough so that I can hear what he says through the glass
windows of the door.
“God, if I’d known you’d react that way, I’d never have told you she was
here.”
My stomach sinks.
David shakes his head, a disapproving look on his face. When he speaks
again, his voice is louder too. “And what? You think I’d never have heard
about it?”
I can see Will’s jaw tighten even from where I’m standing by the
window, mouth agape.
“It’s not your business anyway who I’m seeing or not.”
“Oh, come on now, Will. Don’t act as if Violet Mitchell is just any other
girl.”
Will opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
“You’re a smart guy. I know you can see how this is a bad idea. It was
then, and it still is now.”
And there it is. The moment when my heart stops beating. When I stop
breathing. When I start to feel the tangible chaos that will ensue.
“Dad…”
My feet slowly drag me backward. I can’t listen to any more of this. My
entire mind blanks. It’s only filled with red, with deep fury and hurt as I feel
the stab of those words from five years ago, again and again and again. I
can’t think straight anymore. My brain is simply screaming PAIN PAIN
PAIN in bold letters.
Climbing the stairs two at a time, I get into my room and start pacing. My
hands are shaking as I take in the emptiness of the space. All of my things are
now in Will’s room. I allowed myself to get lost in him, only for the same
outcome to happen again. So fucking stupid. My body won’t be able to
handle another betrayal. It won’t.
What could be minutes or hours later, I vaguely hear my bedroom door
open. I’m breathing loudly, still walking around with a head both empty and
bursting at the seams with cruel thoughts.
“What’s going o—Oh.” Will clears his throat. “You heard that, didn’t
you?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. This hurts too much. I can almost see the red
streaks over my body from where my broken heart is bleeding out.
“He’s so out of line, coming here after we’ve barely spoken for years and
yelling at me like that. It’s—”
“I can’t believe this is happening again,” I interrupt, gaze lost in space.
“What?”
“I can’t believe that he’s ruining what we built. Again.”
“Wha…What makes you think it’s ruined?” he says, voice pained. I
finally look up to find him wide-eyed and confused. “I defended you out
there.”
I fight not to roll my eyes. “Right.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m supposed to believe you? When it’s exactly what
happened five years ago?” I let out a crazy laugh. “Pretty much to the day.
It’s almost clever, really.”
His shoulders slump. “Violet, it’s not—”
I clench my fists because I’m shaking so hard it’s almost embarrassing. I
know it must look like I’m overreacting, and frankly, maybe I am. But right
now, it’s like all the memories I told myself I could leave in the past were
brought back with the snap of a finger. Mom in the hospital. Dad and David
fighting. Will going away after David told him to, leaving me to handle my
grief on my own. The years of anguish after I thought I’d never be happy
again. It all comes back to me like a tsunami crashing onto the shore. I can
almost feel the wet pillows under my face as I went to sleep and the smell of
the old garbage my dad didn’t empty for a month and the sound of Jensen
crying and saying he wished we’d never met the Seabergs. My blood is
boiling.
“Not what?” I say. “The same? Because it sounds pretty fucking similar
to me.”
I look up and breathe deeply as I feel tears burn my eyes. Why is it so
easy for people to dispose of me? It’s like they don’t think I have anything to
offer. Like it’s crazy for David to even think I might have been good for his
son.
Like I’m nothing.
 “You’re not being fair. What my father thinks and what I think are two
different things. Don’t confuse them.” He shakes his head. “I never said all
that stuff.”
I barely hear him speak. My lower lip starts to wobble, and I bite it hard. I
can’t believe we’re back here. The worst of my nightmares is happening
again. I was right before—the past weeks were too good to be true. And the
thought that it might be over hurts so much. So fucking much, that even
though a less emotional Violet might be able to be more rational and listen to
him, this Violet cannot. My ears are ringing. The floor under my feet seems
less stable than it was a few minutes ago.
It’s happening again.
It’s happening again.
It’s happening again.
I try to breathe in, but my lungs are closing in on themselves. With a
raucous voice, I say, “But it doesn’t matter, does it? When he tells you to
leave me, you do it.”
He gives me a defeated face, shoulders drooping. “You told me this was
in the past!”
“How can it ever truly be in the past?” I shout back. “You were my
everything, Will. You were my everything, and you treated me like I was
nothing.” Swiftly, I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “And it’s
happening again, apparently.”
“You’re not even giving me the chance to fucking explain to you what
happened! I don’t know what you did or didn’t hear, but I defended you out
there. I got shit on because of it. I don’t care what he thinks!”
Shoulders pushed down by a thousand-pound weight, I pinch my lips
hard, the pressure behind my eyes building and building. He’s saying exactly
what I want to hear. My heart should mend with his words. I should be able
to move past this. But I must truly be broken because I say, “I don’t know
how I can believe that.”
His face falls. Actually, not just his face. His entire body slumps, like he’s
wax and my words are a burning torch. “How could you say that? I’m
literally on my knees in front of you, and you—” He buries his hands in his
hair as he looks away from me, a deep breath coming out of his chest. “You
know what?” He shakes his head, lips pursed. “You’re right. This isn’t
working.”
“W-what?” I can’t feel my pulse anymore from how fast my heart is
beating. My peripheral vision becomes blurry.
“First my father, and now this? You not trusting a word I say? It’s too
much.”
With that, he leaves the room, and despite not truly understanding what’s
happening, I follow him to his room. Leaning down, he picks his backpack
from the floor and starts grabbing random clothes from his drawers as he
says, “You’ll never get over this. I thought you had, but I was wrong. And
don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve made some mistakes in the past, but I’ve
owned up to them, and yet it’s like you’ll never be able to see me without
seeing them. I can’t take it anymore. It feels like my fucking chest is getting
torn in two.” He still doesn’t look at me as he finds a sock under his bed and
shoves it in his bag. “At the beginning of the summer, I would’ve taken any
single scrap you would’ve thrown at me to be with you, but I’m realizing
now that it hurts too damn much to be a permanent monster in your eyes. I
can’t do it anymore.” He sniffles, never stopping his packing.
And I stand there, frozen, tears streaming down my face. In a hidden part
of my head, I know this is happening because of me, but I can’t figure out
how to stop it. A little voice is screaming please don’t go, over and over
again, but it must be internal because Will doesn’t seem to hear it.
This is too much. Too much too much too much. It’s like someone again
decided to flip my life upside down in a single instant, and I’m left there to
witness the damage. That someone is probably me. And the worst part here
is, I don’t know how to stop it, even though all of this is breaking my fucking
heart.
Will moves to his closet, where he starts tearing stuff off hangers.
You can stop this, Violet.
But I can’t really, now, can I? Not when the only thing I can think of is
that he was always going to leave me, that it was inevitable, written in our
story before we were even born. I want to lay on the ground and wrap my
body around his legs so he can never leave me, claw my nails into the ground
and beg him to think I’m enough for him. I want to curse my mother and
David for having ruined something before it had even started.
But the only thing I find to say is, “So that’s it? You’re just going to treat
this like a summer fling again?”
He freezes in his packing, then lifts his head and gives me the saddest
smile I’ve ever seen. “Violet, baby, I’m not treating it like that. You are.”
Standing straight, he walks to me and stops further away than I’d want
him to. If I had a say in it, he’d be stuck to me like glue forever. But that’s
not how this works.
One of his hands crosses the gap between us before he drags a soft
knuckle across my cheek. “Ever since you walked into this house, you had it
set in your mind that I’d never be there for you.” His throat bobs. “There’s
nothing I want more than to be your forever, but not at the cost of feeling
your anger all my life.”
The fingers on my cheek move away, and he turns around to pick up the
bag he hastily threw his clothes in. Meanwhile I can’t move, stuck in a tug-
of-war between please don’t leave me and good, spare me the future pain.
Bags in hand, he turns around. His eyes trail all over me, as if they’re
committing my body to memory. I’m still crying, but I don’t know why. It
was always going to happen. He left me once. He would’ve done it again.
“Keep the house,” he says, voice low and raw. “Do what you want with
it. I wanted to see if it could make you happy again, but clearly, it doesn’t.”
On the last word, his voice cracks. He clears his throat, sniffles another time.
“Please be happy.”
With a spin on his heels, he’s gone.
 28

Present

I’m alone in the house.

Will left maybe ten minutes ago, and I still haven’t moved from my spot
in his bedroom. I remember that when he left me that summer and my dad
and I hastily came back to the house to grab a few things, I avoided looking
at this room at all costs. I couldn’t handle seeing something that might
remind me of him, which was inevitable, considering he was everywhere in
the house.
But now, I can’t imagine leaving this room. It smells like him, and the
bed is unmade. If I just close my eyes, I can imagine him coming back and
slipping in between the sheets, ready to spend another night with me.
But that’s all it is. My imagination.
I look to my left, then to my right. This house is mine now. I can
officially do whatever I want with it. It’s what I wanted. What I came here
for. I agreed to stay the summer for this. I won.
So why the hell do I feel so much worse than before?
I guess I can sell it now. Get rid of all the memories tied to it like I’d
originally planned.
Nausea churns in my stomach, and I run to the bathroom. Dropping to my
knees, I dry heave into the toilet, but nothing comes out. Once I’m positive I
won’t barf all over my clothes, I sit down and lean against the wall, the tile
cold under my thighs.
I can’t lose this place.
The thought comes as a realization, like imagining losing an organ.
Because in a way, it is a part of me. There were so many bad memories here
that I thought my love for this place was unsalvageable. But now, when I
think of the summer house, I see where Will helped me sew the new covers
for the couch cushions with Nora laughing in the background. Where Will
and I spent so many nights watching television, not quite touching, but close
enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Where I saw
Samantha again for the first time, and even though it was a rough encounter,
it still brought relief to my whole body.
Where Will made love to me.
I can’t imagine getting rid of these memories. They might have been
accumulated in a short period of time, but when I think of the house, it’s them
I see. The good moments. They overpower the bad. I never thought it would
be possible, but here it is.
And that’s when I realize I really, really fucked up.
I want this house. I want the Seabergs in my life.
I want Will.
With his long nose and soft eyes. With his strong shoulders and hair wet
from the ocean water. With his large hands and warm smile. With his shirt
off and sand between his toes.
But not only that. I want him with winter boots on and a hat on his head. I
want to see him at Halloween and at Christmas and at Easter too. I don’t want
my Will of summer. I want my Will of forever.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I knock my head back against the wall.
Because while I know for a fact that I want him, I still don’t know how to get
over everything that happened between us in the past. I tried, I really tried,
but I’m at a dead end. I want to trust him, but I don’t know how I can. It’s
like my whole body cannot get over it. And that must be what hurts the most.
My eyes drift shut. If I’m never going to see him again, then I want to
commit him to memory like he did with me before he left. I can’t forget him.
I won’t.
And suddenly, I feel a twitch in my hand. A twitch, and a pencil-shaped
hole between the fingers of my left hand. I know how I would draw him. The
image is clear in my head. Him sitting beside me on the couch, fist
supporting his head, a curl hanging over his forehead, and the warmest look
in his eyes. Like he’s looking at his happiness.
I’ve had a few of these drawing inspirations in the past days, but now it’s
not just an inspiration. It’s an urge. The feeling runs in my veins, in my chest,
in my head, and it’s too strong to ignore. It’s not that I want to draw; it’s that
I need to draw.
In seconds, I’m on my feet, running like a headless chicken in the house
until I find what I saw weeks ago. My old drawing pad and pencils, tucked
inside a box in the attic. Once I’m back in Will’s bedroom, with lemongrass-
smelling sheets under me, I pick up a pencil.
 I don’t need to figure out how I will start. It’s instinctual.
With a deep breath, I start drawing.

***

It’s been three days.

I’ve been able to get a few hours of sleep here and there, but mostly, I’ve
been lost in a world of my own creation. A world where Will occupies most
of my thoughts, a basic instinct as strong as thirst and hunger.
Sheets of paper are spread out everywhere. On the living room floor. In
Will’s bed. On the kitchen table. Most of the drawings are from this summer.
Will surfing or watching the moonlight over the water or laughing at one of
my stupid jokes. But I’ve also brought to life some of my memories of the
summers we spent here in the past. Will throwing Nora in the water when we
went swimming at night. Samantha’s cringing face after Jensen and Ollie had
replaced the filling of her Oreos with toothpaste. And then there’s the one
I’ve just finished drawing: Mom sitting on my bed, giving me one of her rare
but so comforting smiles.
Staring at the drawing pad in my hands, I sit down in the summer room.
Dust floats in the streak of sunbeam that reaches my skin, so warm. The
house is silent, the only sounds coming from children shrieking in the street.
The drawing of my mother isn’t perfect, but I don’t know how to make it
so. I did it only from memory, and I’m realizing what I remember of my
mother is slowly drifting away. I can’t tell what the exact shape of her nose
was like. I can’t perfectly picture the tone of her hair. The one thing that’s
crystal clear in my head is her smile. I think it’s been permanently etched into
me.
The thought that my memories of her are fading is bittersweet. If I
remember her less vividly, then I won’t think every single day about what she
did to our family. I won’t think about how she betrayed my dad and turned
my world on its axis.
But then again, if I forget her, I’ll forget how it felt to have her wrap her
arms around me when my friends at school said something mean to me. I’ll
forget how she taught me to be a strong woman who doesn’t need anyone but
herself. I’ll forget how it felt to know she always had my back and would
always love me no matter what.
 A splotch of water falls over her nose, the part of the drawing I’d been
struggling with the most. I look up, expecting the ceiling to have started
leaking again, but the house is fine. That’s when I feel the wetness on my
cheeks, dripping down my chin. A sob shakes my body. I bring my knees
close to my chest and wrap my arms around them. The house is too empty,
and while I don’t see myself selling it—at least not right now—I don’t like
how it makes me feel to be alone in it. It’s a place that was always meant to
be shared.
Before I can overthink it, my phone is in my hands, and I’m dialing the
number of the man I know will bring me comfort. It only rings twice before
he answers.
“Hey, honey, how are you doing?”
“Daddy?” I croak.
“Violet?” he says, voice tense. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you…” I sniffle, sounding like my eight-year-old self. “Can you
come here?”
“I’m on my way.”

***

Six hours later, a knock comes from the front door.

I run to answer, and as soon as I open the door, I throw myself into Dad’s
arms.
“Oh, honey,” he says, wrapping his arms around my back and kissing the
top of my head.
I bask in his embrace, smelling the detergent on his soft cotton shirt. God,
I needed this hug. He doesn’t question why I’ve called him. It’s as if he
knows.
After the longest embrace we’ve ever shared, Dad pulls back and says,
“Come on. Let’s sit down.”
I follow him into the living room without any opposition. It’s time the
truth gets out.
“I need to tell you something,” I say as soon as I sit down, playing with a
loose end on one of the fleece blankets. Dad doesn’t comment on everything
that’s changed on the house, but I have no doubt he’s noticed. Will and I have
turned a good part of this place upside down.
 “Yes?”
“I wasn’t alone here this summer.” Keeping my eyes on the blanket, I
say, “Will Seaberg was here too.”
“I know.”
My head snaps up so fast, I don’t know how I don’t break a vertebra.
“What do you mean, you know?”
Dad gives me a warm smile as he sets a hand on my knee. “Who do you
think sent you and Will here at the same time?”
My mouth opens, but no word comes out. This is not possible. Dad
doesn’t like any of the Seabergs.
“But…but I came here to sell the house so you wouldn’t have to. You
hate it here.”
“Honey, I never hated this place, and I know deep down, you never did
either.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
Another soft but bright smile flashes on his lips. “You haven’t looked
happy in years, Violet, and according to Nora, Will hasn’t either.”
My eyes narrow. “You’ve talked to Nora?”
“Of course I have.” He chuckles. “We both sent you here. I was hoping
Will could convince you this house was worth saving.”
I blink once. Twice. How did I not see this before? Us getting here the
same day. Me wanting to sell the house, him wanting to keep it.
“So he knew all along?” I ask.
Dad shakes his head. “Oh, no, he didn’t. Nora set him up too.”
“Why?”
“Because you two needed to find your way back to each other. I knew it.
Nora knew it.” He throws his arms open. “The whole wide world knew it.
Only the two of you seemed oblivious, so we decided to accelerate things.”
“I can’t believe this.” My sweet, calm, never-meddling dad decided to
engineer the plan of a lifetime to send me back to the man who owns my
heart.
Dad’s smile slowly fades. “But he’s not here right now…”
Not trusting my voice, I shake my head.
“So I take it our plan didn’t work?”
I clear my throat. “It worked.” Too well.
“Then where is he?”
My vision becomes blurry, and automatically, Dad hugs me. “Oh, honey,
what’s wrong?”
“I can’t do it,” I sob into his shirt.
He drags a hand down my hair, again and again. “What do you mean?”
Sniffling, I say, “I don’t know how to look at him without seeing what
happened that summer. When I see him, I think of Mom dying, and I think of
him leaving, and I can’t stop being angry at the both of them, and it hurts,
Dad. It hurts so freaking much.”
“Shh,” he says as he hugs me tighter. “It’s okay.”
When my sobs have calmed and my breathing has slowed, Dad pulls me
back so our eyes meet.
“You need to forgive, Violet. Let go of things.”
I lick my dry lips. “But how? I can’t think of Will and not remember
Mom’s betrayal of all of us.”
He smiles sadly. “I wasn’t only talking about forgiving Will, honey.”
“But—”
“There’s no ‘but,’” he says softly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Your mom’s not the sum of her mistakes. Her mistakes are a part of her,
yes, but she was so much more than that.” He tucks a strand of hair behind
my ear. “I choose to focus on the rest of her.”
My chest feels tight. I’ve tried to get over this moment in my family’s
life, but the way Dad said it, it sounds so simple. Like I can understand that
she did bad things but choose to move on from them instead of being stuck in
this endless cycle of anger and sadness. Kind of like what Agnes told me
days ago.
And if he—the one my mom hurt most—can forgive her, then maybe
there’s a possibility I can too.
Dad exhales. “As for Will, I don’t know what there is to truly be mad
about.”
It’s my turn to say, “What do you mean?” Dad knows how hurt I was
after he left. Maybe I didn’t always show it since I knew he was struggling,
but I’m sure he could see I was in pain.
“He was loyal to his family, honey. Can you truly hold it against him? Or
say you wouldn’t have done the same if the roles had been reversed?”
I don’t answer because frankly, I’ve never thought about it. I’ve always
seen this situation from my point of view, all woe is me, but how would I
have reacted if I knew my family was falling apart and I could do something
about it? I can’t say I would’ve done the same, but I can’t say I wouldn’t
have either.
“Wouldn’t you want a person with such beautiful loyalty on your team?”
Dad adds. “Because I know that’s what I’d want for my daughter.”
Tears start streaming down my cheeks again—when will I finally stop
crying?
“So you think I should forget about it?”
“No, not forget about it. I think you should understand why he did what
he did, and then decide to move on and focus on all the things you love about
him instead.”
My heart swells and breaks at the same time. “I do love him, Dad.”
“I know you do,” the most wonderful person in the world says as he drags
a hand down my hair.
Oh God. I let him go. I let the person I love go. Dad’s right. I can’t keep
my focus in all the wrong places.
Lip wobbling, I say, “I made a mistake.”
Dad’s thumb flicks a tear from my cheek. “And you know what? If you
can forgive his mistakes, I’m sure he can forgive yours.”
My heart beats fast, pulse thrumming like the hooves of a racing horse.
There’s still hope. If my dad says it, then I need to believe it.
In an instant, I’m on my feet. “I need to get to him.”
Dad follows me up, not a hint of doubt in his eyes. “You do.”
For the first time in days, I smile. It’s small and messy, but it’s there.
Jumping into his arms, I say, “Thank you, Dad. For everything.”
“Oh, you’re so very welcome.”
He keeps the hug going a second longer before pulling back and holding
me by the shoulders. “Now go find your love.”
Eyes wide, I nod.
Then get to work.
 29

Present

The airplane cabin makes me feel claustrophobic.

I don’t know why. Probably because I need to be somewhere else right
now, and the thought of being stuck in this cabin for an hour or two makes
me jittery. I want to be there already.
The plane has started making slow turns on the tarmac, and I mentally
urge it to go faster. Beside me, a girl who looks to be in her midtwenties and
very, very pregnant smiles as she looks out the window. A curly dark brown
strand of hair falls on her forehead, but she doesn’t move it out of the way,
both hands busy rubbing her belly. On my other side is a little boy, maybe ten
years old, playing on his iPad.
My phone pings as I’m tapping my foot on the floor. I look at it, and the
text message I’ve received is the address for a café in a suburb of New York
City. I let out a sigh of relief for the first time today. Things are going
according to plan.
“No!” the boy next to me shouts as he crashes his car and the screen of
his iPad shows a big GAME OVER in red letters. “This is stupid!”
“Louis, keep it down,” the girl next to me says, eyeing the boy. “Sorry,”
she tells me, wincing.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, starting another game.
“It’s fine,” I tell both of them. She looks a bit young to be his mother, so
I’m guessing they’re siblings. When we got on the plane, they were with an
older man who’s now sitting a few rows ahead.
Looking at them interacting keeps my mind busy until, finally, we take
off. The girl never takes her eyes off the window as we increase our altitude.
She never stops smiling either. I even hear her murmur to her belly, “Your
first flight with Mommy and Daddy, Mary Helen.”
Huh. I wonder where Daddy is.
The higher we get, the more relaxed I become. I’m getting closer to him.
And maybe when I get there he won’t want anything to do with me, but at
least I’ll have tried.
As the plane becomes horizontal again, the seatbelt sign turns off and a
deep voice comes from the overhead speakers. “This is your captain
speaking. We’ve now reached our cruising altitude, and our flight crew will
be coming through the cabin shortly. But before that, I’d like to give a
message to a special person.”
Beside me, the pregnant girl’s jaw flies open. What the hell is going on?
“Today marks the one-year anniversary of the day I married the most
wonderful woman in the world, and I still can’t get over how lucky I am to
have her in my life. So if you see a petite brunette with a big belly and the
most gorgeous smile, please help me wish her a happy anniversary.”
The girl is now cry-laughing, an enormous—and yes, gorgeous—smile
on her lips.
“Happy anniversary, Addy. You’ll never be able to imagine just how
much I love you,” the pilot says before the message ends and stewardesses
start walking down the aisle with their carts.
“Oh God,” the girl—Addy, I assume—says, wiping a tear from her eye.
“I can’t believe he was so extra.”
“He sounds like a good one,” I say.
She grins. “The very best.”
I try to return her smile, but I’m not sure it works.
This is what I want with Will. There’s not a single doubt in my head
about it anymore. I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to put me on the
spot in front of an entire plane except him. With him, I would face anything.
Maybe I’ve realized it late, but at least I did.
“Are you okay?” she eventually asks me.
She’s looking at my hands, which makes me realize I’ve been digging my
nails into my palms for the past minutes. I relax them. “Yeah. Well, no, but
hopefully I will be soon.”
The smile she gives me is sad but comforting. “You going to meet
someone special?”
“Hopefully.” I sigh. “I made a mistake, and now I need to grovel.”
She chuckles. “Oh, I know a thing or two about that.”
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.” She tips her head toward the cockpit. “My husband and I had a
rough patch before getting married, if I can say it like that.” Her face softens
as she says, “We had a lot to overcome to make things work, but if you love
someone, everything’s possible.”
I swallow. “I really hope so.”
Over the course of the next hour, a few people walking beside us to go to
the bathroom congratulate Addy, who’s still smiling wide. I can only imagine
how happy she is. Looks like she found her happily ever after.
Once the plane finally lands and it’s time to get off, I smile at her and say,
“Happy anniversary, and thank you for the advice.”
She nods, her white teeth gleaming in the New York light. “No problem.
Good luck with your man. I hope he’s your one.”
I nod, then leave the plane. This is far from over.

***

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Samantha takes a seat before me. The look she gives me is wary, but not
like last time. There’s a softness that’s there now. I’m holding on to it for
dear life. “Of course,” she says, picking up the cup of coffee I set on the table
for her.
I take in a deep breath, then say, “I wanted to start by apologizing.”
“Violet, that’s not nec—”
“Please, let me finish.” My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “I need to
apologize for what I did. You never deserved any of it, and I see it now.” A
knot forms in my throat, and I swallow it down. “You were like a sister to me
too, and I’ll never regret anything more than not keeping in touch with you.”
Samantha pinches her wobbling lips.
“I want to start making amends with people, and you were the one I hurt
most, and I’m so, so sorry for it. I hope…” I pause, inhaling deeply so my
eyes can stay dry for once this summer. “I hope we’ll be able to be friends
again one day.”
She watches me, mouth tight, before exhaling fast and loud, as if she’d
been holding her breath for a while. A tear falls down her face, but she smiles
at the same time.
“Of course, we can be friends.” She grabs my hand over the table, and it’s
probably the most meaningful touch I’ve ever felt.
“I understand you went through a lot,” she says, “and I can’t really fault
you for taking the time you needed to heal.”
 I give her a half smile. “I’m not quite there yet, but I’m getting there.”
Her hand gives mine another squeeze. “I’m glad.” She pulls back to take
a sip from her coffee. “So, how long are you here?”
Toying with the string coming out of my tea cup, I say, “I’m not sure.”
“Hmm.”
My brows furrow. “What does that mean?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, Tig. You think I don’t know you’re
here for him?”
“I…” No words come out as she gives me a knowing look. “Not just for
him, okay?”
She laughs. “It’s fine to say you came to see him. It’s not like it wasn’t
always you and him against the world.”
“I’m not sure that’s still the case.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I fucked up.”
“So go find him and make things right,” she deadpans like it’s the
simplest thing in the world.
Leaning my elbow on the table, I say, “Yeah, that’s what I plan on doing
soon.”
She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. No planning. You’re going. Now.”
“But I wanted to catch up with you!” I say, both because it’s true and
because I’m a real chickenshit. Sure, I wanted to be closer to him as fast as
possible, but now that I’m here, I have to face the fact that I might get
rejected soon, and I’d rather live in hopeful denial for a moment longer.
She shoos me. “We’ll catch up later. Now go get my brother.”
I follow her up, but I still am not sure what’s going on. “I don’t even
know where he lives!”
Her eyes roll again. “I’ll give you his address, Tig. I think he might have
told me he’d go to the pool this afternoon, but there’s a spare key under his
welcome mat, because of course that’s where he put it,” she says as she pulls
me out of the café, leaving our drinks behind. “You can wait for him there.”
“But… I don’t… I…”
Samantha spins on her heels and grabs me by the shoulders. “Listen to
me. My brother loves you. You love my brother. There’s nothing
complicated about it. So go make things right instead of wasting time if you
don’t want to lose the relationship you want.”
She would’ve made a really great life coach or war general because her
words seep into my soul like a command. I won’t stall anymore.
“When did you become so smart?” I say, smirking.
Her eyes roll as she laughs. “You’re doing this. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good,” she says before picking me up in a tight embrace. “God, I’ve
missed you.”
I squeeze her in return. “I missed you too. I really did want to catch up,
you know,” I say in a small voice.
“And we will. But now, you need to get to him.”
I nod. “Then tell me where he is.”

***

Will’s apartment building is cute without being over-the-top.

Nice flower boxes adorn the windows, oranges and yellows and purples
in full bloom. The red brick façade gives it a timeless look, while the black
window frames are more modern. The building isn’t big, probably only
housing three or four units.
I walk inside and take the stairs leading to the third floor, where
Samantha told me I’d find Will’s place. Steeling myself for whatever will
happen next, I knock at the door, but as I’d been warned, no one answers. I
only hesitate for a second before leaning down and picking up the spare key
under the mat. Will might be a while, and someone might call the police on
me if I spend hours creeping in front of someone else’s apartment.
The moment I walk inside, it’s obvious this is where Will lives. I
would’ve known it even if Samantha hadn’t told me. There are books spread
out all over the place, exactly how I remember Nora’s bedroom looking
during summer. The place isn’t a mess per se, because I know Will would say
that everything here has a purpose and is in the perfect spot, even though to
an outsider’s eye, it might look chaotic.
I slowly close the door behind me and take a step inside, inhaling the
typical Will smell as I explore the space. The walls are white while the
furniture is all soft tones of gray and beige. His living room holds a loveseat
and a large leather chair. The coffee table is decorated with a large book
called Paris Through the Centuries, and—
Wait.
 What is that?
I step forward to the table, where I kneel and look at the open shoebox.
I don’t want to snoop, I really don’t, but how can I ignore this? A large
box filled with paper. Paper with Will’s handwriting on it. One of the sheet of
paper is on the table, but the rest are in the box.
No, I can’t. This might be something private.
I start pulling away, but I freeze when I see my name in Will’s barely
legible handwriting.
And that’s when I know there’s no way I’m not reading this.
Sitting down, I pick the piece of paper on top of the pile and start reading.

Amy,
Why the fuck did you and Dad have to do that?
I know, I know, language, but I think this situation deserves a curse or
two, don’t you think?
You didn’t just ruin my life. You ruined Violet’s and Samantha’s and
Jensen’s and Oliver’s. You left my mom and Alan in pieces. You destroyed
our joined families.
And maybe I’m selfish to think this way, but worst of all, you destroyed
what Violet and I had.
I never meant to let her go. Ever. Once she was mine, she would stay
mine. But how could I do that when the decision you both made forced me to
choose between the love of my life and my entire family? How?
I didn’t think you could be this vile, but I guess I never really knew you,
did I?

The letter is trembling in my hands. I can’t be sure, but this looks like it
was written years ago. Probably when he came back home.
I can’t believe he wrote to my mother. Why?
Think, Violet.
This truly is personal, and I know I should stop, but I can’t find the
strength to do it. It’s like he decided to journal to my mother instead of to
himself. And despite knowing it’s wrong, I need to know what was on his
mind during all these years.
Exhaling shakily, I grab the second letter.

Amy,
 She’s turning twenty-one today.
Don’t think I’m writing to you because I’ve forgiven you. No, I’m writing
to you because there’s no one here I can talk to about her. We’ve all been
ruined, and it will take a long while to build ourselves back up.
I don’t know who’s with her today. Maybe she has a man by her side. And
I want her to be happy, but Jesus, imagining her with someone else will be
the death of me.
Maybe she’s with friends too, and I think that’s even worse. Because I’m
her best friend. I should be there for her. I would’ve come down to Syracuse
to surprise her and celebrate the hell out of her. She deserves to be
celebrated. So much.
I don’t know if she thinks I’ve forgotten about her. I hope she doesn’t. I
don’t want to hurt her even more. If I were a better person, I’d wish for her to
have forgotten about me so the memory of us would never hurt her anymore,
but I’m not. Despite not being able to see her again, I hope she’ll never meet
anyone like me. I certainly never will meet anyone like her.
Couldn’t you both have picked someone else? Literally anyone else in the
whole fucking world?

My heart is pounding in my chest. I knew he hadn’t forgotten about me

during all those years, but never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined
these were the thoughts filling his head while we were apart. For the record, I
celebrated my twenty-first birthday with a casual night in with the boys and
Dad, and having had Will with me would’ve been so much better.
I move through letters in the box, describing his thoughts after he left his
swim team and had girlfriends and went to therapy and attended parties. It’s
painful to read because he was doing so much worse than what I imagined.
His words make me realize just how broken he was too. I’m finally getting all
these glimpses into Will’s head that I’d wished I could’ve had for so long.
It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Hands shaking, I reach out to grab the
second to last letter in the box.

Amy,
I want to say I still hate you, but the truth is, I don’t.
I’m not saying what you did was right, or that it didn’t screw up my life,
but I’m saying I think I can’t fully fault you for doing it. Yes, you heard right.
I understand. Because I’ve been in love with my best friend for so long, and if
I’d been in the same position, having my desire dangling there in front of my
face, I can’t say I would’ve been strong enough not to take it.
And sure, I could say you should’ve thought about it before getting
together with other people and making families separately, but I also know
firsthand how certain circumstances can keep you away from the one you
love most.
It’s been two years and seven months since we broke up. I should be over
her. Everyone says young love comes and goes. So why can’t I forget about
her? Why do I still see her when I fall asleep at night? Why can’t I sleep with
someone without imagining it’s her I’m with? Why can’t I get her fucking
scent out of my head?
I’m broken, I think. She’s the only one who can repair me, and I’ll never
get to see her again.
Anyway, all that to say, I understand you, I guess.

He loved me. He really did. It was one thing for him to say it to me, but
another to write it to my mother—and to himself. He thought he was broken.
My poor Will. How much pain could we have spared each other if we’d just
picked up the phone and called? My chin is quivering as I put the letter down
and pick up the last one in the box.

Amy,
I don’t know what I’m doing.
It’s been three years and eight months since I’ve seen her last. I need to
move on. I know I do. But Amy, she’s all of my daydreams. Not a moment
goes by when I don’t think to myself, “Fuck, do I love her.” She’s in every
place I visit, in all the love songs I listen to. She’s in the chocolate-cherry ice
cream I eat and the 2000s movies I watch and the Jeep I still drive and the
thunderstorms outside my window and the quotes I read about love and pain
and beauty and heartache. She’s ruined summer for me.
Is this what going crazy feels like?
The more years pass, the more I start to forgive you and Dad. Not
because I’m not still mad at you two—I really, really am—but because I
know this feeling is stronger than everything. It’s stronger than instinct or
logic or compassion. Stronger than faith and beliefs and values. I know this
because if Violet was here right now and told me to jump, I’d turn to her and
simply say, “How high, baby?”
 I need help. Or I guess maybe I don’t. I’d rather have her live in my head
than move on and forget about her. Not that I ever could.
As you already know, she’s unforgettable.
W

There’s no controlling my tears anymore. He’s written down so many of

the same thoughts I’ve had in the past. I ended up understanding my mom
too, through these years. Not forgiving, but understanding. If I’d known I
could do something—anything—to erase the past and get back to Will and I,
I would’ve done it.
I put the letters back in the box, and that’s when I remember the piece of
paper that was left loose on the table. Leaning forward, I grab the thin sheet
in my hands. The paper isn’t folded like the letters in the box. This one
probably wasn’t written long ago. Inhaling shakily, I read on.

Amy,
I saw her again.
I know, I should’ve stayed away. With all the years between us, I’d gotten
to the point where I couldn’t describe the exact shade of brown of her eyes,
or the precise sound of her laugh. It was like rehab, and my need for her was
slowly starting to wear off, but one hit of her, and I was high again. Yet even
though I now have to start my detox all over again, I can tell you without a
doubt that it was worth it. I won’t lie, it hurts like a bitch to have seen her,
touched her, kissed her, only to have it taken away from me again, but I
wouldn’t change any of it. I would’ve taken a lifetime of pain to be able to
laugh with her again, if only for a short moment, and my wish was answered.
I could be mad that she can’t get past this rift between us, but I’m not,
because I understand why. She’s been through so much, yet she still shines.
She shines so fucking bright, Amy. I know you’d be so proud of her. She may
think she doesn’t know who she is, but I see her, all of her, and I know you
would too.
I miss you.
W

Right as I finish reading, the sound of the door opening makes me turn
around, cheeks wet and eyes glistening.
“Violet? What… What are you doing in here?”
 His dark hair is wet, a sight I’ve never seen anywhere other than at the
beach house. And even though it seems foreign to see him in this
environment, I can’t help but feel like this is right where I’m supposed to be.
Our lives don’t have to only coexist in the beach house. I want him
everywhere.
His eyes are frantic as they search me, and that’s when they land on the
letter in my hand, and the box beside me.
“Oh” is the only thing he says.
Closing the door behind him, he walks inside, and I know I have all these
things I need to say to him, but my head is exploding with all that I’ve read
and with the sight of him. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like centuries.
Still sitting down, tears streaming down my face, I say the only thing I
possibly could. “I love you.”
Will’s head jerks up at the speed of light. “What did you say?”
Forcing myself to my feet, I stand straight in front of him, fists squeezed
tight. “I said I love you, Will. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry for everything.
I’ve made some mistakes, the worst one being letting you go. And I can’t
promise I’ll be perfect from now on because I know I won’t, but I can
promise you to try my very best every day. And I know I might need to
grovel, but I’m ready for it. Tell me what you want. I’m not going
anywhere.”
My lungs are empty of air, this whole speech having come out in a single
breath. It needed to be said. Now there’s nothing between us. All my cards
are on the table.
Will hasn’t moved from his spot, eyes riveted on me, mouth slightly
hanging. He blinks and watches and breathes, but despite my pleading stare,
nothing comes out of that full mouth.
“Please say something,” I tell him.
Gaze still wide, he swallows slowly and says, “I’m sorry, baby, but you’ll
need to say all that again. I’m still stuck on the ‘I love you’ part.”
Despite everything that has happened in the last days and the insane
amount of pressure I’ve been feeling today, I burst out laughing.
“I think that’s the only thing that was really important,” I say.
Six feet separate us. I want to tear them down.
“You’re serious?” he asks, still dumbfounded.
“Of course, I’m serious. You think I would’ve flown here for anyone?”
Eyes searching mine, he takes a tentative step forward. “So what does it
mean?” His voice is so careful, almost too much. “You want us to date?”
I shake my head, making him pause.
“I don’t want to just date,” I say. “When you left, you said you wanted to
be my forever. That’s what I want.”
Grabbing the bull by the horns, I destroy the space between us and stop
inches from his body. As I look up at his tall frame, I say, “I also want the
house.”
Will’s eyebrows shoot up.
“I asked Dad and Nora and our siblings, and they all don’t mind if I stay
there as long as they can visit whenever. And it’s where I want to live, Will.
You were right. It’s my happy place.”
Taking another small step forward, I grab his hand between both of mine.
It’s cold, and I can feel his pulse racing. I thread my fingers through his. Just
as I’m starting to believe he doesn’t want this, he gives me one soft squeeze.
The ball of nerves in my stomach gets uncoiled with this simple movement.
“What… What about college?” he asks, as if he needs to clarify all the
logistics before fully committing to the idea.
“I’m not going back.”
“What?”
“Agnes has offered me a spot at the gallery, and I’ve decided to take it. I
don’t know if it’s what I want to do for the rest of my life, but right now, it
makes me happy. And maybe I’ll keep some time to paint too.”
For the first time since he walked in, Will’s lips curl up. “Yeah?”
I nod. “The beach house is my home. And it’s yours too. If you want. I
know you have your job here, but—”
“I don’t care about that. There are high schools everywhere,” he
interrupts, sounding a little breathless. “Are you in this for real?”
“I am.”
Apparently, that’s all he needs to completely annihilate the space between
our bodies and press his warm lips to mine.
I moan, finally getting the taste I’ve been craving for days. My fingers
tangle in his wet curls as his hands move down and cup my ass, lifting me so
I can wrap my legs around his hips. His tongue darts out, licking my lips
before I let him in, so soft and warm.
Pulling away, I say, “And I don’t get an ‘I love you’ back?”
He smiles, a supernova in the cosmos. “Oh, baby, I’ll give you a million.”
Moving us to the couch, he presses a soft kiss to my cheekbone and says,
“I love you.” My nose. “I love you.” My chin. “I love you.” My lips. “I love
you.”
Hungry for him, all of him, I grind my hips against his as I return his kiss.
Groaning, he leans us sideways so we can lie down on the couch. His kisses
trail down my neck, and as I throw my head back, I see the one thing we
haven’t mentioned yet.
“The letters,” I say. “I’m sorry I read them, but they were so beautiful.”
He gives me a half smile. “Now you know just how much I’ve always
loved you.”
“If only you’d known how much it was reciprocated,” I say, dragging a
hand down his face.
“At least now, I think I do.”
“I better hope so.”
Then I kiss him again, and as we make slow, beautiful love on his couch,
I feel better than I ever have in my entire life.
It’s not always easy to be with the one you love. I realize it now. You
need to work for it. But once you do, you can spend every day of your life
feeling the way I’m feeling right now.
Infinite.
 EPILOGUE

A year later

“Jensen, what the hell!”

Gasping, I use a finger to remove some of the light-blue cupcake frosting
my little brother has graciously spread on my cheek.
“It’s not every day my sister gets engaged,” he says with a shit-eating
grin as a way of explanation.
“God, you’re a jerk,” I say before squeezing him into my arms. Then,
when he’s close enough, I wipe my frosting-covered cheek on his neck. He’s
not the only little shit in here. Laughing, he pulls away with a shake of his
head.
“Hey!” a familiar voice calls behind me.
I turn around to find Samantha walking inside the beach house with
Caleb, her handsome fiancé, by her side. She’s cut her hair, now in a short
bob that fits her perfectly. Smiling wide, I run to her and jump into her arms,
so hard I almost make us both fall backward.
“Jesus, Tig, what did you eat today?” she says, laughing.
“Nothing, I’m just so happy to see you.”
She squeezes me harder. “Me too.”
When we pull apart, I give Caleb a quick hug. I’ve met him twice in the
past year. Once when Will and I made a weekend trip to New York, and once
where they came here.
To our house.
I still can’t believe we get to live here every day for the rest of our lives.
Each morning, when I open my eyes and realize where I am, a smile adorns
my lips. It wasn’t easy, but we made it there.
“Where’s my brother?” Sam asks as she lifts a bottle of Will’s favorite
red wine.
I jerk my head to the left. “In the kitchen. He’s trying to make a sangria,
but I think we might need to drink this bottle after all.”
Sam raises her eyebrows before disappearing into the kitchen. While Will
is a great cook, he’s a horrible mixologist. Not that I’m much better. I usually
just stick to wine.
Slowly, I gaze at the space around me. Nora, Dad, and Salma are talking
in the living room with Ollie and his boyfriend. They were all able to get here
yesterday so that we could spend the whole day together.
Nora is gesticulating with her hands as she’s telling a story, and Dad is
laughing, an arm around Salma, his girlfriend. They’ve been together for a
few months now. I smile while looking at them. It brings me so much joy and
relief to know that even though I’m not with my father all the time, and I
don’t see him nearly as much as I would want to, someone is there to take
care of him. Someone who loves him just as much as he loves them.
In the summer room stands Agnes, my employer who became a true
friend, talking with Kamali, Mickey, his son, and Aisha, her little troll who’s
gotten so much bigger in the past year. She loves coming to visit us and
going to the beach.
David isn’t here. First because it probably would’ve been a bad idea to
have Nora, Dad, and him reunited under the same roof, especially at the
beach house. And second because, although we’re on speaking terms, there’s
still a big rift between us and him. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get over
all our past, but I’m working on it. Will is too. He called us this morning to
congratulate us, and we were able to have a polite and enjoyable
conversation, so for now, I’ll take that as a win.
“You’ve done a great job with the place,” Caleb says as he looks around.
The last time he was here, we were deep in renovations, and the house didn’t
look nearly as good.
“Thank you,” I say, a proud smile on my face because really, I am proud.
Last year, when Will and I officially moved here together, we decided to
go all in and strip everything that needed to be stripped so we could make this
place perfect for us. Enough with the cheap patch-ups. There are no leaking
pipes or holes in the ceilings anymore, although I still crack up every time I
think about that time last year when our upstairs hallway became Niagara
Falls. Will doesn’t find the memory nearly as funny.
I jump when two hands wrap around my waist, pulling me tight to a
strong and lean body.
“Hey, you,” my fiancé murmurs before pressing a kiss on my neck.
“Hey,” I say, eyes closed as I inhale him in. “Where’s my sangria?”
Will gives me another kiss. “I think we’ll stick to bottled alcohol, okay?”
 Laughing, I turn around and hook my arms around his neck. “All right.”
“Are you having fun?” he asks, stormy eyes studying me. In the past year,
it’s like he’s only gotten more handsome. I can’t get enough of him. Even
when he has some free time during lunch and he comes to give me a quick
visit at the gallery, my heart gallops out of my chest.
I nod. “And we have another reason to celebrate,” I say.
“Oh really?”
I can’t control the smile overtaking my face. “Agnes told me earlier that
she sold my first painting.”
Will’s face lights up, and he leans down to pick me up and twirl me
around. “Ah, V, I knew you could do it.”
I didn’t start painting right when we came back here. At first, I only
intended to work with Agnes as an employee, not an artist. But one morning,
as I was taking my daily walk on the beach, the only music in my ears the
sounds of seagulls and waves crashing, I saw a young couple by the water,
holding hands as they gazed at the rising sun, and inspiration hit. When I
came back to the gallery, I asked Agnes if I could take the day off in the
studio, and she only gave me a knowing grin before telling me yes. Since
then, I’ve been painting—and drawing—people I see in settings that seem
idyllic. I haven’t felt the need to retransform my Instagram into an art account
though. I can keep making photo collages for people, but the drawings I make
of Will and our family stay with us.
Leaning forward, Will kisses my lips, then whispers in my ear, “Wanna
get out of here?”
I pull back. “Get out of here? As in, our engagement party?”
“Just for a few minutes. No one will notice.” He smirks. “To celebrate.”
I’m tempted to say no. All these people have come here for us.
But the temptation to say yes is stronger.
“Fine,” I say, “but just for a few minutes.”
With a stern nod, Will looks left and right, making sure the coast is clear,
then pulls me by the hand to the back door so we can make our escape. As
soon as we’re outside, we start running, both knowing where we’re going
without needing to say it. The wind is hot on my skin, the smell of salt and
seaweed is everywhere, and I can’t get enough of it. My heart is pumping as I
try to keep up with Will, who’s much more in shape than I am. Even though
he’s not competing anymore, he still goes to the pool three times a week,
which explains his fire cardio.
 “Wait up!” I yell, already breathless.
Will doesn’t, in fact, wait up, only looking over his shoulder as he keeps
running. “What, you scared of losing the race?”
I frown. “Since when are we racing?”
“Since now!” he yells, only running faster.
“You’re a jerk, Seaberg!”
He laughs, so bright and pure, the sound of my dreams.
Finally, we reach the sand, and I remove my sandals like I’ve done so
many times in the past. Just then, I realize Will was running barefoot all
along. Probably to make sure he didn’t waste time removing his shoes. See?
Jerk.
We run up the sand hill and past the foot bridge, me behind him. But just
before he reaches the water, he surprises me by stopping in his tracks. I join
him there a few seconds later.
Hands on my knees and heaving, I ask, “What are you doing?”
He gives me time to catch my breath before taking my hand. I stand up
straighter, sweat running down my back. His curls blow in the wind, longer
than they were when we were here last year. I love it.
“We’re a team now,” he says. “We’re going in together.”
Why in the world do these eight words break my heart and mend all the
pieces back together? He has no right being this dreamy.
Climbing on my tiptoes, I press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”
He cups my ass and lifts me in his arms. “I love you too.” Kiss. “But
don’t think that means you’re not going in the water.”
I gasp, already fighting to get out of his grip, but I know it’s impossible.
“Please, Will, don’t.”
Grinning, he leans forward and whispers beside my ear, “You know I
love it when you beg, but it won’t help you today.”
Then, before I even have the chance to say another word, he’s running
into the water. Nothing stops him. Not the cold water that makes me shriek.
Not the weight of me in his arms. Not the people on the beach who are
looking at us like we’re bonkers.
“I did my hair and makeup for today!” I shout, water already starting to
drench the hem of my flowery skirt.
“Sorry, baby,” he says before diving, with me hanging on his body like a
koala bear.
Oh God. Will I ever get used to the shock of my head going under that
freezing water? Probably not.
I emerge, gasping, at the same time Will does. He gives a good shake of
his head like a wet dog, droplets from his wild curls going all over the place.
The death glare I give him should make him scared, but he only laughs.
“You’re a dead man, Seaberg.”
“Really? Because I thought you loved me?”
“I do. But you’re also a dead man.”
Laughing, he takes me in his arms and says, “I’ll take it.”
My hair is drenched, my clothes are ruined for tonight, my makeup must
make me look like a clown, and yet I’ve never felt freer. It’s like this ocean,
this coastal town, this air, has some magic in it.
Legs wrapped around his waist, arms loosely hooked over his shoulders, I
get lost in his ocean eyes.
With a small grin, Will grabs my left hand and brings it to his mouth so
he can kiss the ring there. It’s not anything you’d expect. We actually found
it while doing another deep clean of the house. It was hidden at the bottom of
a kitchen drawer. When I saw it, I gasped, remembering where it had come
from. When we were eight or nine, Will won it for me at the Lobster Festival
in Old Orchard. The band is of a blue so light it looks gray, the color of his
eyes, and instead of a diamond, it holds a miniature starfish.
I love it so much.
Never would I have expected my future fiancé to propose with a cheap
plastic ring he’d won for me when we were kids, but I wouldn’t want it any
other way.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, Will asks, “Are you happy?”
I smile. I’m marrying the man I love. My family has been reunited—at
least in large part. Will has a job he adores. My father is doing great. I have
the best friends in the world. The best job in the world. I might still have
some work to do to forgive and forget and figure out who I am, and I still
have hard therapy sessions ahead of me, but even then, the answer to his
question is the easiest I’ve ever had to give.
“The happiest.”
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First and foremost, I want to say how incredibly thankful I am to even have
the chance to write acknowledgements for a second time. I never expected I’d
one day be publishing a second book, and that fills me with such joy.
The first person I need to thank is Jessica, who’s been present for me
every single day for the past year, listening to my complaints and telling me
to suck it up. You’re so annoying, but I still love you so very much.
Then, I want to say thank you to my dear Rebecca, who is always there to
tell me that something sucks. If you liked this book, it’s all thanks to her! I
love you to the moon and back.
Thank you to Darienne, who’s the person I can count on to tell me if I
should pursue an idea and to read my very first drafts. You’re a real trooper
for that, and I’m so thankful for you and our friendship.
To Gab, one of the people I rely on most in my life. To put it simply, I
don’t know what I would do without you. You’ll always be my person.
To Michelle, the best bookish sister I ever could’ve hoped for. I said it at
your wedding and I’ll say it again: having you in my life is such a gift.
To Murphy Rae, my incredible cover designer who always finds a way to
design the most beautiful cover I’ve ever seen.
To Jackie, who made this book so much better with her insightful edits.
To my family, who are always there to support me.
To Louis, who makes me believe in true love every single day.
To the bloggers, instagrammers, and booktokers who promoted A Risk on
Forever on their page. Mariam, Mae, Crystal, Marqy, Jess, Fifi, Carly,
Hannah, Isabella, Alicia, Annel, Madita, Kristina, Jo, Shelli, Rome, Anna,
Rose, Larissa, Paloma, Priyanka, Kimmy, Nini, SJ, Sirine, Kate, Jordan, Tish.
I’m sure I am forgetting some, but please forgive my mushy brain. I love all
of you girls to pieces.
And finally, to you, dear readers. I don’t know what I did to deserve such
amazing and loyal people on my team, but I’m so, so grateful for each and
every one of you. All your messages make my days brighter and I couldn’t
thank you enough for the love you’ve given me and my characters. You are
definitely the best part of this whole experience.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

N.S. Perkins lives the best of both worlds, being a part-time romance author
and full-time medical student. She has always been an avid reader, preferring
to stay curled up with a good book in her bed rather than going out. Although
her first love was the fantasy genre, she soon realized what she loved most
about those stories were the romance parts. When she read her first romance
novel, she fell in love, and has been basking in this love ever since.

When she’s not writing or studying, N.S. loves to try new restaurants, dream
about the next beach she’ll be visiting, and creep the cutest dogs in the parks
around her house. She lives in Montreal with her partner.
ALSO FROM THE AUTHOR

A RISK ON FOREVER