Chapter 24
Iswear under my breath, seeing the parked convertible. Fiddle with the keys, like I’m actually considering driving away.
I’m not considering driving away. I’m trying to distract myself from the thrill spreading through my chest. I confused it for adrenaline, standing on that cliff last summer. But it’s relentlessly appeared since, in a pattern that makes it impossible not to associate it with Wren Kensington.
I drop my keys in the cupholder, grab a hoodie off the seat, and climb out of the cab.
She’s sitting near where she was on her prom night, in yet another fancy dress.
I walk that way, tossing the hoodie down and taking a seat next to her. Mirroring the same pose, reclined on my palms.
“Can you not wear the same color two years in a row?”
Her dress is blue this summer.
Without looking over, she replies, “Does that mean you remember what color last year’s dress was?”
“White, right?”
She huffs a low laugh. “You had a fifty-fifty shot.”
I don’t just remember that her dress the last Fourth was red. I remember it was strapless. Didn’t have much else to do while I waited for her to talk to me, aside from memorize her outfit.
“I thought you’d be at the pier,” she adds.
“I thought you’d be at the fancy party.”
“Left early,” she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “Kit was the one who always organized the fun part, and he was busy being a dad this year.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
I don’t remember exact ages, but Wren didn’t make her cousins sound that much older than us. Seems young to have a kid, although my mom had me at twenty-three. That sounded ancient when I was younger, but it’s suddenly not far away.
“Yeah. I’m happy for Kit, but it’s a little weird. Makes me feel old.”
I scoff. “You’re not old.”
“Older than …” She glances over. “When is your birthday?”
“January 10.”
“Okay, technically, you’re older than me. But maturity-wise, I probably have a decade on you.”
I laugh. “We met because I had to oversee you jumping off a cliff. But, yeah, you’re the mature one.”
“One, you did not have to do anything. I was fine, going bluffing, which I totally proved. Two, you had already jumped off that same cliff, remember?”
“Yeah, but I did it in a mature way. Not alone and having done it a ton of times before.”
“There had to have been a time you’d never done it before.”
“Yep,” I agree. “First time for everything.”
Wren clears her throat, and I’m pretty sure we’re thinking about the same thing.
I’m less sure when she says, “Thank you.”
I glance over. Her eyes are on the darkening horizon.
“For what?” I question.
“For showing up a year ago. I know I made that conversation … difficult. I was trying to give you an easy out. I didn’t think you’d wait for more than twenty minutes. But it meant a lot that you stayed, that you checked on me at all. And I realized I never told you that. So … thanks.”
“I have brief bouts of not being an asshole.”
“How concerning. Have you seen a doctor about that?”
I smile, letting one arm support my weight and scooping up a handful of sand with my other hand. “I’d always wanted to see how the other half lived anyway.”
“Bullshit. You think my world is ostentatious and ridiculous, and … you’re not wrong.” There’s a sad, hollow echo to her last three words.
“What does ostentatious mean?” I ask, hoping it’ll annoy or amuse her.
She glances over. “I know you too well to buy that.”
“Too well, huh?”
It’s hard to tell in the limited light, but Wren might be blushing a little. “Well enough, I mean.”
“Mmhmm.” I lie down flat since my arm is going numb, supporting my weight. “When’s your birthday?”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes, staring at the constellations overhead. “Because I told you mine.”
She lies down, too, tucking one arm behind her head. The fireworks should be starting at any second. I’m dreading the disruption all of a sudden, wishing it were possible to linger in this stillness for longer.
“March 11,” Wren finally answers.
Something about that date tickles the back of my brain, but I can’t come up with any concrete reason why.
Wren reaches out, picking up my right hand and holding it aloft in the moonlight. My heart stutters, then starts again at a more rapid pace as her fingers graze the stain on my palm.
“What’s with the paint?” she asks, letting my arm drop back to the sand.
“My mom has been doing some redecorating. House needed a makeover.”
“I thought it was nice.”
I snort. “You weren’t missing the view of Central Park?”
A pause.
“Lucky guess, or you looked it up?”
“I had your address. Took two seconds.”
“Have you been?”
“To Central Park?”
“Yeah. Or to New York.”
“Never. Too far away.”
“Seriously?”
“No. Not seriously, Wren. Yes, of course I’ve been to New York City.”
She huffs. “I can’t see your expression. I have a hard enough time reading you when I can.”
“Mostly school trips,” I say. “But my mom took me and—and I’ve gone a couple of times with family and friends too.”
“What did you think?”
“It was loud.”
“You only like quiet places?”
“I prefer quiet places.”
“You can find quiet in the city. I go up to the rooftop of the Met to sketch sometimes. If you time it right, it’s peaceful up there.”
“Is that the only place you sketch?”
“No. But it’s the only place I go to sketch.”
“How come?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t like answering them.”
“I told you my birthday,” I remind her.
“Did I forget to thank you for that highly revealing bit of information? Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone that you’re a Capricorn.”
I scoff. “What else do you want to know?”
She’s silent, thinking, and I internally panic. If she asks something about us, I don’t know what I’ll say. I already lied about not remembering her dress color. I’m more inclined toward honesty, lying on cool sand with her, and that’s unlikely to end well.
“How’d you get the scar on your chin?”
“Decided to walk on top of the monkey bars rather than swing across in third grade. Slipped and clipped my chin. Three stitches. Took out a couple of teeth too.”
“Ouch.”
“It wasn’t that bad. I don’t really remember it. I did plenty of reckless shit like that as a kid.”
“Only as a kid?” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Mostly as a kid.”
I wasn’t half the daredevil Skylar was. She was always striving toward the next challenge. Organizing a push-up contest. Practicing gymnastics. Swimming farther offshore than anyone else.
“I only have one scar,” Wren says, pulling me back to the present.
“How fasci—”
“Here.” She lifts one leg and twists her foot, flashing me the underside.
And the rest of what I was planning to drawl gets stuck somewhere in my throat as I recall the night Wren cut her foot. Wondering why she’s bringing it up.
The first firework explodes overhead, and I’m saved from having to make any response by the colorful commotion.
Wren sits up to watch the display, but I don’t move. From this position, I can watch her and the sky.
We’re silent through the thirty-minute show. I toss Wren my sweatshirt when she starts shivering halfway through, and she yanks it on without saying a word.
I came here to be alone, and it seems like she did too. But no part of me was disappointed to find her here. Wren easily could have made up an excuse to leave if she wanted to. Yet she stayed.
Later, alone in my truck, I pull out my phone and scroll through photos. We got an unexpected snowfall mid-March. I took a photo to send to Mom after waking up repeatedly during the night, unable to sleep after Wren’s call.
I find the photo a minute later and click on the details to check the date.
March 11.