Chapter Ten Sera #2
“Yeah, like, at least with the fellowship I can focus on one thing I know I love to do. I wouldn’t have to decide what I want study for a whole four years and then what I want to do with the rest of my life.
” I swallow down my anxiety. “And the commitment is short, so if it, like, doesn’t work out, and the work isn’t good or something, then I didn’t waste too much of anyone’s time. ”
“Your art definitely isn’t a waste of anyone’s time, Sera.”
“Neither is yours, Luke.”
We fall quiet. The beginning of an argument sits between us, and neither of us wants to take it any further. Luke clears his throat and changes the subject.
“Remember the sleepover before seventh grade? When we stayed overnight?” Luke asks as we approach the theater building. The theater kids glance over at us through the open doorway and turn their music up louder.
I smile at the memory. We were thirteen and terrible.
“I still don’t think it was a bad idea to sleep on the beach,” I say.
“If only we had accounted for the tide.” Luke shakes his head. “Though in our defense, it doesn’t change as dramatically at the Beach at the End of the Universe, so we weren’t used to that.”
“Yeah, so at like four a.m., no moon, I woke up to you screaming that the kraken had you.” I can’t stop the bubble of laughter that escapes me.
“I was closer to the water than you! That’s one hundred percent what it felt like. Cold, slimy tentacles wrapping around one side of me.” He’s laughing now too, his green eyes shining.
“I think they canceled sleepovers after that.”
“Really? That sucks.”
“Well, we did wake up the whole camp and scared the pants off the littles. I don’t think they went swimming for weeks.”
Luke’s laugh settles, fades. “Good times,” he says, still smiling at me.
The way he’s looking at me warms me up, like I’d been cold and not known it.
Then he reaches for me, pulling me off the path, and my heart lurches at the contact.
“Incoming,” he warns as a string of kids runs past us shouting “Sorry” and dodging water balloons.
Of course—he’s just being kind. He’s not touching me for any other reason.
He lets me go, and the back of his hand brushes mine as we step back onto the path.
I breathe a little easier once we’re moving and there’s more space between us again.
At the bike racks, I free my bike and slip my helmet off the handlebar.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “It was nice not to be working alone.”
He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for the invite.”
It’s a little awkward between us again. I want to say more, so much, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. I’m not sure it ever will.
“Do you want to go grab an early dinner at the diner? Maddy’s been mad I haven’t come by to try her newest pie.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised, and a part of me wants to say yes, to slip back into a familiar routine with him, but I can’t, of course. “I have something tonight.”
“A date?” he jokes.
“Yes, actually. Haven’t you heard of those?” I joke back. I think I see his smile fade briefly, but in a flash, it’s back again.
“Cool. Have fun, Watkins,” he says.
*
Abbi lets me borrow her car for the evening so I can drive myself out to Harwich Port.
It’s only thirty minutes away, but I’m late because I couldn’t figure out what to wear.
When I pull into Jackson’s driveway, I’m glad I landed on a sundress and sandals and not the T-shirt and shorts that were in the running.
The house is all white and massive with two columns framing the entryway and a balcony jutting out from the second floor.
As I make my way up the front steps, I quickly check my phone camera to make sure I look okay.
I fix my hair a little and then press the doorbell.
The sound echoes deep into the house. A woman in a maid’s uniform answers and welcomes me in.
I try not to gape as I follow her down the long hallway to the right of the grand staircase.
We pass a library, a room with a pool table, and a large sunken living room.
I shiver in the AC, which Dad still won’t let us turn on yet at home.
In the kitchen, Jackson is sitting at a long white marble island talking with a woman in a white chef’s jacket.
The maid ducks out of the room, and I can only hope my eyes aren’t completely bugging out of my head.
“Hey, Sera,” Jackson says, his face breaking into a grin. He gets up out of his seat and gives me a quick hug. My cheek presses into his chest—he’s a full head taller than me. “You’re right on time. Do you like ravioli?”
I laugh, nervous. “Who doesn’t?”
“Great. My parents are going out, so it’ll just be us.” His smile widens, his eyes lighting up. His golden hair is swept off his face, like he just got a haircut.
“Cool.” I turn to the chef and say hi. She just gives me a wave and returns to breaking down the lobster she has on the counter.
Jackson leads me out of the kitchen to a huge white stone patio, where there’s a set of cozy-looking couches around a firepit and a tray with lemonade and iced tea.
I take in the backyard. The perfectly manicured emerald grass stretches toward the drop to the ocean. The water is choppier ocean-side, the waves a little louder than in Northport.
“It’s so pretty back here,” I say, awed. The sun is only just starting to set, and the few clouds over the ocean are slightly pink. Jackson brings me a glass of lemonade and gestures to the wooden walkway that leads to the shore.
“We can go walk on our beach for a little, if you want?”
“Sure.” We walk their stretch of private beach, and I ask Jackson about his summer plans.
He launches excitedly into a spiel about sailing, and something called a regatta.
I nod along like I know what he’s talking about, but it’s all a bit hard to follow.
I like that he’s excited, though, and I make a mental note to look it up when I get home.
When the sky starts to get dark, we turn back.
We eat in the kitchen, at two place settings on the corner of the island.
I try to relax, but the lobster ravioli is so good I can’t quite keep my cool.
“My friend Maddy would love these,” I say, finishing off another two that Jackson just added to my plate from the pan on the stove.
“Take some back for her,” he says. “I’ll make you a to-go box.”
“If I don’t finish them first!” I laugh, and he looks pleased as he sits down next to me again and pulls his chair a little closer.
“Have you been to Italy?” he asks.
“No,” I sigh, trailing my fork through the sauce and letting my knee bounce off his. “Someday, maybe. Have you?”
“A couple times. You’d love it. The summer is hot, way more humid than here, but there’s so much to do.”
“And eat,” I say, taking a final bite of the pasta on my plate.
When we’re done, we take bowls of ice cream out back.
Jackson starts the firepit, and I ask him about where else he’s traveled.
When I tell him about the Paris fellowship, he asks to see some of my paintings.
My chest tightens for a moment, but I brush it off and show him the start of my self-portraits for the application.
I tell him about how I hope to finally get to travel through Europe next summer with Maddy.
“Wow.” He leans closer, putting a hand on my knee. “These are great, Sera.”
“They’re just sketches,” I say.
“They’re good sketches,” he whispers back, looking me in the eye and brushing a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “They look just like you. You’ll get in.” I shiver at his touch and scooch closer.
“You think so?”
He grins again. “I know so.”
I reach out and trace his bottom lip, smiling as his blue eyes glow in the firelight.
“Can I…” Jackson starts to ask, looking at my lips.
I nod once.
He takes my face gently in his hands. The kiss is sweet. But when he pulls away, I feel like I’m still waiting for something. The kiss feels like a question I don’t know the answer to.
I’m still thinking about Jackson’s lips when I flop onto my bed at home.
Next door, the house is dark and quiet, but out my window I can see Luke’s room is lit up.
His curtain is drawn closed except for one corner, where I realize he’s put up his old tin can phone line.
It’s not connected to mine anymore, and hasn’t been since before we were ten, but the sign is unmistakable.
He’s up to chat if I want to. My throat tightens, and all at once I feel a deep, aching sadness for what could have been.