Millie
The Club grounds are quiet since it’s so early in the morning, before the gates open to guests, and a low mist rolls in from the sea. I used to love this time of day, but now it feels like a pair of hands may reach out from the haze and grab my ankles.
I’m standing in front of the service entrance holding a box full of freshly pressed tablecloths that Jordan asked me to bring to the clubhouse, my lifeguarding backpack strapped to my shoulders.
I really should have planned this better.
But I said yes before realizing that by “box,” she meant an enormous, trapezoidal package that weighs fifty pounds and is nearly impossible for me to carry on my own.
Now I struggle to balance the monstrosity while taking even one step forward, not that I really want to anyway.
Walking the grounds alone right now feels like tempting fate.
The box teeters in my grasp, and I stop it from falling by balancing the corner on my hip. But the puttering of a golf cart careening around the circular driveway makes me lose focus enough to nearly drop the whole box.
“Oh shit, I’ll help you.” Ethan stops the golf cart directly in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say as Ethan grabs the box, placing it in the flatbed behind the driver’s seat.
“Clubhouse?” he asks. “Want a ride?”
“Desperately.”
I hop in beside him, and Ethan takes off, winding over the gravel walkway.
The air smells of salt and sand, not yet tainted by fryer oil and sunscreen.
I sneak a glance at him. I haven’t seen him alone since Billy’s funeral, and based on the bags under his eyes, it looks like he’s barely slept since then.
My heart pounds in my chest as I grip the straps on my tote bag.
Inside is the book I bought him at the Bonanza yesterday, A Young Person’s Guide to Grieving.
I thought about giving it to him last night at his house, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it with everyone else around.
I was worried it might be too intimate, too much.
But Ethan looks so distraught, so unlike himself, and I all I want to do is help.
I reach inside the bag and grip the book. “I got you something,” I say gingerly.
Ethan glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Really? What?”
“Here,” I say, handing it to him face up.
Ethan’s cheeks flush, and the golf cart comes to a stop.
He takes it from me, holding it with both hands, but he doesn’t say anything, just examines the cover, which pictures a teenager looking up at the moon.
There’s a quickening in my heart. Crap. I made a mistake, assumed Ethan would want something like this.
It’s too personal, too forward. I shouldn’t have done anything, should never have been so presumptuous.
I open my mouth to apologize, but at the same time, Ethan turns to me, his eyes glassy, and his mouth splits into a smile.
“Millie,” he says. “Thank you.”
“Really?” I press my finger pads together in my lap. “It’s not too…?”
“I can’t believe he’s gone. I know he could be an idiot sometimes, but he was my best friend. All anyone can talk about is what happened and if Justin did it. It’s almost like it’s become a game or a puzzle.”
“Freaking Frankie.”
Ethan shrugs. “She’s not the only one. I wish everyone could remember he was a person, too.”
I rest my fingertips on his biceps. An act of comfort. A reflex. His skin is hot, sparking under my touch, and I pull away like I burned myself.
Ethan’s never been shy when talking about his feelings. His fearlessness over his emotions is as much a part of him as his dark eyebrows or the small gold hoop dangling from his ear. But he’s never spoken to me like this. Not like I’m a confidant.
Ethan forces a small smile. “It’s weird. It’s been hard to talk to Lucy. She’s so busy with work.” He shakes his head. “This is nice. That’s all.”
A lump forms in my throat. Those are the words I’ve been desperate to hear for years.
That he wants to spend time with me. But it’s so strange to hear him talk about Lucy like that, like she’s not perfect, and there’s a funny sensation in my stomach, like my gut is trying to tell me something.
But I’m not quite sure what that is yet. I’m not sure I want to know.
“Anyway. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.” Ethan brushes his hair out of his face. “Would you mind keeping this between us? I know how close you guys are, but…” He trails off for a minute like he’s catching his breath.
“I won’t say anything,” I promise, and force myself to look forward, not directly at him.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you this summer.”
I press my mouth closed, unable to find the words to respond as Ethan sets his foot to the gas, and we take off toward the clubhouse, where he helps me deposit the tablecloths inside the lobby with one of the chefs.
There’s an ease with which we move around each other, our steps in sync, and a cavern opens in my chest. I’m going to miss him so much when he goes to college.
Once we’re back outside, the sun has started to peek out from behind the clouds, the mist dissolving into the warming air, and everything in my body starts to relax.
I stretch my arms above my head, turning my face to the sun.
I close my eyes for a moment and when I blink them open, Ethan’s standing in front of me, a small smile on his face and his arms crossed over his broad chest. His black sunglasses are perched on top of his head, which makes his dark hair stick up at odd angles.
“What?” I ask, embarrassed for a moment.
Ethan shrugs. “Wanna grab iced coffees from the Snack Shack?”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that I only drink iced tea, because right now he’s looking at me with that bold smile, holding the book I gave him to his chest like it’s a gift that means something.
Instead, I focus on the fluttering in my stomach, the sparkle in Ethan’s eyes, visible only to me. The answer is obvious. “Yes.”