24
AT SOME POINT, it had become nighttime, and the moon announced itself through the window above us, casting shadows across Mack’s back. My hand slipped in and out of the darkness as I scratched my fingers along his spine, my heart leaping a bit when I saw the sated smile on his face. I racked my brain for some sort of quip to dial down the tension still swirling in me and came up empty.
Finally, when I couldn’t take the silence one second longer, I blurted out, “So is randomly sleeping with someone at these friend reunions one of the traditions I missed?”
When I accepted my award for Worst Post-Sex Conversation Starter of All Time, I would thank this line for making it all possible. Luckily, Mack just played along.
“I mean there was that time Nick, Eloise, and I—”
Despite his nerves earlier, he now seemed completely unruffled by what had just happened between us.
“Ew, don’t even joke about that,” I squealed.
He leveled a look at me, his eyes soft like half moons. “I solemnly swear I have not hooked up with any of our friends. Now, Steve and Marla, however—”
“Oh my god, Mack, I’m going to go down there and get a canoe paddle and smack you in the head with it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rolled onto his back with a laugh, and pulled me close to him, tucking me into his shoulder, that same spot I’d been drooling over just hours before. “This can be a new tradition. For our last summer at Pine Lake.”
I exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of his touch ground me. Mack and I were naked, in his bed, post-sex and cuddling like it was the most normal thing we could be doing right now. And maybe it was, I reasoned. Sex could be low stakes and fun, and we could each go back to our lives in a few days with some solid orgasms under our belts. It was no big deal. And it had been good. Like, really good. Great even?
Great.
It had been great.
I had taken a lover.
Passionately.
Check.
“I shouldn’t joke about Marla and Steve like that,” he continued, the solemn tone of his voice dragging me into the present. “They’re basically family at this point. Honestly, sometimes I like them better than my actual family.”
The sadness in his voice as he said this set off an ache in me, and a sudden desire to soothe away the hurt. “Well, don’t worry, it’s not like you’re going to go work for them or anything.”
Mack let out a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a groan, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I sound like I’m not grateful for them, and I am. I just always feel slightly out of place with my family, like I’m the one who doesn’t quite fit into the Sullivan puzzle. You know, there’s a real expectation of what success looks like to my parents, and sadly for them, I am not it.”
“And you fit in perfectly here,” I said, twisting around to face him.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think that’s safe to say.”
I snuggled in closer and dragged my index finger across his chest, tracing the outline of a heart on his skin, because in this moment it was so obvious to me that this was what drove his every decision. I lived perpetually in my head, but Mack was all heart.
My mind circled back to the renovated boathouse, and the overflowing vegetable garden, the swings on every porch. Pine Lake had always seemed like Steve and Marla’s baby, but now that I was here, it was easy to see that it was Mack’s magic that sparkled on every surface of this place.
“I haven’t really asked you how you feel about Marla and Steve selling this place,” I said. “This has got to be hard for you.”
Mack sighed, a low sound escaping his lips. “Yeah, it is. I love it here. I love getting to work with the kids every summer. It legitimately makes me happy, even after all this time. Though admittedly I am somewhat relieved when they leave.”
He smiled as he said this, a lazy, lopsided twist of his mouth, sliding his arm out from underneath me so he could shift onto his side, our faces inches apart.
“Eight weeks is a long-ass time,” I agreed with a laugh, remembering how annoying and intense we’d been as campers. “Even longer with a bunch of hormonal kids in your face twenty-four-seven.”
“Ha,” he chuckled. “That is a very accurate description of my job. And it is,” he agreed with a nod. “But then it’s also somehow never long enough. I can’t believe I won’t be seeing them again.”
He paused, a wistful look on his face that gutted me. I reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead.
“I’m sure they appreciate you more than you realize,” I said, remembering how stabilizing it felt for me to get to be at Pine Lake every year. “This was my happy place when I was a kid. The time at home, between summers, felt so damn long. I just wanted to be back here, at camp.”
“Same.” He nodded, nuzzling up against my hand, which was still lingering in his hair. “But I always thought it was just me. I never totally got how many kids truly need this place, as a break from whatever is going on at home.”
“I was one of those kids,” I said, a vision of Marla wrapping her arms around me outside of the dining hall after a phone call with my mom clear in my mind.
“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting up his head to meet my gaze.
“You know my parents are divorced, right?” I said, and he nodded.
“Yeah, I remember. When we were in high school.”
“Right.” I snuggled in closer, nestling into his side as I trailed my hand down to his chest. “But my mom thought it would be a good idea to tell me they were splitting up in a letter, which I got in the middle of my last summer here.”
“Jesus Christ, Millen.” Mack’s arm wrapped around my back protectively. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea That’s an awful way to find out.”
“Yeah, I have PTSD every time I go to get the mail.” I tried to pass it off as a joke, but Mack just tugged me closer, like he could tell that hiding beneath my attempts at humor lived the painful, raw truth. “Anyway. Marla always looked out for me. I’m sure it was obvious to her that stuff at home was never great. And that summer especially, she was just always there. I’ve never forgotten her kindness, how she just seemed to know I needed a little extra attention.”
“She’s pretty special,” he said.
“Yeah, she is,” I said, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “But you are, too, and I bet you help so many kids without even knowing.”
Mack had long exuded a warm, protective big-brother energy that he willingly extended to anyone in his path. Even as a kid, he was unguarded and open, and it dawned on me that this quality probably made him especially good at his job.
“You wanna see something cool?” he asked.
“Obviously,” I said as he leaned over the side of the bed, shuffling around for a moment.
He turned back toward me with a small basket in his hands, tilting it forward so I could look inside.
Letters, a big, messy pile of them, all addressed to Mack. “I stay in touch with a bunch of kids all year long.”
“Wow.” I grabbed one off the top of the stack, holding it in my fingertips. “Andreas Warner. From Worcester.”
“Oh, he’s a good kid. Picked up sailing in, like, one day, this summer. The way some of these kids just blossom here.” He gave his head a small shake, and a look of awe passed across his face. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Actually, I would.” My throat tightened, emotion coming on fast. I’d been so earnest, so hopeful, in that letter I’d written to myself all those years ago, valiantly trying to avoid the way my world was crumbling around me with my parents’ divorce.
It was the same thing I’d done this past year, diving headfirst into work as if that could somehow protect me from the painful, stinging sadness that pumped through my veins.
I didn’t want to hide from life anymore, the good parts or the bad.
I wanted to feel it all.
Mack stroked a hand along my shoulder, a quiet acknowledgment that whatever this was roaring through me, he saw it. But he stayed quiet, giving me room to keep talking.
“It feels really good to be back.” I leaned into his touch. “I haven’t been here for so long, but it feels like no time has passed.”
“Imagine how we all felt,” Mack said with a laugh, tilting his chin down to look at me. “Waiting for you to come back up here to visit was like waiting for camp to start as a kid.”
I could tell by the tone of his voice that his words weren’t said to inspire guilt, or as a taunt. It was, well, sweet, and something about Mack being all laid out and vulnerable like this peeled a layer off my heart, the protective piece I’d secured in place long ago where Mack was concerned. Here, in his bed, I was made up of feelings, soft and raw.
“I missed you, you know.” It came out like a confession, an admission blurted out not just to him, but to myself. The amazing sex was clearly acting like a truth serum, nudging words out of my mouth that I might have otherwise kept locked up.
“I’ve missed you too, Millen,” he said, his voice melting me like sugar on the tongue. “This has been the best friend-union by far.”
“And now it’s the last one,” I said, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be here, and now it almost feels too late.”
There’s still so much I need to do, I thought, my mind drifting to the piece of paper hidden under my bed in Sunrise. So much I’m supposed to get done.
“Well, we might as well knock out some more camp stuff then,” he replied, giving my arm a final squeeze before shifting up to sit. “Is there something you’ve always wanted to do that you’ve never done at camp before? Or, we could also just stay up here, watch a movie. Although I don’t even have Netflix, so maybe that’s a bad idea.”
“You can use my password,” I said. “It’s Boobs69 with a capital B, and at signs in place of the letter Os. B, at sign, at sign, b, s, sixty-nine.”
“Holy shit,” Mack wheezed laughing. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” I said matter-of-factly.
“That is amazing, Millen. And way better than pinelake1933.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it. Charles didn’t even think it was funny,” I said flatly, still disappointed in my ex for his refusal to even crack a smile when I’d say it out loud. It was a stupid, corny joke of a password, but it spoke to the part of our relationship that had hurt the most: We never, ever laughed together.
“Yeah, well, I think we’ve decided that Charles is an idiot,” he added. “And I say that respectfully, of course.”
I thought for a moment.
“I’ve always been too scared to jump off the high dive,” I admitted.
“Fifteen feet feels farther at night,” he said. “Also as the waterfront director, I can’t let you dive off the platform in the dark. Safety first.”
“Wow, you are good at your job,” I teased as I settled in against him. “Actually, there is something else.”
“Name it,” he said. “And I’ll do my best.”