Chapter Eighteen #2
“I’ve seen this movie so many times and I still hate this part.”
“Is she going to get eaten by a shark?” I ask.
“She is one hundred percent going to get eaten by a shark,” Nathan says. He’s close enough that his voice vibrates against my shoulder.
I suppose I could lean away. Try to shift. Maybe I’m too close to him. But there’s a kind of comfort to it, his shoulder against
mine.
It’s a little like the feeling I used to have drifting through a crowded bar in Jackson’s wake.
And Nathan doesn’t move either. We eat our popcorn as the sky overhead darkens and the colors seem to saturate the screen
as the light fades around us. As the mayor of a coastal town that does look an awful lot like Cape Cod (Rika was right) refuses
to believe he should close the beaches, Nathan shifts, and his knee knocks against mine. I don’t move away. Neither does he.
It gets colder as it gets later. Katy curls into Marcus. Nathan leans forward and grabs one of the blankets, pulling it over
both of us. When he leans back again, his arm presses closer to mine. I can feel him breathing.
I have to admit that this time at least, Rika kind of has a point about the queer reading. Three guys alone on a boat comparing
scars and singing together does have a certain sexual tension that makes me smile, thinking about what her running commentary
would be like. My phone still hasn’t buzzed, even as the credits begin to roll, but I make a mental note to text her later
about the movie anyway.
Marcus heaves himself up, pulling Katy with him. “All right, let’s get out of here before the line gets ridiculous.”
“We could just wait,” Katy says, stretching her back. “Let everyone else leave first.”
Marcus gives her a blank look. “Then we’ll be here for, like, another hour.”
She sighs. “You are such a dad.” But she hops down from the truck bed, climbing back into the cab. Marcus follows her, and
a moment later, the truck’s engine roars to life.
I sit up, untangling myself from the blanket and shifting away from Nathan, suddenly conscious of how close we are now that Katy and Marcus aren’t crowded in with us. He seems to notice too. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, grabbing the blanket and awkwardly trying to fold it.
The end credits music turns diffuse and distant as Marcus turns off the truck’s radio, and all I can hear is the sound from
the car stereos around us. We pull out of the parking space and slowly rumble toward the exit. Around us, a few other cars
are peeling off too, headlights flickering to life.
Marcus drops us off in the parking lot by the road, and Nathan and I climb back into his old Pontiac. It takes Nathan three
tries, turning the key, before the engine roars to life, letting out a whine as he turns us out of the lot and back onto Route
6.
We drive with the windows down, and the air thuds against my eardrums, blowing my hair back from my face. It’s cool enough
that I shiver, but it’s refreshing—the kind of shiver that feels like a relief after a hot day, and makes me want to pull
my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands and sink down into the old crushed velvet of the passenger seat.
The engine whines again as we climb the hill back up to the cottages and come to a stop in the clearing.
Nathan turns off the car, and the sounds of the night grow suddenly louder. Crickets and waves and rustling leaves. “So, what
did you think?” he asks. “You like Jaws now?”
“You know, I think I do.” I grimace. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, my friend Rika has this whole queer reading of this movie, and she thought I should see it because I was going to be
on the Cape for the summer. It was a whole thing.”
Nathan glances at me, that quarter of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Sounds like everybody thought you should see Jaws.”
“Thus why I’ll never hear the end of it.” I undo my seat belt, but I don’t reach for the door. I wait, watching him, and I
swear he’s waiting too, watching me.
My breath seems too loud in my ears, filling up the silence, as we sit and look at each other. And then he leans toward me,
and I lean toward him. This time, when he kisses me, it’s almost tentative. As though he’s hesitating, asking a question,
waiting for me to respond.
The flame in my chest burns brighter, sending heat down into my belly. I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck. Pull
him closer—
And then his seat belt creaks, and the edge of the storage compartment between the seats catches my hip, and the moment breaks.
We pull away from each other. My heart pounds in my ears, sending a pulse all the way out to my fingertips.
“Thanks for the ride.” I fumble for the door handle. “I’ll text you?”
“Yeah.” His voice is rough, but he’s smiling. “Text me.”
I climb out of the car and watch from the bottom of the brick steps as he turns the Pontiac around and rumbles down Spyglass
Beach Way, taillights disappearing into the trees. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and find a text from Rika on
the screen: Omg you did it?! I want all your thoughts.
I smile. In the morning, I write back. I promise.
Even though it’s closing in on midnight, Jackson is still standing at the sink in the bathroom when I walk in, brushing his
teeth.
He looks up, and for a moment, we just stare at each other.
Then I say, “I saw Jaws.”
He blinks at me and takes the toothbrush out of his mouth. “You did?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Just now. I went out.” I pick up my own toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste. When I glance up into the mirror, Jackson
is still staring at me.
“You keep saying you don’t want to watch Jaws,” he says.
I take a breath. Let it out. “I changed my mind.”
He goes back to brushing his teeth. And then he pauses again and says, “So does this mean you’re ready to talk about the couch?”
“No.” I turn on the water, wrenching the tap harder than I mean to. “I don’t need to talk about a couch, Jackson. It’s pointless,
okay?” I stick my toothbrush in my mouth, turning to face him. “I’m moving on. I don’t need you. I really don’t know why you’re
here.”
He frowns at me, frozen mid-brush. “I’m here because this is our bathroom,” he says, garbled around the toothpaste. “And we
need a fucking couch.”
I give up and turn away. He asks me about the couch again, as I’m rinsing off my toothbrush. And again, when I’m washing my
face. But I ignore him. And when I leave, I slam the door.