Chapter Twenty-Five
All it takes is a text to Dina to start the cookout plans rolling. Within an hour, I’m fielding texts from Sharon and Dave
and Bill (separately, for some reason), all asking when they should show up and what they can bring. Even Meryl texts me to
say that she and Yan can’t make it—they’ve headed home for the season but are VERY BUMMED. I have a feeling Meryl accidentally turned on caps lock at some point and has no idea how to turn it off.
At least planning the cookout distracts Rika and Yasmin from wanting to see the cottage, and it’s easy enough to fill the
hours with a trip to Wellfleet Marketplace, lunch at a café, and driving them past the drive-in and the pond and everywhere
else that’s become a piece of my summer landscape.
We spend most of the afternoon on the beach in front of Rika and Yasmin’s shack, which Yasmin has clearly been looking forward
to. They practically race across the sand and into the ocean.
“This is amazing!” they yell, waist-deep in the water. “Seriously, Harlowe, how have you not been in the ocean yet?”
“The pond is quieter,” I say defensively. “And warmer. And not salty.”
Yasmin doesn’t really hear me, turning to dive into the waves.
Rika drops her towel and the book she brought to read on the sand and runs into the ocean after Yasmin.
The beach here is more crowded than I’ve ever seen the strip of beach by Dina’s house.
Umbrellas and towels pepper the sand. Kids are running in and out of the waves, filling buckets with water to make sandcastles or scrambling onto inflatable rafts.
I drop my towel next to Rika’s and wade into the ocean. It’s much colder than the pond. Even though the day is sunny and warm,
goose bumps prickle all over my skin when I finally get out far enough to let myself fall backward and disappear under the
water. It feels somehow darker and heavier than the water of the pond too. It moves my whole body, waves crashing over my
head, undercurrent pulling at my legs.
I push myself to the surface, gasping for breath and shaking my hair out of my eyes. Rika is floating on her back and laughing
as Yasmin pulls her along through the waves. But I shiver, staring out at the expanse of the sea that just goes on endlessly
into the sky.
It’s bright and sparkling and beautiful. And all I really want is to be sitting on the raft in the middle of the pond with
Nathan, listening to the trees gently rustling on the shore.
“Harlowe!” Yasmin waves at me. “Get out here!”
“Yeah, coming!” I wipe salt out of my eyes and swim toward them.
The official cookout start time is six o’clock, which means, of course, that Dina, Sharon, Dave, and Bill all arrive at 5:59,
because none of them know how to be chill.
“Well, it’ll take time to grill everything,” Dina says, when I open the door and point out the time. “And I figured you didn’t
want to be eating at seven. I brought cookies. Where should I put them?”
Katy and Marcus arrive a few minutes after six with bags of Cape Cod potato chips, but it’s almost six thirty by the time Nathan drifts in, dressed in a thin white T-shirt and jeans that are rolled up above his ankles.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him all day—he was gone before I even woke up, a quick scribbled note on the table in his apartment to let me know he had the early shift at Cuppa Cove.
His hair is going every which way, and he looks scruffier than ever.
“I brought a small contribution,” he says, holding up a six-pack of beer. “Should I put it in the fridge?”
“I can take it,” I say.
He hands me the six-pack, and I lean in to kiss him, quickly. But it’s still enough to taste the acrid blend of cigarette
smoke and alcohol on his lips. “Nathan . . . have you been drinking?”
He leans away from me. “I had one beer, Harlowe. I’m fine.”
“Did you drive here?”
His face closes off, shoulders hunching up. “You’re as bad as Dina. I’m fine. I’ll go get the grill started.”
He slips past me, through the back door and out onto the tiny deck.
I stand there, holding the six-pack, watching through the window as he and Yasmin fire up the grill. Watching the two of them
pull out burgers and hot dogs, talking and smiling.
He’s fine.
I slowly put the beer bottles in the cooler full of ice that Dave and Bill brought, repeating it to myself: He’s fine.
“Hey, Harlowe?” Rika’s pulling ketchup and mustard and a jar of pickles out of the fridge. “Can you help me take this stuff
outside?”
“Yeah.” I tear my eyes away from Nathan. “Sure.”
It doesn’t take long for the burgers and hot dogs to grill, and pretty soon everyone has a plate of food and a seltzer or
a beer. Rika holds court describing her entire queer reading of Jaws to Nathan, Dave, and Bill, while Yasmin ends up in a long conversation with Sharon about queer butches of color in the feminist
movement.
I’m nursing a seltzer, watching Nathan from the corners of my eyes, trying to calm the vague worry gnawing at my insides, when Dina comes up beside me.
“Harlowe,” she says. “You have a minute?”
I turn my eyes away from Nathan. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“Well, your lease is up in just over a week.” She clears her throat. “I wanted to check in. See how you were doing.”
“Oh. Right.” I set my empty paper plate on the table, wiping my fingers on my napkin. My hands are suddenly sweating. “Yeah,
I guess I should ask if there’s anything you need me to do. Um . . . strip the bed? Start the laundry? Anything to get the
place ready for the next renter?”
She frowns. “No, no, that’s not what I . . .” She waves a hand, but it looks stiff. Strangely awkward. “Never mind. You don’t
need to worry about any of that. There won’t be any more renters anyway.”
I blink. “Why not?”
She hesitates, and I see her eyes flick toward Nathan. “I’ve decided I’m going to sell the houses. Both of them. I’m having
a real estate agent take a look after you leave.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. All I can do is stare at her. My mind has turned completely blank. “What?”
“It’s time.” She shrugs. “Or . . . it seems reasonable.”
“But . . . where are you going to live?”
“I’m going to travel.” She waves her hand again, but this time it’s a grander gesture, and one that looks more assured. “I’ve
always wanted to, you know. I always meant to. Sharon and I had a long talk about Queer Punx and what we’re doing with our
lives and . . . Well, we both thought we might as well go now. See the rest of the country. We’re not getting any younger.
So we’re doing it—buying a camper van and hitting the road. Should be fun.”
I watch her raise her seltzer to her lips and take a sip. A breeze rushes through the open back door, fluttering her caftan, deep green tonight and covered in roses.
No. This can’t possibly be right. I can’t picture her existing anywhere except that house at the top of the hill. I can’t
picture her leaving—abandoning those summer cookouts or the kickball matches or Queer Punx . . .
“Wait.” I rub my forehead, trying to make my brain work. “What about Queer Punx? What’s going to happen to Queer Punx if you
travel?”
She lowers her seltzer and lets her breath out slowly. “We’re going to close.” She looks at me, and now there’s a sadness
in her blue eyes. “It’s been a long time coming. Honestly, I probably should have admitted it at the end of last summer. Nathan’s
right—I can’t just keep pushing along a business that’s not making any money.”
“But that’s not . . . He didn’t want you to close Queer Punx. He wanted—”
“I know what he wanted,” Dina says firmly. “But this is what’s best for everyone.”
“Couldn’t you hire a management company or something?” I say, desperately. “You know, rent out both houses full-time?”
“I don’t want to deal with a management company. Who wants a faceless management company fucking things up?”
“Or maybe Nathan could be the manager, or—”
But Dina shakes her head. “No. This is the only option. I need to sell the houses and close the store—”
“Is that what George would want?”
It slips out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying, but the effect is immediate. Dina’s face hardens, her lips
tightening. But there’s something in her eyes that looks a lot like hurt.
“You have no right to bring up George,” she says, and I could almost swear there’s a tremor in her voice. “You don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
And she turns on her heel and walks away, out the back door to the deck and onto the beach. Sharon pauses in her conversation with Yasmin, glances at me, and then goes after Dina.
Shit. I run my hand over my face. I should go after her too. Apologize. Tell her I’m a moron. Because I’m obviously a moron.
“Hey.” Rika bobs up beside me, stuffing the end of a hot dog in her mouth. “So Dave agrees with me that Hooper basically has
your entire wardrobe in Jaws. Your new friends are cool.”
“Yeah.” Outside, Sharon has reached Dina. The two of them are standing on the beach together, side by side, as the sun sets.
I wish I could hear what they’re saying. “I don’t know if they’re really my friends.”
“Of course they’re your friends. Why wouldn’t they be?”
“I’m leaving.”
“What does that matter?” Rika sets her empty plate on top of mine on the table. “Also . . . we’re going to talk about Nathan,
right?”
I glance at her. “What about him?”
She raises her eyebrows. “You and Nathan?”
I shift, and now my eyes find Nathan, who’s still standing with Dave and Bill, a beer bottle in one hand, idly looking at
his phone. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Can we not talk about it right now?”
“Okay. Sorry, I just . . . It seems like this summer was really great for you. You’ve moved on. It did what you wanted.”
An ache tightens in my chest. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Well, I’m really glad.” Rika chews her lip, looking down at the beer bottle she’s holding, and then she says, “Jackson’s
dating somebody, by the way.”
For a blissful second, I feel nothing at all. And then the nothing turns sour. “What?”
“Jackson’s dating somebody.” Rika clears her throat, trying for a casual shrug she can’t quite pull off.
“This guy who’s an adjunct at Harvard. It’s only been a few weeks.
I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t necessarily going to say anything.
But we got here, and . . .” She gestures with her beer bottle.
“Well, you’ve got all these people. You’re doing great. So I just thought—”
“You thought what?”
She looks at me, a vague panic on her face. “I just thought I should tell you. I don’t know. You were a part of his life for
so long, and he was a part of yours, and we all know each other, and—”
“Hang on.” I squeeze my eyes shut, mind spinning so fast I feel dizzy. “Is this why you and Yas are really here?”
“What?” Rika says.
“You said Jackson started dating this guy a few weeks ago, and then suddenly you and Yas were texting about visiting me.”
I open my eyes. “So is that why you’re here? Is this whole weekend some kind of pity party because you feel guilty that my
ex is dating somebody new and you’re still friends with him?”
Rika leans away from me like I’ve slapped her. “What the fuck? I’m saying you’re doing well. I only told you because you’re
obviously moving on and I didn’t want it to be weird if you came back to Boston and saw Jackson and Louis out getting coffee
or something.”
Louis. His name bangs around in my brain. “Great, so you’re already on a first-name basis with him.”
“We’re friends with both of you, Harlowe,” Rika says, and now she sounds as desperate as I did with Dina. “You and Jackson.”
But I can’t listen to this. “Yeah, I know. We’re all buddies.” I turn away, toward the front door of the shack. “I need to
get some air.”
“Harlowe, come on—”
I ignore her. There’s a throb building behind my eyes. My throat is so tight I can barely breathe.
But before I reach the door, someone catches my arm.
“What’s wrong?” It’s Nathan. Close and warm, smelling of cigarettes and coffee, holding one of the hard ciders Rika bought
for the cookout. I didn’t even see him grab it.
And somehow, that’s what makes me break.
“I don’t know how you can ask me that”—it tears out of me, rough and painful—“when you clearly won’t trust me enough to answer
the same question.”
He stares at me, and then his face twists with hurt. He lets go of my arm, and I wrench open the door and turn my back on
him, running to my car like I have any chance of outrunning the wave of guilt that’s chasing me.