Chapter 13 #3
The house was only one story, so its roof didn’t spur my fear of heights. I carefully sat down and stretched out my legs, the breeze swirling around me. I owe Christian Fox a thank-you note, I thought to myself, as I gazed starry-eyed at the smooth inky water and night sky. This is the best—
“Want some company?”
I leaned forward to see Connor standing below me on the deck.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“I heard you climb up there,” he answered. “The ladder is right next to the bathroom window.”
“Oh.” I wished I hadn’t squeaked whenever the ladder swayed. “Cool.”
“Very,” Connor agreed, then he attempted to calm his disheveled hair, running a slow hand through it. “Do you want some company?”
“Two-minute warning!” came over a megaphone. “Two minutes until the show!”
“Sure,” I told Connor, surprising myself. Hadn’t I wanted to be alone? “You have a minute and fifty-six seconds.”
He grinned, but before I could smile back, I all but squawked. Rather than ascending the ladder, Connor simply leapt upward, his fingers curling around the edge of the roof.
I expected for him to cleanly rip off the gutters, but instead I watched with wide eyes as he elegantly hoisted himself up onto the roof.
“Okay, no.” I shook my head, refusing to be impressed. “You did not just do that. You did not just do a perfect pull-up.”
“The stitch in my side says otherwise,” Connor said, and he took a deep breath once he relaxed next to me. The air around us warmed. “How’s your night been?”
“Both calories and cardio,” I said. “Nick’s name was on my dance card.”
“Was it everything you ever dreamed it’d be?”
I sighed. “Everything and then some.”
Connor snorted. “You do know he has a fiancée?”
“With his great-grandmother’s stunning emerald-cut diamond.” I nodded. “I also heard through the grapevine that he’s seven years older than me and my sort-of cousin.”
Silence, and then: “I’m totally rooting for you two.”
Laughter bubbled up inside me, and I found I couldn’t stop it from overflowing. Connor’s lips twitched in amusement, but a shot sounded before he could comment.
Yes! I thought as red sparks lit up the sky. Here we go!
The first firework sequence was a blend of peonies and chrysanthemums, their patterns both spherical and flowerlike upon crackling. If you blinked, you’d miss the peony, but I loved the chrysanthemum’s finale. Its big, bright burst was followed by smaller pops of gold.
I shifted in my seat with excitement, goose bumps blooming on my arm when I accidentally brushed against Connor. “You love fireworks,” he said softly.
“Yes.” I nodded. “But I’m not a pyromaniac.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “I don’t know about that…”
I offered him something that resembled a glare.
“You saying you’re not a pyromaniac when I said nothing about you being a pyromaniac suggests you are a pyromaniac,” he explained.
I flushed. “It was one New Year’s Eve.”
When I was thirteen, my grandfather and I had driven to a hole-in-the-wall fireworks store to wow our family at midnight. I hadn’t been able to stop smiling…until one of my cherry bombs went rogue and nearly nailed Pops in the leg.
Connor laughed, but then we refocused on the sky, a series of green comets now center-stage. Crossette, I pinpointed almost immediately. It was one of my favorites; a comet that broke into multiple comets, resulting in unique cross shape.
“I love these,” I heard Connor remark several minutes later, as we entered another phase. His voice was barely a whisper above the crackle and the party’s applause. “It sort of looks like a spider in the sky.”
“Or lace,” I said, nodding as the gold glitter shimmered. “The technical term is brocade.”
Connor coughed. “Pyromaniac.”
In response, I flicked him on the arm.
“Hey!”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “That hurt?”
“Yes, courtesy of…” He took my hand, and I felt my heart softly skip when he lifted it up and squeezed my fingers. “Your claws.”
Excuse me, I thought. Claws?
“Okay, rude.” I shook him off to admire my manicure. My nails were far from talons. I did wince a little at the sight of my right pinkie nail, wondering if I’d been chewing on it in my sleep…because it had been whittled down. Annie was right; the look was not cute.
As the brocade fireworks disappeared into strobes, I folded my arms across my chest. Out of sight, out of mind.
Connor seemed comfortable falling into another silence, but for some reason, I didn’t. “How was your night?” I asked him. “The boys behave themselves?”
“It was fine,” he answered. “Teddy’s sugar rush presented some challenges, and Finn suddenly wants to learn to surf for Claire…” He shrugged. “It’s just been a little tough today. I would give anything to be home right now.”
“Oh,” I said, caught a bit off guard by his honesty, but also quickly connecting the dots back to an earlier vignette; Connor looking out over horizon, notably not feeling tonight.
“My family has been hosting our Fourth of July cookout for as long as I can remember,” he continued.
“It’s not as big as this…” He gestured around Paqua Farm.
“But it’s still a big production. Decorations, goofy pool floats, games, everything.
My dad literally spends all year planning the menu.
He engineered a whole guacamole and margarita bar for tonight. ”
One corner of my mouth tugged up in a smile, and even though the fireworks were still in full swing, Connor unlocked his phone to show me photos his mom had sent him.
Red, white, and blue paper lanterns; pitchers of pink, yellow, and orange margaritas; people in sailor hats; hot dogs and hamburgers; and even human-sized cardboard boats in the pool.
A girl with braids was rowing as if her life depended on it, despite her boat already sinking.
MAD MADS, was written in bubble letters on the side.
“I’ve missed this cookout once or twice,” Connor told me.
“But it never felt like a big deal… There was always next summer.” He paused.
“But now, will there be next summer? Tonight kind of feels like the last one.” He nodded at Mad Mads’s determined captain.
“Mads and I are going to college; who knows what we’ll be doing a year from now? ” He sighed. “And Liam…”
“And Liam?” I prompted when he trailed off.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Just that I know Liam’s really going to miss me when I leave for Notre Dame, so sometimes I feel shitty about taking off this summer.”
A lump formed in my throat, wishing I didn’t feel almost exactly the same way.
My dad, and my phone calls with Annie so far, had reassured me that everything would be okay while we were away, but I had no idea how to prepare myself for the end of the summer.
How was I going to say goodbye to Annie?
After a year of spending most of my days with her?
I hadn’t thought of that when I’d begged to take a gap year—the idea that I’d be able to see her so often, but once twelve months ran their course, both of us would have to adjust to far less regular visits. Will she even notice? I wondered. When I’m gone for months instead of days?
Her mental calendar was nonexistent, and I hated that that sounded promising. If I left in August and didn’t see her until Thanksgiving, it might seem the same as me visiting Wednesday after stopping by on Monday.
The thought made my heart hurt.
“I know how you feel,” I told Connor, but I couldn’t find the words to elaborate. The more time I spent with Connor, the more I wanted to tell him everything about Annie…but the moment never seemed right. Now, for instance. I didn’t want to end the night in tears.
In fact, I really wanted to avoid tears on this vacation. I wanted to believe I’d left them all at home.
Connor didn’t ask any questions; instead, he subtly turned his palm face up on his thigh. Hand’s here if you need it, the gesture said.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to return to the fireworks. Silver flying fish squirmed and swam through the air—my dad’s favorite—but once the last one burned out, I snuck another peek at Connor’s upturned palm.
I’m here if you need me, it reiterated.
Blood suddenly pulsed through my ears, and all I could hear was distant cheering while Paqua’s pyrotechnicians geared up for the finale (no show was complete without a medley). Look back at the fireworks, my conscience coaxed me, but instead I found myself glancing at Connor.
Something in my chest seized when we made eye contact, starlight reflecting off his blue irises. Holding my gaze, he tilted his head in either amusement or intrigue. I couldn’t tell.
Although I was surer than sure of what was next after he reached out and tucked a lock of my frizzy hair behind my ear (thank you, humidity).
What are you doing? I asked myself as Connor slowly leaned in. What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?
I couldn’t kiss Connor McCallister; I wouldn’t kiss Connor McCallister.
Because someone, not me, would get hurt.
However, my mind didn’t stop my eyelids from fluttering shut, and I felt a thrill spiral through my veins when I heard him take a deep breath.
But when my heart lurched, it wasn’t because Connor McCallister was kissing me; it was from a startling shot around us. My eyes snapped open just in time to see every color of the rainbow light up the world. They shined, shimmered, and glimmered. “Incredible,” I breathed.
“Yes,” Connor murmured, but I felt his still eyes on me, not the sky. “Incredible.”