The Bungalow, The Summer Before High School
THE BUNGALOW, THE SUMMER BEFORE HIGH SCHOOL
Theo
They’re fourteen the first time Theo almost confesses three words to Evelyn that have the potential to change everything.
I like you.
He’s at the bungalow, lying next to her on the cool linoleum floor of the shed that Mo, a carpenter, finished and converted into a dance space for them. They’re recovering from a contemporary routine to a bummer of a Sondheim ballad: “Send in the Clowns.” Theo hates clowns. Theo feels like a clown. Staring up at the whirring ceiling fan, their chests heaving exhausted breaths in unison, those three words punctuate every thought. I like you. He tilts his head toward her. I like you. Her cheeks are flushed, a sheen of sweat coating her upper lip. I like you. It becomes all-consuming, the impulse to say those words out loud.
I like you.
I like you.
I like you.
“Again.”
Evelyn stands, then reaches both hands out to him, completely oblivious. From pinkie to thumb, each nail is a different color—cerulean, lavender, mauve, sunshine, and mint—because without polish she’ll bite them until they bleed. He takes those colorful fingers and she pulls him to his feet. He anticipates the release, but she just shifts her grip, pressing her palms against his and twining their fingers together.
“We have to tap into the emotion of the song,” Evelyn says, her voice soft and serious. “You need to pretend you’re in love with me, Theodore.”
His brow furrows.
Her lips split into a smile, a laugh bubbling up from her throat because it’s ridiculous, obviously, the idea of him being in love with her. In reality, his furrowed brow is a reflex because… seriously ? He almost says it. But then she lets go of his hands and jetés across the shed to the stereo, restarts the song, and launches herself into his arms. It’s their first duet with choreographed lifts. At first the pressure stressed him out. He started lifting weights, using the garage that Jacob converted into a home gym, considering his protein intake. Now? Theo loves lifts. He loves that every biceps curl, chest press, and protein shake consumed in the name of dance gets to be a fuck you to his dad. He loves the challenge of learning a new lift and the trust required to execute it.
He loves that they have that.
The song ends.
Theo and Evelyn are frozen in the final embrace, her legs wrapped around his torso.
It’s so much.
I like you so much.
“Better. Again?”
She places her hands on his shoulders to dismount, but before she can jeté away to restart the song once more, Theo reaches for her wrist. Her eyes meet his, wordless. It’s so quiet, the only sound the syncopated thrashing of their hearts, and maybe what Theo’s about to say will change everything. But… maybe it won’t. It’s not like they’re not already a hyphenate—at home, at school, at dance. Evie-and-Theo. It’s not like they don’t already spend pretty much all their free time together. It’s not like they don’t already love each other.
Theo swallows.
I like you so much.
He’s going to say it, because he has to say it, because not saying it physically hurts .
“Ev? I—”
A knock on the door separates them and sends him backward, the admission caught in his throat.
“Kiddos?” Mo’s head pops in. “Time to wrap it up. Theo, your parents are waiting inside.”
Theo frowns. Parents? Plural? Mo disappears before he can ask for clarification because Jacob has never accompanied Lori to pick him up from a dance rehearsal at the bungalow. It’s Tuesday. Jacob should be at the office, or touring properties, or doing whatever he does to be a provider . Theo must’ve misheard. He chugs water, then stuffs the bottle in his duffel bag, unsure if he’s frustrated or grateful for Mo’s interruption. Evelyn switches out the CD in the stereo and they cool down to Fearless , stretching out their fatigued muscles before exiting the studio shed.
“I felt it that last time,” Evelyn says.
“Hmm?”
“Love,” she admits with a casual shrug. “It’s easy. Pretending.”
“Pretending,” Theo echoes like an idiot as she walks ahead of him.
He sees Jacob’s black BMW in the driveway. He didn’t mishear. His dad is here. At the bungalow. Why is he here? On a Tuesday? At all? Theo follows Evelyn through the patio slider that connects to the kitchen, tapping his fingers against his thigh. Inside, his parents are sitting on the living room couch. Their mouths are moving, but he’s unable to make out the words. A teakettle whistles on the stove. Pep pours boiling water into three mugs. Biscotti is arranged on a serving platter. What is happening? Evelyn seems just as mystified. Her eyes shift back and forth from the biscotti to the tea, then up to Pep.
“Grandma?”
Pep doesn’t make eye contact, just drops a spoon in each mug. “Hey, Sweets! Bring out the biscotti?”
Evelyn frowns.
Doesn’t move.
Theo picks up the tray. “I got it.”
It all blurs in slow motion, everything that happens next. Peppermint tea. Jacob’s stoic expression. A tray of stale biscotti. Lori’s nose scrunches as she pats the empty couch cushion next to her and says, “There’s something you need to know, both of you, and it’ll be so much easier to just say it once.”
Theo’s pulse spikes. Her nose scrunch. Theo makes the same face when he’s trying not to cry. Bubbe died. Or Zeyde. Or we’re moving to the west side. Or Naomi is taking Evelyn away.
Or.
Or.
Or…
He doesn’t see it coming, the three words that change everything.
“I have cancer.”
“What?”
Lori and Jacob are speaking words at Theo but it’s too much medical jargon. Colorectal cancer. Stage three. His brain can’t process the news, but his body feels every word. Chemo. His palms start sweating. Bowel resection. His chest tightens. Treatment starts tomorrow. He can’t breathe. My prognosis . Theo doesn’t remember standing up or leaving the room in the middle of his mom sharing her cancer prognosis or retreating to the studio shed. He just remembers the panic clawing at his throat. Choking him, as Jacob enters the studio shed. Remembers pressing the heels of his hands to his swollen lids to avoid eye contact with his dad.
Remembers Jacob’s admission. “I’m terrified, too.”
“Dad—”
“Whatever you’re feeling? Feel it here, then leave it here .” Jacob squats down so he’s eye level, then places an awkward hand on Theo’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this as a family, but you have to be strong. Her prognosis is good. So we’re going to be positive. Okay?”
Jacob’s voice is thick .
On the verge of choked up.
Cry.
Theo remembers thinking it.
How desperately he wanted to see his father cry.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Jacob squeezes his shoulder, then stands. “I’ll give you a moment to pull yourself together, son.”
He remembers biting down on his lip so hard it bled.
The taste of metal on his tongue.
Jacob repeating, “We’ll get through this.”
Nodding as if he’s capable of pulling himself together as his father exits… only to fall apart all over again because he’s not strong, because he’s in shock, because his mom has cancer .
Cancer.
Cancer.
Cancer.
“Theodore?”
He doesn’t remember Evelyn entering the studio shed—just the soft, tentative way she says his name and the gentle pressure of her hand on his chest. His heart hammering against her hand. Jacob’s voice is in his head. You have to be strong. He remembers feeling so embarrassed that she saw him like that. So relieved that he didn’t spill his guts all over the studio shed floor. Theo jerks back, away from her, because it’s too much, her touching him like that. It’s impossible to be strong when his heart is in her hand.
He remembers pushing, pushing, pushing.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not. I’m not.”
“You’re not?”
“I love her, too.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“She’s my mom, Evelyn. Mine. ”
He remembers watching her expression as she registers the verbal blow—morphing from stunned, to pained, to angry . Knowing the precise combination of words that would hurt and saying them anyway because is that not strength? Lashing out, allowing emotions to manifest in anger? He remembers just wanting her to go away. Feeling so scared and lonely once she did. Then pulling himself together, swallowing the emotion—every emotion—until he didn’t feel anything at all.