Chapter 34 Now Nine Months Later #2
I notice three dots below the post, indicating that it’s a carousel.
I swipe to the second picture, which shows Omar in the kitchen, holding up a burger.
This one surprises me even more: Did they decide to keep Omar, after all?
I notice Omar is tagged—I didn’t realize he had an Instagram—and click into it.
My chest pounds when I read his bio: “Chef and co-owner @bubbasnj.” I toggle back to the Bubba’s post and swipe to the first photo.
I click on Sebastian’s handle. He’s not private anymore, so even though I don’t follow him I can see his full feed.
His bio confirms what I’m already suspecting: “Jersey kid. Surfer. Co-owner and GM @bubbasnj.”
But it’s the third and final photo that causes me to audibly gasp.
“What is it?” Maren sits up, startled.
I’m silent, my thumbs hovering over the screen.
“Show me, Leens!” Maren reaches a hand toward my phone. I let her take it.
“The Jetty,” she says, reading the sign in the picture—a picture that looks just like the sketch Sebastian had shown me in the snack bar last summer. “Wait—they went with Sebastian’s café idea? This looks cool.” She swipes backward through the rest of the carousel.
I nod. And then I wait as she taps around some more—because she’s my best friend, and I know she’ll do exactly what I did. I watch as she puts the pieces together.
“Oh. Oh, shit.” She looks at me. “So Bubba didn’t sell the restaurant to that New York group.”
It’s a statement, not a question, but I shake my head anyway.
“She sold it to … Sebastian and Omar.”
I nod.
“And he’s calling the café The Jetty.” She looks back to the screen. “I mean, that’s clearly …”
Reflexively, I run my hand along the scar on my thigh.
I’m transported back to that day, the sensations eerily clear.
Sebastian’s arms bracing my body as he carried me.
The back-seat fabric of his Jeep sticking to my skin while Maren stroked my hair.
The vulnerability of his face as he slept in my hospital room.
“It might not mean anything,” I say uncertainly. “The name—it could just be a coincidence. Right?”
Maren doesn’t look up from my phone. “There’s a Story, too. Can I click on it?”
“Only if you let me look, too,” I say, hunching over her shoulder.
“It’s not even eight thirty,” David says, startling us both. We look up and find him squinting groggily at us. “Did I miss something already?”
Maren responds by patting the remaining sliver of cushion on the swing. David sits obediently, and we all huddle our heads together as Maren taps open the Story, pausing it with her thumb.
It’s a screenshot of a digital article about the restaurant opening. Maren taps the “read more” link. She scrolls through a Q&A between the writer and Sebastian, stopping short when she gets to a question about the inspiration behind the new café’s name.
Sebastian: I like what jetties symbolize.
They’re these man-made structures that protect the shoreline from erosion.
You can also use them as walkways, or to dock ships.
I want the café to serve a similar purpose in the community here.
A place that preserves our legacy and keeps us connected. A kind of second home.
Interviewer: Sounds a lot like the role your mom’s restaurant has played in the community for decades.
Sebastian: Exactly. (Clears throat.) And, yeah—it’s also a word that makes me think about someone I really care about. Someone who has always felt like home to me.
My stomach flips.
“Keep scrolling!” David hisses.
Maren obeys.
Interviewer: That’s quite a tribute. What does this “someone” think about everything?
Sebastian: I don’t know yet. (Smiles.) I hope she’ll be proud. Maybe if she reads this, she can tell me herself.
“What are you going to do?”
David’s question jolts me back to the present. I’m still silent. Processing. I look to Maren but her eyes are on the harbor, expression unreadable.
“Let me ask you something, Lina,” David says, squeezing my hand. “Why did things end between you two?”
“Because,” I say, unsteadily, “it seemed like being with me—being here, in general—wasn’t his real life.
It was just temporary. Convenient for the summer.
Just like our friendship always was.” Yes, I think, gaining confidence.
That’s right! “I saw the writing on the wall. For once I didn’t want to be the one who got left behind, so … ”
“So?”
“So I ended it. Before he had the chance to.”
This is the story I’ve been telling myself for months, but said aloud, I have to admit it carries more than a whiff of self-sabotage. David raises an eyebrow, nostrils flared, like he can smell it, too.
“But he’s back now,” he says. “For good, it seems.”
“Does that really change anything, though? He’s back, great—it’s not like he came back for me.”
“You don’t know that! I’m sure a lot of factors were involved, but if you think you weren’t one of them—a big one—I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“If he cares that much, he could have told me last summer. He didn’t exactly put up a fight. And I haven’t heard from him in nine months!”
Maren, I notice, remains uncharacteristically quiet. I can tell she’s chewing the inside of her lip, a lifelong nervous habit. And, in many cases, a hint that she’s hiding something.
Finally she says, “Right. So, about that.” I raise a brow and try to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.
“I’m gonna make some more coffee,” David proclaims. He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before disappearing into the house.
“Mar,” I say once we’re alone again. “What am I missing here?”
She grabs a cushion and buries her face in it. Whatever she says comes out muffled.
I pry the cushion out of her hands. “Try again.”
“There’s a reason Sebastian never reached out,” she says. We’re sitting on the swing facing each other, and her eyes shift to our bent knees. “I think it had to do with a conversation we had.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “When?”
“Like, two months after London.”
“You called him?” I ask, surprised.
She shakes her head. “He called me. He was worried about you. He wanted to know how you were doing.”
My head spins as I turn over the new information. Sebastian had tried to check in?
“What did you tell him?” Maybe hearing how heartbroken I was from Maren scared him off all over again.
“I told him the truth,” she says, finally meeting my eyes. “That you were doing better than you had been in a long time.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to think back. That phone call must have happened in October.
I was only a couple of weeks into freelancing, but already it was going better than I’d expected, my inbox full of assignments from local and national editors.
I worked late most nights, packing my weekends to make up for it: home-cooked meals with my parents, lunches with Bubba, movie nights with David and Henry.
I’d even met Hana for coffee and agreed to go bowling with one of her brother’s single friends.
There wasn’t necessarily a spark, but it had felt good to put myself out there.
I was far from having everything figured out, but I realize Maren is right: I’d been doing pretty well, all things considered.
“He told me he missed you, and that he was thinking of calling you,” Maren continues.
I shake my head. “He never called me, though.”
She purses her lips, and my stomach twists with realization.
“You told him not to,” I say softly.
Maren nods, her gaze drifting to the harbor.
“Why?” My voice breaks on the word.
“I asked him what the point of calling you would be, and he said he wanted to tell you that he still had feelings for you.” I suck in a breath, my heart thrumming in my chest. “But when I pressed him for a concrete plan—what he wanted, and how you fit into it—he couldn’t give me one.
He said he still had a lot he was trying to figure out.
” Her eyes shift back to mine. “It really pissed me off, you know? So I said that if I were him, I wouldn’t bother calling, or ever speaking to you again.
I told him that if he cared about you as much as he said he did, he’d finally let you go. ”
The reality of Maren’s betrayal sets in, and I’m momentarily speechless as I try to fit this new puzzle piece into the picture I have of the last nine months.
Sebastian had wanted to reach out. Had held on to hope for the future.
But the person who knows me better than anyone had advised him not to—without ever confirming what I wanted.
Maren reaches for my hands. “Please say something, Leens.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about that conversation?” I think of all the opportunities she’s had to tell me in the time since they talked, all the FaceTimes and messages we’ve exchanged with this secret between us.
She shakes her head. “I should have. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved, especially not behind your back like that.
But I was just so angry at him. For sucking you in again only to let you down, but also for not seeing this fucking amazing person who has always been right in front of him.
” She leans toward me. “I told myself I would tell you eventually, but then you hit your stride freelancing. You were thriving. I didn’t want to throw a curveball at you.
I know you hate me right now, Leens, but try to see it through my eyes. ”
I feel hurt and confused and angry, but I squeeze my eyes shut and try to do what she’s asked.
I think back to our conversation in London, when I told her how stuck I felt.
What I’d been doing wasn’t working. If Sebastian had reached out to me back then, who’s to say I wouldn’t have gotten sucked right back into his orbit?
Good intentions aside, he still didn’t really know what he wanted.
Then another thought hits me: If someone had treated Maren that way, would I have handled it any differently?
When I look at Maren again I can see that she’s blinking back tears. I reach across the swing for her hand.
“I could never hate you, Mar,” I say as she turns toward me. “You know that.”
“But you’re really mad,” she says.
I cock my head. “I’m a little mad.”
Her face falls. “I’m a terrible person.”
“Hey,” I say, pouting my lip. “Don’t talk about my best friend that way.”
She smiles weakly.
“I really wish you had trusted me to make the decision myself, but I get it,” I say. “You were just trying to protect me.”
Maren lets out a sigh of relief and throws her arms around me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says into my shoulder.
“Any more secrets you need to get off your chest?”
“None. Ever again.” She pulls back to look at me. “I think you should talk to him, though.”
I give her a quizzical look. “Nothing has changed, Mar. Everything you said is still true. What makes you suddenly think this time would be any different?”
“Actually? I’d argue a pretty big factor has changed.”
I squint at her.
She nudges me playfully and says, “You.”
Me.
I’ve changed?
I let the thought wash over me like a wave.
A lot has changed in the last nine months.
I took a huge career risk. It’s a hustle for sure and trying to figure out how to do my taxes as a freelancer nearly sent me begging to Mandy for my job back, but I’ve never felt so professionally fulfilled.
I took an epic trip with my best friend.
I strengthened my relationships with friends and family.
I’ve been more present than I’ve felt since I was a kid.
I’m not stagnant anymore—I’m moving forward.
Ever since I met Sebastian, I’ve let him be in the driver’s seat.
If he decided he wanted to be with me, then we’d be together.
The proverbial ball never left his court.
So I blamed what happened last summer on the fact that he wasn’t ready for me, just like when we were teenagers.
But the truth is that I hadn’t been ready for him, either.
I jump to my feet, pulling Maren with me. “Can you lend me something to wear?”
My best friend smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”