Chapter 35
One Afternoon, Eight Years Ago
Silas
“If you look at your phone one more time, I’ll have to chuck it in the ocean just to save you from yourself,” Micah says at my side.
I force myself to slide it into my back pocket, shoving my hands into my sweatshirt to keep them occupied.
We take a few more steps around the park, and I try to harness my focus.
Gulls and thin clouds move over our heads, waves crash in the distance, Savvy’s and O’Doyle’s sit across the street in our line of sight.
All of it is so familiar I could walk it with my eyes closed, and yet my world still feels totally off center.
Been that way for the last six weeks, ever since I had one lucky night with the redhead of my dreams.
“Seriously, Silas. You’ve called her three times in the three days I’ve been home and have done nothing but stare at the phone in between. I get you like the chick, but—”
“Don’t.”
He goes quiet like I knew he would. My younger brother and I have always had that kind of understanding. Free to bring out the worst in each other, to fight when we need to blow off steam—even when we’re not necessarily the cause. And we know when to drop shit and quit pushing each other, too.
It is also Micah’s last day in Spunes before he has to hit the road again, for more baseball and shitty hotels. Hurling his all at something that, so far, only seems to give him irregular blips of happiness in return. The least I can do is spare him my undivided attention for a little while.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just want to make sure she’s all right. With . . . with Merritt and everything.” I’ve given him the abbreviated version of my night with Bea. Said we ran into each other and it turned into a ten-hour date, before she got a call from Merritt and everything got thrown into chaos.
“You know when Merritt’s supposed to have surgery?” Micah asks.
“Today,” I croak. I’ve been sucking up to Martha O’Doyle for every scrap of news, hoping something about Bea will accompany it on the fringes, feeling sick with guilt for even hoping for that when I can’t begin to imagine what Merritt and her family are going through.
But fuck. I don’t feel guilty about that night.
A little stupid, maybe. Like maybe I spilled my guts too much or came on too strong.
No, this is fucking ridiculous. I know I didn’t hallucinate how that night felt.
I get that girl relationships tend to be a little more complicated, but I can’t understand why Merritt having a crush on my dumb ass in high school would make something between Bea and me wrong, presently.
I’d like Bea to help me understand, if that’s even the case.
“All right. No offense,” Micah says with a beleaguered sigh.
“But Ellis is already a sad sack, and shit between him and Wren feels weird to be around. And I’ve only got one more night at home before I have to go back, where I will probably end up being the sad sack myself.
I’m gonna go to Sage’s. Call me if you or anyone around here stumble upon some cheer. ”
“Shit. Sorry, Micah.”
He tugs me into a half hug, and we thump one another on the back. “Just call me if you want to go out or something, man. It might be time to take the hint.” Another hard thump. “It’s your birthday, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah, I got it. Stay safe, okay?”
“Will do. See ya.”
Micah shuffles off, and I plop into a bench on the perimeter of the park, watching the waves and trying not to feel bad that I wasn’t the company my brother needed. I’ll make it up to him next time.
I don’t know why I can’t let go of one damned night, or this one girl from this one small town.
I know how to figure out what people want from me and how to give it to them, so I know I could go on and have plenty of fun with someone else if I tried.
But spending time with Bea that night, with all her attention trained on me and mine on her .
. . that had been a different sort of fun.
It felt like confirming something that had been there all along.
It’s how I imagine being with a best friend you also want to fuck would feel, and even if Bea didn’t want sex, I would still want that friendship.
Fuck, I have to push off from the bench and start walking around again.
I want to hang out with Bea some more and come up with stupid questions to ask her.
A billion would you rathers and her theories on alien abductions.
Play board games I typically hate. Find out her favorite movies and books and do an exchange.
Is she a cat person or a dog person, or is she like me in that she thinks people can be both?
Does she like white lights or multicolored at Christmas?
Why am I doing this? I’m holding on too tight again. Getting way too ahead of myself.
I yank open the door in front of me unseeingly and let my eyesight adjust to the change in brightness inside. I’ve wandered into O’Doyle’s on autopilot, it seems.
My eyes catch on the canoe suspended from the ceiling—the wishing canoe Bea told me about. It suddenly feels like the most logical thing in the world to channel all of this into a wish and leave it up to something else. Something that is not me. The universe or fate or whatever.
Yeah. That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’m going to make a wish that, somehow, Bea and I end up together. I don’t know how it’ll look, and I don’t need to. Maybe all we can ever be is friends. Maybe more.
Hopefully more.
How specific does one need to make a wish? Can I throw in hoping that she gets whatever she hopes for? Can I wish for Merritt to get better, too? I guess I’ll try for all of it, and I’ll be quick about it while the area around the register is unmanned.
I start digging in my pockets and have the depressing realization that I don’t have my wallet. I’d been too stuck on having my phone, I guess. Dammit.
I do have one thing of value on me, though. The chain I always wear that once belonged to my mom. I unclasp it and let it pool in the center of my palm.
A small, hysterical laugh flies out of me. I am a twenty-four-year-old man making a birthday wish for a girl.
Fuck it. Maybe it being my birthday and this chain being my mom’s will give the wish some extra magic.
I clasp it in my fist and try to sharpen the image in my mind, but it never quite gets there. I wish for too many things and toss the little rope of gold up into the canoe.
When I make my way back out of the store, my phone starts to ring.