Chapter 5
“Come on, Gem.”
It was a scorching-hot summer day, one of the hottest of the year so far. The sun beat down relentlessly, making the gravel pathway and the wooden dock feel like hot coals beneath Ethan’s feet as he and Gem raced to the water.
By the time they had reached the weathered cedar, the short walk from the cottage had felt like an arduous journey, and the sweat clung to his skin, the heavy air making it almost difficult to breathe.
Immediately, Ethan had divested himself of almost all his clothing, down to his swim trunks, which he’d conveniently put on underneath so he could just dive into the cool, clear water.
Which was exactly what he did.
The relief was instantaneous, cold and refreshing, and he stayed under for a beat or two longer than he normally would, just to enjoy it.
When he surfaced, he turned to look for Gem beside him, anticipated the splash of water in his face that she was known to greet him with every time he came up for air.
He realized after a beat, however, that she hadn’t joined him.
Instead, she had chosen to stay on the dock.
And whether it was delirium from the heat or the shock of the cold water surrounding him, he found himself very still for a moment.
Just—looking at her. She was almost glowing in the midday heat and the shimmer of the sun reflecting off the water, framed by the tall trees.
The cottage rose up behind her from the slope, its cedar shingles worn but still effervescent in the afternoon sun, the white-trimmed gables sharp against the sky, and the stone base securing the house to the hill like it was something born from the earth rather than placed there.
A wide porch wrapped around one side, its railings bright and inviting, one of his favorite spots in the whole place, and the hill rolled down toward the walk-out basement, stone steps firmly embedded in its greenery as though they grew there as naturally as the grass itself.
He couldn’t see them from where he was in the water, but he knew that at the bottom of those steps the French doors would be glinting in the light, the cool shadows of the hidden space leading into the cellar part of the house.
As much as he appreciated and enjoyed it, to Ethan, it was simply The Cottage—familiar in the easy, unquestioned way of things that had always been there.
And beyond the trees, tucked into the greenery, sat another cottage a short walk away—the one that had belonged to Julia’s family.
Even now, the two places felt connected somehow, linked by a narrow, tree-covered stretch of land and the years they’d spent moving between them.
Julia still hadn’t said anything, sitting quietly on the dock as she stared down at her book. The stillness clung heavy in the heat, blocking Ethan’s throat until he forced himself to cut through the moment, his voice drifting across the water to try to coax her off the dock.
“Honestly, it’s so nice in here. Aren’t you hot?”
“I’m fine, Ethan.” Her voice was tense, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she doggedly looked at her book instead of at him. “Enjoy your swim.”
“You should swim, too!” Even as he suggested it, he began looking around for any other form of entertainment for either of them.
In previous years, her family would have been there, too, and Ethan and Gem could maybe derive some entertainment from their parents or the friends they sometimes invited up or the kids of said friends.
It wasn’t often, but there was usually a chance of some form of external entertainment.
This year, though, with the Schaeffer cottage having finally been sold off to strangers, Julia’s dad had no inclination to go up, instead agreeing to send Gem along with Ethan’s family for the third year in a row, continuing the trend of relieving himself of the responsibility of occupying her for a chunk of time in the summer.
If he had ever thought it might be odd, sending his daughter to stay next door to the cottage that his family had occupied for all those years, he didn’t acknowledge it, and neither did anyone else. At least not out loud.
Ethan had originally been excited when Julia had said her dad was still going to let her come up again with Ethan’s family for the summer, especially now that the Schaeffer cottage had officially been sold.
Her dad had been taking his sweet time to sell it—it had almost been three years since he’d decided it had to go—but even though it was empty, he had refused to allow anyone back in it, leaving it almost like a shrine to some forgotten past that no one wanted to talk about or even acknowledge.
Just as they had treated the absence of Julia’s mother.
Four years had passed since she had left the family, and now it was as if she hadn’t even existed—gone and forgotten, like the cottage that was growing more difficult to access now from the copse of trees growing over the unused path, more so than it had ever been before, as if nature, too, were trying to cover up the memories.
It was terrible, he thought. Awful, really, for a kid like her to not be able to ask questions or even talk about her feelings.
Looking at her now from the clear, cool water, he wondered slightly about her responsibilities and her burdens.
What she shared with him—and what she didn’t.
He considered asking her about all of it, all the things that remained unsaid between them, but instead what came out was “Why are you being so lame?”
Her eyes shot up, narrowing.
“I just don’t feel like swimming, Ethan, okay? What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” He was incredulous, hoisting himself up and out of the lake to walk across the dock over to her, the water running down him in rivulets and making puddles at his feet.
“You’re the one at the lake in hundred-degree weather, sitting out here in your sweatpants like you’re waiting for the snow to start falling. ”
“Oh, now you’re judging my clothes, too?” She stood up as well, coming toe to toe with him, hands on her hips. “Why can’t you just mind your own business and realize the world doesn’t revolve around keeping you entertained?”
He jolted back, affronted. “Keeping me entertained? I just want you to have some fun instead of always being this stick in the mud who wants to sit on the dock and read.”
“And if I want to sit here and read, that’s my business, isn’t it? Not yours. So why don’t you just—”
“If you wanted to read and do nothing, maybe you should have just stayed home, then!” The words came out, sharp and accidental, and he would have given anything to take them back in that moment. Just suck them back in and erase any residue they left.
But he couldn’t.
Instead, he had to watch her blink at him, hurt, as she absorbed them. He watched as they sank into her, somewhere deep, somewhere he couldn’t reach. Her expression stayed like that for a moment, stunned and pained, before darkening.
“I don’t want to swim because I just got my first period, asshole.”
Her words hung in the air absurdly, like a speech bubble still attached to her mouth, even as she turned on her heel and stalked toward the cottage, away from the lake, away from him.
As a fourteen-year-old boy, he thought about periods extremely rarely, if ever.
Growing up as an only child, he’d never been confronted with it in any capacity.
His mom had always been very close-lipped about those sorts of things, not even taking the time to talk to him properly about his own “changing body” or whatever mortifying descriptor parents typically used in those talks.
Even in school, the girls had been separated from the boys during health class after a certain point, so there had only been a very brief mention of what the opposite sex had to go through during these “special times.” As such, all his knowledge came from whatever existed in movies, on television, and in those commercials with the blue liquid that advertised greatest absorption or what have you.
So his initial reaction was that of discomfort.
It just wasn’t within his repertoire to deal with what she was going through.
It wasn’t something he’d ever been taught how to do.
Part of him wanted to dismiss her words completely, turn around on the dock, and jump back into the water, where he wouldn’t have to deal with any of it.
But the thought of doing that, even contemplating it, filled him with shame.
This was Gem. Whatever it was she was dealing with, as awkward or uncomfortable as it may be for both of them, he was going to help her.
Unfreezing, he chased after her. He barely even felt the rocks beneath his feet as he caught up to her, grasping her arm lightly and staying her.
She refused to look at him, turning her head so he couldn’t see her face, and he had the sinking, sickening feeling that he’d made her cry.
You idiot, he thought to himself. You piece of human garbage.
“Gem,” he said quietly, pulling at her arm slightly. She didn’t pull away, but still she refused to meet his gaze. He heard a sniffle and his heart fell even farther, landing somewhere around his knees. “What can I do?”
“Nothing, Ethan,” she responded, her tone watery but somehow still caustic. “Unless you can magically turn pine cones into tampons, I’m good.”
“Do you want me to”—he hesitated, completely unsure if there was anything he could say that would make things better instead of infinitely worse—“get my mom?”
Julia snorted, pulling her arm from his light hold and scrubbing her hands over her face.
“Your mom is already two bottles of wine deep, and I heard her ask your dad where the vodka is before I came out.” Her gaze met his finally, face clear, though her eyes were red rimmed.
“I think I may pass on whatever help she can provide.”
He nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat, putting aside any feelings of Vacation Mode Mom, who had started appearing more frequently to replace Real Life Mom these days, to focus on the issue at hand.
“Okay, so she’s useless.” As always, he tried to inject some levity into the situation. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t raid her shit.”
“Raid her…shit?” Julia looked at him quizzically.
“Yeah, like the bathroom cabinet upstairs.” He gestured with his chin to his parents’ window, visible from where they stood just off the dock. “I bet she has the good stuff.”
Julia snorted again, this time dissolving into a slight chuckle. “The ‘good stuff’? What do you even know about any of this stuff, Duchamp?”
“Hey.” He held his hands up defensively. “I’m a man of the twenty-first century here, Gem. I’ve seen the commercials. I know a thing or two about—”
“Please.” Julia put a hand in his face. “Please, do not finish that sentence. I don’t even want to hear what you think you ‘know a thing or two’ about. Just—let’s just go find your mom’s stuff.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to know?” He casually flung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him, enjoying the comfortable way she seemed to fit underneath him.
It had taken a few years, but he’d finally caught up to her in height, and then in the last year actually surpassed her by a good few inches.
By the end of December, he might even have half a foot on her, if not more.
The thought was gratifying, though he couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly.
“I’m positive,” she insisted, falling into step with him.
“It involves chocolate, though.” He lowered his voice in an impression of movie-quality seduction. “And heating pads.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
In easy rapport, and with a mission at hand, they walked back to the house together, arms around each other.