Chapter Thirty-Eight
53 days until graduation
SENIORSPRINGbrEAK
The Callaghan’s house in Myrtle Beach is one we have been coming to every spring break since we were little kids.
It’s the perfect house for all of us to stay at during the vacation, with a private beach right off the back porch. The house is also in the heart of the local town, with small shops and restaurants.
While the Callaghans are the ones who originally bought the house, all our families grew to love it, and have all stayed here together dozens of times.
It’s amazing to leave Connecticut and come to South Carolina. Being able to put on a bathing suit the second we wake up, and spend the entire day going back and forth between the house and the beach, and then calling it a night by going out to dinner. It’s our routine, dating all the way back to middle school.
However, this is the first year we’re in South Carolina without any of our parents. They trusted us now that we’re all eighteen. Well, except for Eloise, but her parents made an exception in favor of the majority.
I open the back door, the early morning wind and the smell of the ocean hitting me all at once. I step out onto the porch, leaning against the railing as I watch the waves hit the shore.For a few minutes, it is the only thing that infiltrates my brain, leaving peace to reside deep within me.
Then, I hear steps behind me before a large, muscular arm wraps around me, resting on my collarbones.
“Good morning,” that English drawl I know so well says. I tilt my head to look up at him, finding his eyes already locked on me.
“Hi.” I smile, looking back out toward the water.
Jameson’s hands run up and down my sides as he watches the waves with me. The silence overtakes us, the only noise being the sound of water crashing.
“You want to go down there?” He asks, nodding toward the beach.
“Eventually.” I muse, not wanting to move from this position as I lean further into his strong hold.
Long moments pass before I turn toward him, my back now pressed against the railing. The back door to the house has been left open—like it usually is during the day—and the inside of the house is being lit by sun, since the backside of the house is made entirely of windows.
“I love it here,” I tell him, as if he couldn’t have guessed.
This is his first time being here, but I know he is still able to feel the rapport we all feel.
These are my people. Logan, Luke, Eloise, Winnie, and now Jameson. I’ve never felt more at home than when I’m surrounded by these five people.
I think about all the ways Jameson and I have evolved throughout the past semester. Four months ago, I would have never imagined us sitting here—our lives completely entwined with one another’s in the absolute best way possible.
As I’m looking at the back of the house, I see the girls standing against the railing of the interior balcony on the second floor, the one that overlooks the living room and the backyard. They are smiling at the sight of Jameson and me.
Ever since my birthday, they have been beyond excited for my newfound relationship, especially considering it involves Jameson.
I see them head for the staircase at the front side of the house and then walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, which connects to the living room. Both are completely visible through the wall of windows.
Luke is sitting on the sectional in the living room, looking back at the girls as they converse.
“I do too,” Jameson finally replies, looking lost in thought.
“Do you like it enough to stay here forever?” I ask, leaning more of my weight against him.
His bare chest is hot—probably from the shower he took, coupled with the blaze of the morning sun—and it feels good against my mostly bare shoulders.
“And miss the kickass speech we’re going to give at graduation?” He asks as his thumb skims under the sideband of my bikini bottom. “No way.”
“It’s not even finished yet,” I remind him, noticing the open notebook sitting on the table next to us.We all sat out here until sunset, Jameson and I working on the speech while the rest of the group threw out ideas.
Jameson smiles. “I didn’t forget in the past eight hours, I promise.”
“We have to finish it soon.” I push against his chest, walking back into the house.
“Graduation isn’t until the end of May,” he says as he follows me inside. “We have time.”
Luke enters behind us, and we enter the kitchen.
Then Logan comes bounding down the stairs. “Hey guys, next time we all stay in a house together and allow Jameson and Gen to share the room right next to mine, remind me to bring earplugs.”
Everyone laughs as I slap him in the chest at his crudeness. “Shut the hell up.”
“Let me tell you, there is no shame in your game.” Logan smirks.
Jameson glares at him as he opens the fridge before grinning as he pulls out a carton of orange juice.
“Whose making breakfast?” Luke asks, jumping up on the counter next to Eloise.
The two of them have become quite good friends since they went to homecoming together. Not that there weren’t already good friends, but they’ve more noticeably seemed to pair themselves off among the larger group.
That’s what’s so great about this friend group. There are enough different dynamics that make it so no one will ever be left without a friend.
“I’ll make waffles,” Eloise says, jumping down from the counter.
Logan is always the designated egg cooker since we’ve learned the hard way which of us should and shouldn’t be in control of the stove.
Let’s just say Winnie is always given the task of setting the table.
“I’m going to go take a walk down by the shore,” I say, finding my flip-flops near the couch where I had discarded them last night.
“I’ll go too,” Winnie says, already following me out the back door.
As we make our way down the wooden steps that lead to the beach, I watch for people who may be staying at the neighboring houses.
“I’ve always loved all of these houses,” I tell Winnie once we reach the sand.
All the houses that have access to this strip of the beach are beautiful. There’s five along the shoreline, raised on stilts in case of flooding. They all have similar styles, but each is a different color.
“Me too.” Winnie smiles. “I’ve always imagined all of us owning beach houses like these, all next door to each other. There are five houses, the perfect amount for all of us.”
I look to the future, trying to picture it. The six of us, all with our respective partners spending our summers and vacations together.
I see us five years from now, just graduating college—still coming to this singular beach house. We’d be having bonfires on the beach late at night while we gossip about the people we graduated with, how some of them are getting married, or having kids, and how absurd that all sounds.
Then, I see ten years down the line, maybe we’re all married, maybe some of us have kids. By then, all of us would own our own beach house. Our kids would play in the sand during the day, and we’d tuck them in at night while they complain about wanting to all sleep in one house together.
“I hope it stays like this forever,” is all I say.
While we walk along the beach, Winnie picks up shells occasionally, and I kick rocks with every step. Once we make our way back toward the house, we notice Jameson and Logan are watching us from the porch, both leaning against the railing.
I nudge Winnie in the shoulder, almost making her feet go in the water. “Maybe we won’t need all five houses.” I smile, imagining a world where Winnie and Logan would share one in the same way Jameson and I would. Then, we would only need four houses.
She laughs, as if it’s an impossible idea, but her eyes flash with a look of fascination. I know she’s thought about it—she and Logan both have—but it would be similar to the eighth wonder of the world if they ever actually got together.
We make our way back up the stairs and onto the porch, seeing the kitchen island is already littered with all kinds of breakfast foods, like our normal buffet.
They must have just finished making it all.
“Are you hungry?” Jameson asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we walk back inside.
All of us take seats at the barstools surrounding the island, passing the different plates back and forth, eating almost entirely in silence.
“These waffles are the best they’ve ever been,” Luke tells Eloise once he finishes his plate.
“I used the same batter from the same box that I always do,” Eloise deadpans in return, knowing Luke is fucking with her.
Then, her phone buzzes, making her look at her lap before she gets down from her barstool and starts walking toward the foyer, holding it up to her ear.
I throw my plate in the sink, wondering what that was about, while eating the last piece of pineapple out of the Tupperware in front of me. I push it toward Jameson once the only fruit left in the container is watermelon. He likes it, and I don’t.
“Who wants to go down to the beach?” Logan asks, throwing his and Winnie’s plates in the sink as well.
All of us are already ready, since our routine of going to the beach every day isn’t ending anytime soon. The boys are shirtless and wearing swim trunks, and Winnie, Eloise, and I are in bikini tops with shorts on over our bottoms.
“We’re ready,” Winnie says, collecting the rest of the dishes, leaving them for when we return later tonight.
“Let’s go, then,” I say, grabbing Jameson’s hand and pulling him toward the backdoor and everyone follows closely behind us.
“I think I’m sunburnt,” I groan as I walk up the stairs of the beach house.
“I’m sure you are.” Jameson’s hand is on my back, guiding me toward our bedroom. The others are still sitting in the living room finishing the movie we started last night, but I’m too tired, and too miserable from the warmth of my back.
Our bedroom is the first on the right at the top of the stairs, and once we’re inside, I flop on the bed as Jameson walks into the bathroom. He returns with a bottle of aloe.
“May I?” He asks, nearing the bed as he uncaps the bottle.
I grab a pillow from the head of the bed, laying the side of my face on it while I nod. “Please.”
Jameson unclips the back of my bikini top, letting it fall off my shoulders and leaving my back bare. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when he sees the redness of my back compared to the pale skin my top was covering.His knees hit the bed as he leans closer to me, pressing light kisses to my shoulder blades and the back of my neck, making my skin heat—and not solely because of my sunburn.
“You know this isn’t good for your skin, Genova,” he whispers. Then, I feel his hands, covered in the cool gel touch my lower back.
“Why do you call me that?”
I’ve asked him many times before, almost every time he’s called me it. He always responds with something like ‘ask me another time.’
I figure maybe since I’m in a vulnerable position—sunburnt and practically topless—he’ll feel more inclined to tell me.
“You’ve never heard of Genova, Italy?”
For a moment, I think he may be mistaken. Either that, or my brain has been shot from him rubbing his hands up and down my spine. “I know of Genoa, Italy.”
“They are the same place,” he clarifies. “Genoa is what it’s more commonly referred to, but it translates to Genova in Italian.”
“So…” I trail off. “What does that have to do with you calling me Genova?”
“I went to Genoa with my mum for the first time when I was eleven,” he starts, pouring more aloe on my back. “I fell in love with the city, with its beauty, and to this day, I still adore it.”
I hum, letting him know I’m still listening even though it’s becoming harder and harder to keep my eyes open.
“When I heard your name was Genevieve, I immediately made the connection.” He squeezes my shoulders the tiniest bit, making me sigh in pure contentment. “It was ironic, and felt a little like fate, especially when I came to realize that, if you were a city, you would be my favorite.”
My mouth drops open at his confession. If you were a city, you would be my favorite. I sit up, holding the bikini top close to my chest so I won’t flash him.
The only words I’m able to utter are, “It does feel like fate, doesn’t it?”
He nods, pulling me close and kissing me softly. His hands grab the sides of my neck—really the only parts of my body that aren’t sunburnt—and my hands wrap around his neck, falling into his hair.
I pull away saying, “Plato said once that ‘Love is the motivating force that pushes a person to think deeply about beauty.’” Jameson finding me beautiful enough to give me a nickname referencing his favorite city may just prove that.
Jameson smiles at the Plato reference. “He also said: ‘Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.’”
His reference causes my smile to mirror his, bright and full of life—exactly how I feel in this moment. Hell, this is how I feel every moment with Jameson: Happy. Alive.
The ancient Greeks, like Plato, believed everyone was born with four arms, four legs, and a head that shared two faces—that they were once attached to each other in perfect unity. One day, the two beings were ripped apart.
They believed that the soul torn apart from you—your other half, per se—was your soulmate.
I used to believe it was bullshit.
Until I met Jameson.
Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t believe the two of us were joined together at one point, but I do believe we were destined to find each other.
Born on two separate continents, coming from two different sides of the earth, somehow the universe still pulled us together, and we fell in love.
If that’s not fate, I’m not sure what is.
So yes, maybe the Greeks were right.