Chapter 21
BETH
The weekends don’t happen on the boat anymore.
That’s how I notice it first—not all at once, just in little absences. No early alarms. No cooler to pack. No salt in my hair or sunburn on my shoulders by Sunday night. No Tony yelling about lines and fenders and who forgot the ice.
It feels like another lifetime ago.
Ethan and Sage are broken up. That part is real and final, even if the fallout still hangs in the air like smoke that won’t clear. But that doesn’t mean I’m breaking up with Sage.
Truthfully, I don’t want to.
She’s been… careful. Almost too careful. She never brings up Ethan unless I do, and even then she shuts it down fast, like touching a hot stove. I can see how much it costs her—how her jaw tightens, how her eyes go shiny for half a second before she pulls herself back together.
We’re both single now, and there’s something worse than heartbreak, I think.
It’s going home to an empty house and realizing no one’s waiting for you to tell them how your day went.
So we go out together. Not to party. Not to drink like we used to. Just… to not be alone.
We stick to happy hours only—the kind where everything’s half price and the lights are still on enough that you can see people’s faces.
Sage has a way with bartenders. It’s not even aggressive flirting—just eye contact, a smile, a laugh at exactly the right moment.
When the check comes, half the time the drinks aren’t even on it.
We still do spin class. Still sweat side by side. Still collapse on the mats afterward like we ran a marathon.
We only window-shop now. No bags. No purchases. Just touching fabrics we don’t buy and making jokes about the lives we’ll have someday.
We still splurge on iced coffees twice a week at lunch. That’s our thing. That’s non-negotiable.
One afternoon, we’re sitting outside with plastic cups sweating onto the table between us, and I finally say it.
“I know you’re hurting.”
She stiffens.
“I’m okay,” she says too quickly.
“I didn’t mean—” I shake my head. “I found closure. With him. I talked to him. I forgave him.”
Her eyes sharpen immediately.
“Are you—”
“No,” I interrupt gently. “Not about you and Ethan. I mean… my situation.”
She relaxes a fraction, but there’s still something guarded there.
“My ex never loved me the way—” I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “The way you and Ethan loved each other. Not even close. I’ve never experienced anything like that.”
Sage’s mouth tightens. I can almost hear the thoughts firing.
Then she reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“You will,” she says softly. “You will, Beth.”
I look at her.
“You’re perfect. You’re good-hearted and pretty and loyal and fun. You have a good job. Any guy would kill to have a girlfriend like you.” She exhales a laugh. “Me? I’m just a hot mess.”
“Literally,” I say, smiling.
She snorts. Actually laughs. Doesn’t get offended. That’s new.
Then, out of nowhere, she starts talking.
About growing up without a father. About a mom who worked all the time. About being the pretty girl in school with holes in her socks and clothes that smelled faintly like detergent and something else because they had to haul everything to the laundromat.
“I grew up poor,” she says plainly. “Down South. On the bayou.”
She stares at the street like she’s watching it all again.
“Sometimes we were so broke, we’d go down to the creek and catch crawfish for dinner. My mom would fry them up and pretend it was camping.” She lets out a small, embarrassed laugh. “I know it sounds dumb.”
“It’s not dumb,” I say immediately. “We all have something.”
She nods.
“My dad…” I trail off. “He was killed by a drunk driver. Holidays. Long time ago. It’s just been me and my mom since.”
We sit with that for a moment.
Then I sigh. “I’m broke. It’s probably a good thing we don’t go out anymore. I can’t afford it. I’m gonna have to get another job.”
“Me too,” she says quietly.
I think about the stacks of bills I saw that day. The secret I kept.
I am loyal, I remind myself. I never told anyone. I don’t even know if Ethan knows.
“We should find second jobs,” I say. “Instead of going out at night, we work nights. Not—” I grimace. “Not like that. Hostessing. Bar backing. I’ve got friends with connections.”
Sage nods slowly. “Whatever we do, we do it together. It’s safer. We take the T together.”
“I might have to sell my car,” I admit. “I can’t afford the payments.”
She looks at me.
“What were you thinking buying a Jeep Grand Cherokee?” she asks gently.
“I thought three hundred a month wasn’t that much,” I say, half laughing, half horrified. “Student loans. Credit cards. Even living at home—I can’t save a dime.”
We sit there, single girls, iced coffee melting between us, realizing adulthood hit harder than we thought.
And for the first time since summer ended, it doesn’t feel quite as lonely.
Because whatever comes next—
We’re not doing it alone.