“No clue,” Rae said. But the thought of Aubrey made her briefly cringe—she’d been trying to avoid it as much as she could.
“They didn’t come back till late last night,” Clara said.
“Not that we can talk.”
Clara blushed. “That’s true.” They’d arrived back at the apartment only a few minutes before Aubrey and Gabe did. For most of yesterday, they’d scoured the city for places to be alone. And in the evening, they’d sat on the front steps of an old building, showing each other pages from their sketchbooks, things they’d worked hard on but had always kept to themselves. When they walked home, they took their time, stopping to kiss on bridges and on narrow streets between apartment buildings.
“I was just thinking,” Clara said, “it’s our last night here. We should commemorate it somehow. We should throw a surprise party.”
“A surprise party for who?”
“For Aubrey and Gabe. For all of us.”
“Is it really a party if only four people go?”
“Of course it is!” A guided tour assembled in front of the painting, and a woman in a navy-blue suit addressed the group. Clara spoke quietly. “I’m really good at this stuff. Rose and I used to plan parties for my parents’ anniversaries before she went to college. They were themed and everything.”
“I know you’re good,” Rae said, “but I don’t have a great history with parties. You think it’s going to be completely harmless, because everyone there is really into Broadway musicals, but then someone brings a bottle of tequila, and someone else suggests a Phantom of the Opera sing-along, and before you know it, you’re standing on Lisa Tomiyama’s coffee table fake-opera-singing to a bunch of theater geeks.”
Clara bit her lip. “You have to admit, though, that was a fun night.”
“Best of my life,” Rae said drily.
A woman holding a map of the gallery edged up beside them, fixing her glasses on her nose and craning her neck to listen to the tour guide. Rae played with the spiral in her sketchbook. She and Clara had decided to come to the Uffizi so they could draw, but she hadn’t wanted to copy any of the art itself. She’d spent her time sketching the people around her instead, the ones who looked tired and bored or serious and intent. All of them revolving around one unchanging piece of art.
“I like it.” Clara touched the corner of the page. It was a picture of a little boy staring up at the Botticelli.
Embarrassed, Rae shielded it with her hand. “I’ve been staring at it for too long. I kind of hate it now.”
“All of your drawings seem so alive,” Clara said. “Your photographs, too. That’s why I love them all so much.”
The woman with the map gave them a pointed look.
“This is a big gallery.” Clara took Rae’s hand. “We should see as much of it as we can.”
They found themselves in an impossibly long hallway with a black-and-white floor and a row of tall windows running down one side. White stone statues stood balanced on heavy pedestals, and the air felt even colder here. Rae shivered in her tank top and shorts.
“Isn’t it weird how empty it is?” Clara asked. Their footsteps echoed. “Doesn’t it make you feel like we’ve stumbled into someone’s house?”
“This would be a super-weird house,” Rae said. “You’d need a map just to find the bathroom.”
“And it would be extra creepy at night. All those depressing medieval dudes staring at you from portraits.”
“God, we’re sophisticated. We’re, like, experts on classical art.”
“Yeah.” Clara sighed. “Our teachers would be so proud.” She sat on a bench in front of a window and reached down to rub her calves. “If we walk too much, the day will go by faster. We need to slow down.”
“Good plan.” Rae joined her on the bench. It did feel oddly quiet here. She pulled out the map they’d picked up at the entrance. “Look at how many rooms there are. We could spend the entire day going from wing to wing.”
“And then we can head home,” Clara said, “and plan for the party.”
Rae closed the map. “Okay, what is with this whole party thing? You seem pretty determined to have one.”
“Like I said, it’s our last day in Italy. It might be nice to do something with—all of us.” She tapped her heels against the ground.
“Uh-huh,” Rae said as it finally clicked together. “All of us as in me and Aubrey in the same room. Are you trying to get us to talk to each other again?”
A few kids stampeded down the hallway, their exhausted parents warning them to slow down. “I guess it is a little strange.” Clara watched them pass. “The two of you haven’t said anything to each other since we left Prague. Has this ever happened before?”
“Nope,” Rae said.
Clara looked alarmed. “And you don’t think that’s a bad thing?”
“Well. Not necessarily. Aubrey and I can be pretty codependent. Maybe we need a break.”
Clara’s eyes widened further. “But what if you leave in a few days and you’re still not talking to her? What will you do then?”
Rae wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t like she wanted to leave things this way forever. But she didn’t want to have a Big, Important Conversation with Aubrey, either. If she and Aubrey made up, her time in Florence wouldn’t be about her and Clara anymore. Once again, it would be about Aubrey and all her plans. Or maybe worse—if Aubrey found out about Rae and Clara, she might be hurt that Rae had kept such a big secret from her.
And Rae couldn’t take that.
She wanted to concentrate on Clara. On the sheen of purple glitter along her cheekbones, on her shoulders tinted red from the sun. Rae couldn’t imagine ever saying good-bye to her.
So she pictured this instead: They would go back to London together. They would hang out for as many days as they wanted and take the tube to each other’s houses and watch movies and work on their art in Lucy’s studio.
Clara turned to look out the window now, and Rae could tell she was slipping into herself. Down the hall, a clock chimed. A statue’s long shadow reached across both of them. And even though Rae wanted to avoid any mention of Aubrey, she also didn’t want Clara to be so concerned about her. She wanted every second of today to be perfect.
“Okay,” Rae said. “We should do it. We should throw a party.”
“Really?” Clara seemed elated. “You think so?”
“Sure. It is our last night here, right? We can’t waste it.”
“We’ll get food and drinks after we’re done here,” Clara said. “Oh, and what do you think about streamers?” Rae’s face must have changed, because Clara added, “Fine, no streamers. But I promise you, this will be fun.”
Rae took Clara’s hand and held it between both of hers, telling herself that, yes, they still had time. They had whole hours, days, and nights left together. “Of course it will.”
25
Aubrey
Sunday, July 10
ROME to FLORENCE
Rome seemed better after the rain.
The air was less stifling, the streets were less cluttered. Aubrey’s stomach was weightless and buoyant, like she’d ridden a Ferris wheel to the very top. Like she was suspended in those few, bright moments before she had to glide back down to earth. She and Gabe navigated their way to ancient ruins and fountains. They cut down alleys where teenagers played games of soccer and people stopped to splash their hands at coppery nasoni. They followed the map on Aubrey’s phone—a dotted line that led from the Trevi Fountain to the Tiber River to the Colosseum.
In the evening, they searched near the station for somewhere to eat.
“Pizza!” Aubrey said as they joined a line snaking down the sidewalk. “This is definitely the right choice.”
“I can’t exactly see straight,” Gabe said. “Is it possible to be so hungry you get kind of drunk?”
“Here.” Aubrey took her water bottle from her bag and handed it to him. “You’re probably dehydrated.”
He grinned woozily. “My hero.”
She took a bow. When they reached the front of the line, they saw a glass case full of enormous square pizzas. Aubrey ordered a slice covered in mushrooms and garlic, while Gabe got his with Parma ham and mozzarella. He chatted to the guy behind the counter, saying things in Spanish that the guy answered in Italian, their languages close enough that they could piece together a conversation. Gabe made him laugh, full-bellied and delighted as he handed over two paper bags.
After the heat of the day, the evening felt cool and light. Passing buses and cars whipped down the street, kicking up a breeze that swirled down the sidewalk. People came outside to rest on benches or eat in restaurants with the doors thrown open and lively music playing. “I love this place at night,” Aubrey said. Gabe bit off a mouthful of pizza. “Christthisisamazing. Bryce, have you tried this yet? It’s fucking amazing.”
“It’s pizza,” Aubrey said. “Of course it is.” But when she took a bite, she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from gasping. The crust was crispy and a bit charred, and the cheese was molten and spicy with garlic. Even the mushrooms were hot and buttery and more incredible than any mushrooms she’d ever tasted in her life.
In the station, they found a place to sit and finish eating. Announcements floated toward the high ceiling, and suitcases rumbled past, sounding like ocean waves. Aubrey could see blisters forming by the straps of her sandals, but she couldn’t feel them yet. On the departure board, platform numbers and train times clicked over and over.
“Doesn’t this feel different?” Aubrey asked. “It’s like nowhere else we’ve been.”
“Different how?” Gabe swallowed his last bite of crust.
“Maybe because we didn’t plan on coming here, so it feels like a secret. Like it’s all this extra time we’re not supposed to have.”
“Technically, it is a secret. We didn’t tell anyone where we were going.”
“Which was probably pretty stupid.”
“Very stupid,” he agreed. But she could tell by his expression that he didn’t mean it. And she didn’t really mean it, either. If she had the chance, she wouldn’t undo anything about today. She wouldn’t change one part of it.
“Look,” Gabe said, lightly tapping her wrist. “Our train is up.”
The lights in their carriage were dim when they boarded, and strips of reflective orange stickers guided them to their row. Aubrey took a seat by the window, and Gabe sat on the aisle. They both stared forward, arms crossed. Aubrey was extra aware of how small a space this really was.
A staticky announcement came over the speakers. “What did they say?” Aubrey asked when it was over.
Gabe rubbed the side of his neck. “I couldn’t understand all of it, but I think it had something to do with conserving electricity? And that’s why they turned off the lights?”
Aubrey pushed her shoes against the metal footrest in front of her. “That explains it.”
Through the window, she saw a group of people disembarking from another train. They looked sleepy and grateful to have arrived, and Aubrey felt jealous that they had all this time in Rome ahead of them. She wanted that, too—time before she had to go to Barcelona and London and New York. Time with Gabe that felt like this—stolen, private—before she had to figure out what was really going on between them.
She knew she liked him—of course she liked him; he was one of her best friends. She liked his droll sense of humor and the dimples in his cheeks and his fussy, constantly tousled hair. She liked him for coming over that one time just to show her how to change the flat tire on her bike. She liked him for the nights he texted her before she fell asleep and the free periods he came to study beside her in the library.
He was her only friend who felt okay with silence the way she did. The two of them had spent so many quiet hours together, not saying much but not feeling weird about it, either. Just listening, thinking, keeping each other company.
“We could turn on the reading light,” Gabe suggested. They both reached above at the same time, their fingertips meeting.
“Sorry,” Gabe said.
“No big deal.” Aubrey pulled her hand back and held it with her other.
The train moved lightly away from the platform, as if it had been nudged. This was usually the part when Aubrey liked to look outside, but she was still facing Gabe. She was still thinking about everything that had happened today. She’d told herself for so long that she liked him as a friend, but now she saw it differently: She’d never kissed a friend the way she’d kissed Gabe. She’d never thought so hard about the small gap between a friend’s seat and hers, the few inches that stopped them from touching.
The train began to hit its stride. The reading light was still off.
“What changed?” she asked.
Gabe blinked. “Well, we were in Rome about five seconds ago, and now we’re not.”
“No.” Aubrey tried not to hold her breath. “In the record store, you said you didn’t regret kissing me. But after the end of the play, you acted like I didn’t even exist. And when I asked if we could be friends, you said no.”
Gabe frowned at the armrest. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you did. And you meant it, didn’t you?”
The sound of the train was constant, and Aubrey was glad to have it. It felt like it was supporting them, giving their conversation momentum.
“I did mean it.” Gabe’s eyes were still pointed down. “Until I talked to Rae.”
“Rae? What does Rae have to do with anything? And when did you talk to her?”
“In Amsterdam. She told me I needed to grow some ovaries and stop being so shitty to you. And she might have mentioned something about how… you used to like me.”
Aubrey’s body tensed. “Rae told you that?”
“It was an accident. I swear, she didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” Aubrey said, but she was still trying to sort through all this. Rae and Gabe had talked? Rae was the reason Gabe had stopped pushing Aubrey away? “I actually assumed you knew that already,” she said. “I figured I was painfully obvious.”
“I had no idea. I thought it was only me—who liked you.”
The door to their carriage opened and a train conductor came up the aisle. Aubrey realized she was gripping the armrest. Gabe dug through his pockets for their tickets. She noticed that the fabric of his T-shirt still smelled like rain, and there were red, sun-kissed marks beneath his eyes. If she kissed him now, she was pretty sure the kiss would taste like salt.
The conductor stopped at their seats. Aubrey was reeling. She couldn’t deny it—that desire she’d felt before, that need to be close to Gabe. It was stronger than ever. She could see it for what it really was, now that she wasn’t hiding in her lists of places to go, now that she wasn’t letting a day of buildings and fountains and roads drown it out.
Those things were gone, and what she was left with was this: She liked Gabe. She had since the moment she met him.
The conductor left. Gabe turned toward her again. “So. You were telling me how much you liked me?”
Aubrey hid her face with her hands. “This is so humiliating.”
“Bryce.” His voice was warm. “It isn’t.”
She peeked at him through her fingers. A passing light illuminated his arm and then his cheek. Aubrey imagined brushing her fingers everywhere the light touched him.
“Freshman year,” she said. “During the play. I had… a crush on you. I loved painting those stupid sets with you even if I was really crap at the painting part.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I had fun, too.”
She shook her head. “It was more than that. Every day, I hoped we would take the train home together. And when we didn’t, I’d spend the whole time wondering what it would be like if you asked me out. Or if, instead of painting, we made out one day. There. Is this humiliating enough yet?”
“Still no.” His eyes were teasing. And Aubrey wondered if he was thinking
the same thing she was—of pushing up the armrest, of losing that last, small barrier that lay between them. She ached for it, but she knew she needed to hold off. They’d thrown themselves at each other three times now. This time, they needed to talk.
“Is there anything you feel like telling me?” she asked.
“I already did. I wanted to kiss you one month ago and also two days ago and also four years ago. Sometimes I tried not to want it, and sometimes I thought I was vaguely successful at that, but then we’d hang out alone again, and I’d realize I was bullshitting myself.”
Aubrey felt a tingle down her back. “But you got so weird sophomore year.”
Gabe softly bumped his head back against his seat. “I had no idea how you felt. I got weird because I was trying to get over you.”
“But why? I wasn’t even dating Jonah then.”
“But he already liked you, I could tell. And I really thought you liked him, too.”
Aubrey couldn’t believe it. The beginning of sophomore year, she’d noticed that Jonah was cute; she’d even told Rae that she could understand why other girls liked him. But she hadn’t liked him. Not like that. Not until months later. “What on earth gave you that idea?” she asked.
“Well, for starters, he’s Jonah. It’s an objective fact that he’s a decently attractive guy. Plus, whenever I was eating lunch with him or hanging out with him at rehearsals, you’d usually find a reason to come hang out.”
“And you never thought that had something to do with you?”
He sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “I was tall and gangly and I liked listening to music more than I liked actual human interaction. Plus, I wore those bright-yellow sneakers all the time. Remember those? Z said they made me look like I was skiing in space.”
“Oh yeah.” Aubrey giggled. “They were pretty bad.”
His head dipped back toward hers. The train hiccuped, and Aubrey’s stomach did, too. “You were extremely pretty,” he said, “and smart and you knew everything about London. You honestly seemed way out of my league.”
Aubrey kept hold of the armrest. “Everything you’re saying about me is how I felt about you. I mean, you’d lived in two other countries before England. And you’re so passionate about all the things that interest you—all those eighties music videos you showed me, and the interviews with songwriters you sent me, and those stupid parks in Oregon you’re so desperate to visit. You get invested in things and you make them sound fascinating. That’s why every time we hung out—every time we texted, or we sat around your house, or you played me some new song we’d listen to again and again—I was falling for you. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now. I’m certain of it.”
The Summer of Us Page 17