by Sarah Dessen
“She’s dating everyone,” Ambrose told him. “It keeps a girl busy.”
I blushed instantly, then cleared my throat. “I have someone else to do the coffee run now,” I said, nodding at Ambrose. “Except on special occasions.”
“Special,” he repeated, giving me a grin. “Sounds complicated. Hit me.”
“Okay,” I said, then read it out to him: my mom and William’s regulars—I was getting her the extra shot she requested, as she was clearly tired—plus two very complicated whip-free and sugar-substitute drinks for the Lins. “Plus four waters, no ice, extra lemon.”
“Child’s play,” he told me as he turned to the espresso machine, banging cups and pouring milk. “I thought you said this was hard.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, next time I’ll be sure to be more challenging.”
He looked back at me, smiling again. “You do that.”
I laughed, then reached into my pocket for the petty cash I’d grabbed for the order. Once I pulled it out, I realized Ambrose was looking at me, one eyebrow raised. “What?” I said.
“Who’s giving full attention now?” he asked, just as the steam starting hissing.
“I’m placing an order,” I told him.
“If that’s what we’re calling it,” he replied.
“I believe we were talking about you,” I said. “As in, you need to get cracking. Seven weeks is ticking past and you don’t want to get disqualified. You better find a lifer, stat.”
“It’s been one day,” he said in a flat voice. “You just worry about yourself.”
“I’m not worried. I have Jilly. She’s been wanting me to date for months. She can’t wait to set me up.”
“Oh, right. And her taste is impeccable. Jughead and Anagram. Sounds like a cop show.”
Lumberjack came back to the counter, sliding four waters across to me. As I grabbed a drink carrier and started loading it, he said, “Sorry to eavesdrop, but it’s an occupational hazard. Did I hear you guys betting on dates?”
“It was her idea,” Ambrose told him. “And I’m very competitive.”
“Shut up.” I felt myself blush again. To Lumberjack I said, “It’s just a stupid thing. I need to date more and him less. We’re seeing if we can do it.”
“I can totally do it,” Ambrose added. “Her, I’m not so sure.”
“Date more?” the Lumberjack said to me, ignoring this. “I can’t imagine you’d have a lack of offers.”
Now I was definitely blushing. Why had I come for coffees? Even an idiot could read off a list. I said, “Well . . . it’s complicated. I guess.”
He looked me for a second, half-smiling, then turned back to the machine. Again, I could feel Ambrose staring at me.
“She likes a man in plaid,” he said eventually, under his breath. “Noted.”
“Please shut up,” I whispered back. Then I concentrated on listening to Phone Lady, now going on about her first husband, until our drinks were done and Lumberjack brought them to the counter and rang us up.
“Twenty-two eleven,” he said. I slid the cash in my hand across to him, then filled another drink carrier, handing it to Ambrose. After I collected my change, he grabbed a napkin and scribbled something on the back, then handed it over as well. “Well, if you need any help with the bet, let me know. I’m competitive, too.”
I looked down at the napkin: LEO, it said, with a number underneath. “Um . . . okay.”
“I protest,” Ambrose said. “The rule about the dating bet is you don’t talk to dates about the bet.”
“We never made that rule,” I told him.
“I’m making it now.”
Someone cleared their throat behind us. “Let’s go,” I said, then looked at Leo. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said, then smiled at the next customer who stepped up, already giving their order. As we wound past the remaining line, I felt clumsy, so thrown off by what had just happened that I had to steady the drink carrier with my other hand. When I was with Jughead, Anagram, and any of the other boys Jilly had dragged me out with, I’d just felt like I was going through the motions, holding up my end of a bargain I didn’t really even remember agreeing to. But this, an unexpected boy taking me by surprise, was both different and familiar at the same time.
“Attention,” Ambrose announced, as he pushed the door open for me. Stepping through, I heard Phone Lady still talking, and wondered if she ever got tired of her own voice. “Like I said, it means everything.”
Everything was a lot to deal with, though, when you had gotten used to nothing. I needed increments: a few somethings, maybe an anything first. I looked down at the napkin, which I realized I was clutching in my hand, the neat block print, the number in blue ink. If I texted, how would he respond? If we spoke, what would his voice sound like on the other end of the line? Again, too familiar. I slid it into my back pocket, and tried to do what I did best, and forget.
CHAPTER
13
“WHAT TIME is it?”
“You’re not supposed to ask that. Remember?”
We’d made this rule around four a.m., when it was dark and we still had a while until daybreak. Now, though, two hours and change later, the sky was turning lighter and pink, the stars fading even as I tried to keep track of them. Morning was here.
And we were where we’d started, just below the hotel, on the sand. After finishing our pie and coffee, we’d walked back along the boardwalk, then the narrow main road of Colby, passing a couple of blinking streetlights and only a handful of cars. When the hotel sign had appeared in front of us, bright in floodlights, I’d wanted to keep walking, going as far in the other direction as we could. But Ethan’s dad was leaving at eight a.m. sharp for the long drive back to New Jersey. So instead, we went to the beach, where we found a row of folded chaise lounges, took one, and curled up together.
I’d never felt so close with anyone, ever. Maybe this was because of what had happened earlier, beneath the pier. My lips had been sticky with fruit and chocolate, Ethan’s breath sugar-sweet coffee as he eased me back into the damp, cool sand. I’d expected to be nervous my first time, and never would have thought it would have happened like this. But as he slipped my dress off my shoulders, then eased up the skirt, I’d found myself arching up to meet him as if I’d known every move ahead of time and had only to do them. He’d asked if I was sure so many times after sliding on the condom that I finally covered his mouth with my own to silence him. It hurt a bit, which I’d expected, and I’d cried after, which I had not. We stayed there for a long time, the wind blowing sand across us now and then, my knees pulled to my chest, my head on his shoulder. For the first time in hours, we didn’t talk, and in that silence I heard everything else I needed to.
Now, in his arms, facing the water, I could smell salt on his shirt and beneath it the slight tinge of his cologne, as well as sweat. It would only be a matter of time before someone came along, walking with their dog or kid, making it clear that the beach, and the night, were no longer ours alone. Thinking this, I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, again willing time to stop. Like the game Ethan played with his friends, striking a deal—I would have given anything for a few more hours.
A gull called overhead, swooping. Somewhere a car horn beeped.
“Ten hours,” Ethan said, right above my ear. I turned, looking up at him. In daylight I was noticing new things: the freckle on his chin, a scar above one eyebrow, the little bit of stubble already coming in. “That’s how long a drive it is to Brownwood from here.”
“Half a day,” I said. “That’s not so bad.”
“When you come,” he told me, shifting, “I’ll take you to Spinnaker’s, where they have the best pretzels and limeade. And to the town bell, the largest in the state, which is pretty much the only other exciting thing around.”
“More exciting than limeade?”
“And when you come to Lakeview,” I replied, running a finger down the buttons of his shirt, “I’ll take you to Luna Blu for fried pickles and to see the Angel.”
“Angel?”
“It’s a sculpture, a metal one, right outside of this office downtown. The woman’s a realtor or something? It’s huge, with these crazy wings made of bottle caps. When the wind blows, it spins.”
“Wow. That is better than our big bell for sure.”
“I can’t wait,” I said.
“Me neither.”
With every silence now, I was more aware of the passing of time.
“I’m so glad I left the wedding and came down here last night,” he said. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to close my eyes and just listen to him, or keep them open so I could have him in my gaze as long as possible.
“Not as glad as I am,” I replied, as he kissed my hair. “For once, I really did do something epic.”
He laughed: I’d told him about Jilly’s directive, of course. I felt like I’d told him everything. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been referred to in those terms.”
“But not the last. At least as long as I’m around.”
“Oh, you’ll be around.” He slid his arm to encircle my waist. “Don’t worry about that.”
I heard it, then: the opening, bouncy notes of that same Lexi Navigator song. It seemed like days ago he’d shared that story with me, not hours, and I wished I’d enjoyed having so much still ahead while I had the chance. The ring of a phone was yet more proof of the intrusion of the world, even if it did have a nice beat.
“My dad,” Ethan said, answering it. “Hello? Yeah, I’m up. Nah, couldn’t sleep so I came down to the beach.”
I loved that I was a secret. I’d remember that later.
“Let’s just grab something on the way. I’ll meet you in the lot at eight.” A pause. “Because that’s what we said last night.”
Reflexively, I closed my eyes, curling more tightly against him.
“I’m not ready to go yet,” he said, the words reverberating in me. “Seven thirty, then.”
A pause. Another gull swooped over us, crying.
“Fine. Okay. Yeah. See you.”
He hung up. I didn’t want to ask, but anyone could tell when you bargained and lost. “How soon?” I said quietly.
He was quiet a moment. “Thirty-five minutes.”
I opened my eyes, lifting my head, and moved so I was over him, looking down into his face. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to go.” He reached up, tucking a piece of my hair, windblown, sand-tinged, behind my ear. “But it’s a long drive, and he’s ready.”
I swallowed, then tried to smile. “I’m going to hate that Lexi Navigator song even more now. It’s like she took you away from me.”
“Hey, don’t hate on Lexi,” he said. “It’s a good song!”
“But not the one that made you cry,” I pointed out.
He reached up, taking the finger I’d extended to his chin and grabbing it. “That’s between you and me, Lulu. I trust you.”
I smiled. “I won’t let you down.”
“You never could,” he said, so easily that it was this, finally, that made the tears well up in my eyes. “Hey. Don’t cry. You know I’m easily emotional.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my free hand over my face. “This has been so great. I don’t want to end it on a bad note.”
“End?” He sat up. “Nothing’s ending here, at least for me. This is just a pause, until we’re together again.”
“To see big bells and have limeade,” I managed to get out.
“And eat pickles with angels,” he added.
With that, I was sure I would lose it, and probably would have if he hadn’t leaned in closer to me, kissing me long and hard, his fingers pressed against my back. I’d never felt so happy and sad at once, the absolute convergence of two opposing emotions, and together they made my heart full enough to feel like it might break. When we finally pulled back from each other, I was sobbing.
“Don’t,” he said, then swallowed himself, looking past me. “We’ll talk all the time. And text, and make plans right away to see each other again. Like, today.”
“Okay,” I said, barely managing to get the word out.
“We will,” he said, thinking I was doubting this, but I wasn’t. I never doubted him. There just wasn’t enough time.
I reached over to his other wrist, tilting his watch to see the face. It was 6:46. “You should probably go.”
He pulled a hand through his hair, then cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. A woman with two kids, one in a bathing suit, was coming down the beach toward us now, a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Walk me up?” he said.
I got to my feet, picking up my shoes from the sand beside the chair as Ethan stood as well and found his own. Then we started toward the steps that led to the hotel. He was holding my hand, our fingers tightly entwined. Even in motion, I wanted to be as close to him as possible.
I didn’t put on my shoes after climbing the last step, or even when we circled the pool to the hotel entrance. Instead, I waited until the last possible moment, standing in front of the doors there, before sliding my feet into the straps and buckling them. The night had been barefoot, and the night was over. As Ethan shook out his socks, then put on his own shoes, a housekeeper carrying a load of towels came out the door, glancing at us with eyebrows raised. Some stories tell themselves.
We were halfway to the lobby elevators when I realized we might really be about to say good-bye. When I slowed my steps, he said, “I’m just going to get my stuff. I’ll come back down and we’ll go out together. Okay?”
The relief I felt hearing this was immense; a reprieve, if only a short one. I nodded as he leaned in, kissing my forehead. Then the elevator came and he stepped in, smiling at me just before the doors closed.
I walked over to the lobby bathroom, pushing the heavy door open and going inside. When I saw myself in the mirror, I laughed out loud: my hair was wild, windblown and tangled, my lips swollen from kissing, the straps of my dress tied crookedly, one higher than the other. As I reached up, trying to smooth my hair, a small piece of dune grass dislodged itself from somewhere, falling into the sink in front of me. I reached down, picking it up, then turned it in my fingers slowly one way, then another. This is what it will feel like when he’s gone, I told myself, but the thought was too big. Not yet.
Back out in the lobby, Ethan was standing by the front doors, a duffel bag at his feet. He’d tucked in his shirt and splashed some cold water on his face: his skin was cool as he kissed me, a cheek brushing my own. “Found your phone,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing it to me. “You’re going to need it.”
“Are you saying you’re going to call?”
“Probably before we even leave the lot.”
I smiled. “Then you’ll need my number.”
He pulled out his phone, swiping to the contacts, and handed it over. I could feel him watching me, so close, as I typed in my name and the digits, then hit SAVE. “There. Done.”
He took it back, then sighed. “I don’t want to be done.”
“Me neither.”
A car pulled up outside, just past the overhang of the hotel. I could tell by Ethan’s face that it was his dad. The car did look new, and expensive, low to the ground and cherry red.
“Just stay,” I said quietly, before I could stop myself.
“I wish I could,” he replied, then pulled me closer, burying his face in my hair. Is this the end? I thought. Or would there be another kiss, another moment, more time, just like I wanted? But then he was pulling back from me, still holding my hand. “I gotta go, though. I’m so sorr
y.”
“It’s okay,” I managed to get out. “I’ll be there for limeade before you know it.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Then he did kiss me again, one hand touching my face, lingering there even as he finally pulled away. “This isn’t over, Lulu. It’s only the beginning. Right?”
“The beginning,” I repeated. “Okay.”
I saw him draw in a big breath, then let it out before he turned, starting toward the revolving doors. When he was almost there, he turned, dropping the bag and jogging back over to me. As soon as he was close enough, I had my arms around him.
“I love you,” he said, close to my ear.
“I love you, too,” I replied. Then I kissed him, trying to put everything I felt and had into this last bit of contact. When he pulled away, it was all I could do not to sob.
And then he was walking over to the doors, pushing through them and outside. I got only the briefest glance of his dad, also tall, stocky, and dark-haired, watching him approach from over the roof of the car. He popped the trunk, and Ethan dropped his bag in, then walked back to the passenger door to climb inside. I knew I’d already gotten my good-bye, several of them, but I still couldn’t make myself move as his dad got behind the wheel, starting the car. Just as they drove off, two women approached from outside, pushing the doors into motion. My last glimpse of Ethan was this combination of the doors turning and the car moving, in a prism of motion and spinning that left me dizzy and yearning. As if the whole world itself tilted, not just my own.
CHAPTER
14
“WAIT, THEY’RE not coming?” my mom said, as William waved his free hand, trying to quiet her. “But the photographer will be here in ten minutes!”
“. . . of course I understand,” William said into the phone at his ear, using his firm voice. Just hearing it, I sat up straighter in my own chair. “But we’d agreed you’d participate in this photo shoot. There’s no way we’ll find someone else on such short notice.”