“Okay. Yeah. I mean, I’m not really… socialized.” Wow, I’m rusty. It’s been a long winter.
Max laughs. “I can guarantee you’re more socialized than most of the people in this town.”
I laugh but don’t know what to say next.
“I’ll give you a call.” He hands me his phone so I can input my number, which I momentarily forget. I’m relieved to see that there is a tiny crack across the top of his screen, which suggests that he is human. Finally, I remember my phone number.
“Great,” says Max, pocketing his phone. Just then, Paula emerges from the barn and pulls the door closed behind her. She notices us talking, raises her eyebrows, and then scoots by us in a fake-discreet manner so as not to interrupt.
Max smiles and shakes his head, as if he is accustomed to being mildly embarrassed by his aunt. “Nice to meet you, Cricket.”
Once he is gone, I chug the rest of my water in an attempt to drown my jitters. I had forgotten how unsettling it can be to feel attracted to someone. I’m like a bear coming out of hibernation: disoriented and ravenous, but finally awake.
When I get home, Carl and my father are on the porch watching the light fade over the pond. Dominic is splayed on my father’s lap, and Cynthia lazes by Carl’s feet. I pour a glass of wine and join them.
“And where have you been this evening?” my dad asks cheerfully as I plop down on a chair.
“At my dance class,” I say. We have this same exchange every week.
“I met Paula’s nephew,” I say quietly, as if I’m divulging a secret. “Max.”
“Oh, he’s here?” Carl asks. “Nice guy.”
“He is. He asked if I want to play tennis sometime.”
Carl smiles, as if he’s relieved I’ve finally made a friend my own age—or at least risked making one.
“I mean, I don’t know if I should. I doubt I’m any good anymore,” I say. “And I’m not really emotionally available.”
Carl gives me an amused look. “I didn’t realize you had to be emotionally available to play tennis. I think I’ve been doing it wrong.”
“I guess I’m overthinking it.”
“A tad.”
“It’s just that I used to play tennis with Seth. In fact, I haven’t set foot on a courtsincethen. Not on purpose. It just happened that way. But the idea of playing again makes me feel a little… guilty? That seems so weird when I say it out loud.”
“That’s how guilt works. Itisweird. It’s conniving. Especially survivor’s guilt.”
“Survivor’s guilt?” It hadn’t occurred to me that I have that. “But I didn’t survive anything. I wasn’t in the accident.”
“Do you wish you had been? Do you wish it had been you and not him?”
“All the time. But I thought that was because I was to blame.”
“How could you have been to blame? You were home, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I was asleep.”
He raises his eyebrows as if that should settle it.
“It’s complicated,” I say. “When I relive it, I invite him inside and… well, we ride off into the sunset or something like that. Like if I had just…”
“Just what? Seen the future?”
I smile at the absurdity of it.
“I get it,” says Carl. “I felt that way when my mom died. Like ifIhad just…”
