She gives me a withering look. “I’m wearing sandals.”
“We all are,” I remind her, taking a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table. “Still fancy.”
Addison and Louisa tell me story after story of summers in Lonesome, and the wacky people who’ve been guests over the years.
“This man hardly spoke to me during his entire two-week stay, and then he came in the house and asked me if I had any” —Louisa’s eyes dart around us, and Addison and I lean in to hear whatever is so forbidden she has to check out our neighbors before speaking— “weed.” She holds pinched fingers to her mouth like it’s a joint.
I laugh. Louisa is sweet and innocent, thinking weed is that big of a deal.
“What did you say, Grandma?”
“I told him no. I certainly wasn’t going to share with someone like that!”
“Grandma!” Addison’s mouth drops open.
The sip of wine I’ve just taken fights to fly from my mouth. It stays in, along with my laughter, and I end up coughing as the red wine burns my throat on the way down.
“Don’t act like you’re a saint, Addison.” Louisa wags a finger at her. She turns the finger on me. “Or you, either. You two have been going at it like sailors on leave.”
I cough again, thank god this time it’s only water.
The rest of dinner isn’t nearly as raucous. We all eat too much and are less talkative on the drive home. Our energy has gone to our stomachs.
The moment we get back to the main house, Louisa announces she’s tired and goes to her room. Addison takes me outside to the set of lounge chairs on the lawn. I settle into one, and instead of taking her own, she slips between my legs and leans back against me. The curves of her body fit into the hollows of my own.
“Thank you for taking us to dinner tonight. That was very sweet of you.” Addison’s words rumble against my chest.
“It was fun. Your grandma is a special lady.”
I stare at the top of Addison’s head. Nerves build up in my stomach, twisting it into knots. I know what I want to say, I just don’t know quite how to get there. I stare up at the stars, attempting to wrangle my thoughts like those kids roping sheep at the rodeo.
“I can see why you loved Lennon.”
Her statement startles me. It’s so far away from what I’m thinking about.
I stay quiet, trying to figure out how to respond. Addison sits up, forcing me to do the same to make room for both of us on the one seat. She crosses her legs and twists her hands in her lap.
“She’s gorgeous and witty. She’s intelligent, too. And loyal. She watched me closely. Like a robot scanning me for flaws. She wanted to figure out if I posed a threat to the well-being of her best friend’s heart.”
Addison picked up all this from a video chat?
She looks up at me and opens her mouth to continue. “It’s not hard to picture you and Finn fighting over her. Figuratively, not literally. It’s a beautiful, heartbreaking story, really. You both grow up loving your best friend, and then she had to choose between you two.”
In the glow of the outside lights, I see a faint pink blooming on her cheeks.
“I’m jealous,” she admits softly.
“Of what?” I can’t fathom what there is to be jealous of.
“That you loved her.”
I can’t help it. I smile. She loved Warren, but of course that’s not the point. She’s as human as I am, and that means she can only see my situation as an outside observer. She sees a beautifully tragic love story. And it was… but it’s not anymore. I have a new love story.
Reaching for Addison’s hands, I wind my own through them and pull them so they’re no longer in her lap but lying in the crevice our folded legs create. She lifts her gaze to mine.
Here goes nothing. “Lennon chose Finn. Did she love me? Yeah, she did. But she didn’t need me desperately, all-consumingly, didn’t need me like she needs air. What air is to her lungs, Finn is to her heart. I didn’t understand that until I came here, Addison. Because it’s how I feel about you.”
Addison’s lower lip falls away from her upper lip, her mouth forming a surprised ‘o’.
