With half laughs, we help each other up. Inside, over dry turkey sandwiches, the three of us play games of Go Fish with a deck of bent cards Alice dug out from her bedroom dresser. Something to distract us from the inevitable. The season may chug on, but summer, the carefree state of mind, has slipped away like sand through my fingers.
The gravity of it all zooms back into focus only after nightfall and three full rounds, Alice winning them all. I’m still not certain she wasn’t cheating, stuffing sevens up her sleeves. A regular card shark.
“Help me clean up the living room?” Alice asks with angel eyes. She knows we won’t say no.
It’s the first time Derick fully sees the destruction Alice caused in her chaotic breakdown. Our hard work reduced to shambles. He’s taken aback, running a hand over the walls. I can practically hear his teeth grinding.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “We’ll just have to rebuild.”In more ways than one,I’m tempted to add.
Halfway through moving the couch back to its rightful place—how she pushed this at all with her bony chicken arms is beyond me—Alice returns with a pile of old blankets and pillows stacked so high we can’t see her head.
“What are these for?” Derick asks, helping her before she falls over her favorite chair.
She stands there silently, pulling herself together, and then says, “I’m going to bed now. Stay the night if you want. Go if you want. But please just work it out already. If this has taught you anything, it’s that now is the only time you’ve got for certain. Enjoy what you have while it lasts.”
And with that, she scuttles up the steps, making sure we hear her close and lock her door. Derick and I look at each other, trying to read the other’s expression. Wordlessly, we come to the same decision. He doesn’t want to go home—hecan’tgo home—and I know he won’t stay if I don’t.
We can’t both fit on the couch, so we roll out the duvets into a makeshift mattress on the floor in front of it. It’s hot in here, so we won’t need covering. We shed our extra layers—me stripping down to my T-shirt and boxer shorts, Derick to only his briefs. I fold my blazer and dress slacks onto Alice’s recliner, knowing full well they’ll be a wrinkly mess by morning.
Our heads touch our pillows at the same time. We lie there, not saying a word, in the hazy glow of a single lamp, staring at each other. The heat of the room bears down on us, but locked in his gaze, nothing else matters to me.
“I’m sorry you’re going through all this,” I say. “I’m here for you. Through whatever. Even if Alice didn’t passive-aggressively insinuate we should spend the night together, I wouldn’t have left your side until you told me to.”
“Thank you for saying that.” His voice is a bashful blip I have to lean in to hear.
“Of course.”
We snuggle closer together, even though the temperature’s rising. Or maybe that’s just a side effect of his nearness. Either way, I’m sweating.
“At least we have until the end of the season. Demolition can’t start until the fall. You still get to do Alice’s event.” He’s attempting to soften the blow with a thoughtful consolation prize.
“You’re right. I’m grateful I have that.” I grab his hand. “And I’m grateful I have this.”
He asks with his eyes if he can kiss me, and I nod so emphatically that we nearly knock skulls. When he kisses me this time, with no more lies boiling between us, it feels different, more resolved. Final, in a way that doesn’t necessitate an ending. But, rather, final in the sense that this is how kisses between us will always be from now on: tender and truthful.
“I wish it had been you,” he says breathlessly when we break apart.
“What?”
“My first queer kiss,” he corrects. “I wish it had been you, that night in the truck at the lot from your email.” He sighs with so much heady contemplation. “Too bad time travel doesn’t exist like it does in the movies, right? Oh well.”
He rolls over, signaling me to slide in as the big spoon. I drape my top arm over him and shape my smaller body into the curves of his long back. Our breathing syncs up until we’re both falling asleep, and a vivid dream helps me develop a beautiful,beautifulplan.
Chapter 29
Maybe time travel does exist.
At least that’s how it feels on the night of Alice’s event as I look out from the side door of the projection booth. It’s packed out there. Decade-specific snack-shack prices. A premiere four decades later. People milling about in seventies-inspired outfits. It’s a wholesome throwback because focusing on the future would be too bleak.
If only the council had seen the turnout tonight, could’ve forecasted our success. Not only did we sell out our advanced reservations but we sold out the entire lot. We filled the open staff spots and let people sit on the grass down front. Many unfolded old beach towels or made friends with other groups who had extra tailgate chairs. At one point, we even had to turn people away, which is a rarity in my history of working here.
Even though many Willow Valley residents decreed their disinterest in Wiley’s and sentenced us to our death, small businesses came out in droves to pitch in. Food trucks reached out asking if they could take space in our overflow lots. We got deliveries of free fancy soap samples and baskets of perfectly aged cheese. The reverberation of our sentencing has rocked Willow Valley.
“Since we’re all set here, I’m heading down to the signing table.” Oscar is wearing one of the leftover pink #TheLittleDriveInThatCould T-shirts. It’s a bittersweet reminder of the effort we made. I guess the Rolling Stones were right:You can’t always get what you want. “My publicist is having an aneurysm. The line is lengthy, and he can’t ward them off much longer. This is incredible. Thank you for including me.” He pats me on the shoulder before pushing open the door to the snack-shack lobby.
“Thank you for everything!” I call after him.
“My pleasure!” he yells back.
