“Does it, though?” Miles asks. I can’t help but laugh harder than I probably need to since I just thought the same thing.
“I did come over here to talk to you, though.”
“Moi? How exciting. Have you come to teach me the traditional Slovakian dance of Odzemek?”
“How much do you know about Slovakia?”
“Only what I googled this afternoon to set up that bit.”
“Well then, I’m here to tell you two things.”
Miles closes his eyes and crosses his fingers. “Please be the dance.”
“One, I’m not a Slovakian serial killer with dwarfism!”
“Dammit.”
“Two. My mom told me we used to be friends. And I came out here to apologize.” Miles grows serious now. “I... My doctor—therapist—said I have post-traumatic amnesia. Apparently I blocked out mostly everything from before eight months ago.”
He looks at me as though he’s studying a foreign language. “Right. And what, pray tell, happened eight months ago?”
I wish I could tell him the truth. I wish I could tell everyone the truth. Being Nate has been exhausting. The constant worry that I’m going to slip up and say something wrong.
“I escaped from whoever kidnapped me,” I tell him, sticking with the lie. “I lived on the street until I was arrested for shoplifting in DC three days ago and they told me I had been missing for almost ten years.”
Miles nods. “Ten years in July. And it’s okay, by the way. When I saw you earlier, I thought... I don’t know. I didn’t thinkamnesia—little too soap opera, no offense.”
“All offense taken. My life isn’t your pop culture.”
He snorts and narrows his eyes at me. “So listen, we were friends before. Want to be friends again?”
My chest starts to feel a little warm and fuzzy. I haven’t had a friend in a while. “I’d like that.”
He gestures back to the trash can behind him. “I have to finish cleaning up after Chardonnay, but want to come hang out?”
I didn’t expect him to want to hang out immediately, but I definitely wouldn’t mind getting out of the Beaumont house. But then I remember how Valencia freaked out because I explored the backyard and left a door open.
“My mom is a little... overprotective right now. I’ll have to ask if she’s okay with it.”
“Understandable. You apparently got kidnapped and don’t have any memory of anything before eight months ago!” It almost sounds like he’s mocking me, and it makes me laugh. It’s nice not to be treated like I’ll break if someone says the wrong thing. He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
I hand it over, glad I closed out of any Nate-related searches I’ve done. He types something and hands it back. When I look at the screen, I see a text saying,Hi it’s me. Here’s my phone.
“Ask her if she’ll let you walk next door to hang out with an old friend. If yes, text me. If no, text me.”
I nod. “Wish me luck.”
He picks up the pooper-scooper. “Shitloads of it.”
“Ugh.” But still I smile all the way back to the deck. Marcus has his arm over Valencia’s shoulders and their wineglasses have been topped off, the bottle sitting on the table between them.
I decide not to wait it out and just ask. “I was talking to Miles, apologizing for not remembering him earlier. He asked if I could go over and hang out.”
Valencia looks paler in the dim light of the deck. “Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
She takes Marcus’s arm off her shoulder, turning it into the light to read the gold-and-silver watch on his wrist.
