Jake’s face suddenly turned bright red, and he shook his head again and then leaned forward and started untying his shoes.
“Oh my gosh, you... do have weirdly long toes, don’t you?”
“I do... not. I mean, it’s not weird,” Jake argued. Rye could see him struggling to hold back another smile, obviously pretending to be serious. “It’s actually called Morton’s toe, and about a fifth of the population has it. It’s totally not... uncommon.”
When Jake glanced sideways at him, the corners of his mouth twitching up, Rye snickered. “Totally not uncommon at all,” he said through his laugh, nodding.
Jake rolled his eyes. “Okay, so maybe I do have weird feet.”
“Yeah. But mine are kinda weird too,” Rye admitted. “Probably everyone has weird feet.” He looked down at his feet, already sticking off the end of the blanket, and then he curled his totally-normal-length toes, burying them into the soft sand.
“You’re right, I’m sure,” Jake said. “And yoursarekinda weird too.”
The tease made Rye chuckle again, and he looked back over at Jake, who was now slipping off his shoes. Jake was still smiling, although he let out a short breath as he set his shoes just off to the side and then hooked his fingers under the tops of his socks. He paused and closed his eyes lightly. “That’s, uh, not why I hesitated, though,” he said, and there wasn’t sadness in his tone so much as uncertainty—an uncertainty Rye understood all too well.
“I know,” Rye said softly. He set his hands down on either side of him and turned to look out at the ocean. The waves lapped quietly at the shore, white foam disappearing into the sand. He didn’t want to tell Jake just how much he understood the feelings Jake was having. Their situations were very different, after all, and today was about Jake, not him.
“It’s just been a long time,” Jake said. “It almost feels silly, maybe, how much I’ve been looking forward to this since you suggested it yesterday.”
“It’s . . . something that’s important to you.”
“Yeah.”
“If you want . . . I won’t watch.”
Jake was silent, and when Rye glanced back at him, he was staring down at his now-bare feet—feet that didn’t really look weird at all, evenwithhis long toes. Jake had stuffed his socks into his shoes and shifted his feet all the way to the edge of the blanket, and his lips were pursed, his brow furrowed.
“It’s silly,” Jake repeated, though his voice was quiet again, filled with all that uncertainty.
“No, it’s not,” Rye reassured him. Then, even though he didn’t want to, he added, “I think I understand how you feel. And I... I really don’t think it’s silly at all. I think... I think it’s a beautiful thing to want to find joy in.” He curledhis toes again, feeling the sand squish between them. “Especially when you’ve... been denied something so... so simple for so long.”
He wasn’t really sure that what he’d said made sense or that he’d said exactly what he’d meant to, but Jake nodded slowly and then took a deep breath. And Rye watched as Jake closed his eyes and inched his feet out ever so slowly into the sand. The tightness in his jaw faded, and as he buried his toes, he let out a soft sigh.
“Wow,” Jake breathed, and Rye grinned as Jake shook his head with a quiet laugh. He didn’t say anything else, though, which was fine. Rye understood that too. Maybe all too well.
For several minutes, they both sat there without talking, the silence comfortable, and Rye glanced at Jake one more time before turning back to the ocean and watching the waves. A flock of gulls glided down from one of the cliff faces to the south, settling in the water a few hundred feet out. And just beyond that, a string of kayakers rowed through the crisp waves, warning of the busy tourist season about to start.
Jake and his mom had both been telling Rye that things got much less quiet in their quiet town as soon as summer vacationers started to show up. Although it wasn’t officially summer for another month and a half, the weather had started to warm up, and already, Rye had noticed a change. The bookstore where he spent a lot of his time—officially still an “intern,” although Janice paid him a small salary now since he’d started helping out a bit with her bookkeeping—had recently started to see an uptick in customers. Slow but steady. And Rye wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to work there. There had already been a couple of times just in the last few days alone where a stranger had come in and he’d started to feel that familiar panic building in his chest—heart racing, a heavy weight making it harder to breathe. He’d gotten better, really, and it seemed totally random sometimes, whether he’d have that reaction or not. Usually it happened with strangers who were older, bigger men with graying hair or if he heard a low, gruff voice. But it could also just happen if the front door shut too loudly or if he heard cursing or for no apparent reason at all. Being in the back office when he was working on paperwork or accounting didn’t help too much; there was no exit in the back, and so that only added to his feeling of being trapped when something would trigger him.
He didn’t even want to think about how busy it would get in the middle of the summer.
Rye blinked and shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts. Then he glanced over at Jake, who had his eyes closed again and was breathing slowly and deeply, looking perfectly content. And that made Rye smile.
“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly, hesitant to break the silence but also eager to show Jake what he’d made. “I made the potato salad just this morning and brought stuff for sandwiches.”
“Hmm? Oh, right.” Jake straightened up a bit and nodded. “That sounds perfect. And I brought the cookies.”
“All the cookies?” Rye shot Jake a silly smile, and Jake’s eyes did that thing again where they lit up, tiny wrinkles crinkling just at the edges. It was pure joy, and it brought a burst of warmth to Rye’s chest.
“Alllll the cookies,” Jake confirmed with a wink.
Rye scooted back, grabbed the tote, and started pulling out containers filled with food while Jake fished the cookies he’d brought out of a small backpack. They both started building their sandwiches, and when Jake grinned as he piled an extra slice of tomato on his, Rye wrinkled his nose with an exaggerated “ewwww.” They both laughed.
Several minutes later, they’d turned to look out at the ocean again, and Jake had slipped his not-really-so-weird-looking feet back into the sand. Another string of kayakers rowed by out on the water, and Rye thought maybe he saw a few dolphins surface not too far from the shore.
“This is really good, Rye. You made this yourself?”
Rye pulled his gaze away from the water and glanced at his friend, nodding. He swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d had in his mouth. “Yeah. It’s...” He swallowed again, remembering that morning—the hint of a memory of a red umbrella. Then he remembered his resolve. He wanted new memories. Good new memories. Especially new memories that meant enough to replace all those awful ones. He smiled and lifted his chin a little. “It’s my grandma’s recipe. My mom shared it with me last night. I... like cooking.”
