After Aud and Janie leave, I take a bath, soaking until my fingers prune. Then I bury myself between my sheets. I try to think happy thoughts—not about how my parents used to argue on the phone at night, when my mom thought my brother and I were sleeping, and not about how news of Nick’s death came after a night as long as this one, a vehement knock that changed everything.
Instead, I picture Ryan, blue eyes hemmed in by the dark frames of his glasses. I try to get excited about the wide-open possibility his arrival promises and I feel… nothing at all. I think of Mati, and how his presence fills me with curiosity and exuberance and a strange sort of nostalgia. Then I remember that he’s from Afghanistan—that he’ll almost certainlyreturnto Afghanistan—and all that hope-anticipation-optimism disappears like a sandcastle overtaken by a wave.
Very late, when the world outside my window is quiet, I drift off.
In the morning, after a fitful sleep that leaves me groggy, Bambi and I are running behind. She’s wound up—she probably has topee—and she’s the very opposite of patient as I throw a baggy sweater over a pair of leggings. My hair goes up in its usual twist and we’re out the door to the tune of a distracted, “Have fun and stay safe,” shouted from Mom’s library.
I nearly lose my footing as I step onto the porch; for once the sun is out, and it’s blinding. I debate going back for sunglasses, but Bambi’s turning excited circles and I don’t have the heart to crush her fragile doggy spirit by holding us up any longer. “All right, girl, let’s go,” I say, holding out a new tennis ball.
We’re headed down the cobblestones when Ryan’s head pops up from behind the box hedge. I jump back, slapping a hand over my racing heart.
“Oh, sorry!” He pulls off a pair of gardening gloves and grins. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay. You surprised me, is all.”
Bambi drops her ball to yelp about the delay.
Ryan turns his smile on her. His fair hair’s smartly combed, and he’s wearing a Texas-y plaid button-down. Combined with his glasses, it’s a cool look. “Where’re y’all off to?”
“The beach. Bambi fetches and I walk.”
“Sounds fun.”
He’s castingyou should invite mevibes like the sun’s casting warmth, so I oblige, waving a hand westward, toward the Pacific. “Do you want to come along?”
He eyes his gardening gloves. “Forgo the weed-pulling? Man, I don’t know.…”
Bambi barks, picks up her ball, then drops it on the path to bark again.
He laughs. “Oh, all right. You’ve convinced me.”
The three of us make quick work of the walk, and when we reach the beach, we find it crowded. It’s Independence Day, the reason for the influx of tourists, but that doesn’t stop Bambi and me from doing our beach thing. I chuck her tennis ball and she retrieves, terrifying seagullswith her throaty barks. When Ryan takes a turn throwing, I allow myself a quick scan of the busy sand, wondering if Mati will appear.HopingMati will appear, because after yesterday, I have a wrong to right.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
Disheartened, I return my focus to Ryan, because he seems like the sort of person I need in my life right now: cheerful and easygoing. He tells me about his family (mom, dad, twelve-year-old twin sisters), Texas A&M (coolest school in the Lone Star State), and his ex, Jordan, who broke up with him the night they graduated from high school (yikes—real nice).
“That’s so shitty,” I say, giving Bambi’s ball another toss. Ryan’s clearly bummed about the split, but he still smiles, like, all the time.
“Isn’t it? So what if we’re going to schools in different cities? We’ll both be in Texas. We could’ve made it work.”
“Sure,” I say. “Long distance love ain’t no thang.”
He laughs. “Is that experience talking?”
“More like sarcasm. I was sort of seeing someone in San Francisco, this guy named Kurt, but I ended it the day my mom told me we were moving. It’s not like we were going to get married, so what was the point?” I weigh my words and realize I might be talking out of my ass. I mean, Kurt and I spent more time making out in his parked Camry than we spent bonding. Maybe Ryan’s relationship with Jordan was the real deal—I wouldn’t know love if it slapped me across the face. “Wait, sorry, do you want to marry Jordan?”
“Not anymore,” he says, “but I’m not entirely over it, in case you haven’t noticed. I wouldn’t normally go on about my ex while walking the beach with a cool girl. It’s just… I thought Jordan was special.” He lets go of a sigh so big, his shoulders slump.
I reach over to squeeze his arm. “Aww, I’m sorry you’re brokenhearted.”
“Eh, I’ll be okay,” he says, shucking his sadness. “And anyway, what about you? Sorry if I’m overstepping, but you were crying yesterday. You brokenhearted, too?”
“Oh… that. Rough morning.”
“Today seems better, though.”
“Yeah. It’s the Fourth of July. And the sun’s out—a rare delight.”
