“Oh god, let’s go.”
We laugh and pull each other up, keeping our hands on backs and arms as we climb over the seats and back into the boat. When the others come into view, Luca glances at us from where he’s cuddled up with Kimber at the bow, a curious glint in his eyes. I smile at him. He smiles back, but it’s small, and a sliver of unease cuts into all this ridiculous happy.
Eva doesn’t even notice. She disappears below deck while I wander over to everyone else, wondering why she pulled us away from our little slice of paradise. More fireworks explode in the sky, so I focus on the flowery shapes, the shimmery reflections in the water.
Soon Eva’s at my side again, handing me a small green bottle of Miracle Bubbles. She’s holding a long, cylindrical tube of the same stuff, a huge wand slicing through its blue liquid center.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
She unscrews the lid to her bubbles and pulls out the wand, a soft and wistful expression on her face. “My mom and I used to do this. Every Fourth, we’d go up to the roof of our apartment. From there we could see the fireworks over the East River, and we’d blow bubbles into the sky.”
“Why?”
She smiles, a small, sort of sad bend of her lips. “You’ll see.”
Then she swings the wand through the air, iridescent bubbles drifting into the space in front of us. But they’re more than iridescent, because at that moment a firework blasts into the sky above Cape Katie, filling the bubble with a million sparkles.
I uncap my own bottle and blow out a colony of tiny bubbles just as a gold and silver willow-shaped firework ignites. My bubbles fill and multiply the image, popping lazily, blinking out the firework one at a time. It’s like viewing the whole show though water.
It’s beautiful.
Eva and I continue to blow bubbles. I can feel Luca’s eyes on me, but I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Eva sweeps her arm through the air as she waves giant bubble after giant bubble into the sky, mingling them with my smaller ones, all of them shot through with flares of red and blue and green and purple.
The finale is just firing up, a constant boom echoing through the night, when I notice Eva’s stopped. She’s staring up at the sky, watching her last bubbles winking out, tears streaming down her face.
Capping my bubbles and placing them on the floor, I approach her slowly. I take her bubbles and cap those, too, before slipping my hand into hers. I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say, and I doubt she needs words right now. I think we’re just going to stand there, silent, watching the fireworks drench the black sky in rainbows while Eva cries, when she pulls away, backing up until she sinks onto the seats on the port side. Luca, Kimber, Macon, and Janelle all squirm, glancing at Eva and then me and then one another before fixing their gazes back on the sky. Because this is awkward. Sadness is awkward. Grief is awkward. A missing mother is awkward, no matter what form that missing takes. And no one likes awkward. No one knows what to do with it unless you’re the person used to receiving all those averted gazes.
I walk over to Eva and sit next to her.
“God, way to ruin a good night, huh?” she says, wiping at her eyes and forcing a smile. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
She nods, but she scoots a little farther from me.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her knees around so her body faces me. “You’re allowed to feel like this. Do you need me to leave you alone? I will, if that’s what you want.”
She frowns at me but doesn’t move away. Then, a barely perceptible shake of her head. More tears spill over, so I frame her face in my hands, swiping her tears away. I kiss her cheeks, her eyes, the corners of her mouth. Behind me, I hear a soft “What the hell?” come out of Macon’s mouth, but it’s not a disgusted sort of question. I don’t think. More surprised than anything, and it’s followed by a whack sound—?Janelle’s smack to his shoulder. Still, I ignore them all. I keep my eyes on Eva, whose tears keep coming, but who’s leaning into my touch. Finally, she exhales a shuddering breath. Her arms wrap around my waist, and she props her chin on my shoulder.
“I thought it would be good, you know? The bubbles. Like . . . I could still do something that was ours and it’d be sort of nice. A first step, maybe. But . . .”
Her voice fades away, her face pressed against my neck. I don’t tell her it’ll be okay. Maybe it won’t; I don’t freaking know. Our worlds are blurring, the days and nights overlapping. I hate seeing her sad. I’d do anything to make her smile right now and that thought is a relief, for so many reasons. I won’t hurt her. I won’t mistreat her like I may have mistreated Jay, douche that he is. And I can’t help but feel that these tears—?their presence in front of me—?are a good thing. Maybe this will separate her from Maggie a bit. Maybe she won’t need Maggie as much, because I’m here. I understand the missing mother. I understand that bone-deep ache too.
Weirdly, I sort of wish Emmy were here. Well, okay, maybe not here, because I have no idea how she’d feel about Eva wrapped in my arms right now. But I have an answer to her question. I tighten my grip on Eva, hands skating over her back as her crying calms and the wind blows her hair into my face.
This. This is what I want.
I lift one hand into the sky, the other still holding on to Eva. The last fireworks fizzle in between my spread fingers, the purple nails bright against the last bits of gold, like wishes come to life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, LUCA IS LEAVING LUMAC’S AS I’m walking in. Last night, after we’d returned to the pier, Luca and I parted with smiles and waves. He even attempted a halfhearted noogie, but I don’t remember anything much beyond that because my entire walk home, anticipation over Eva slipping through my window and into my bed later on had covered me like a skin.
And by anticipation, I mean I was freaking the hell out. We hadn’t made any plans to meet at the lighthouse or anything. She’d just cupped my chin and pressed a kiss to my forehead—?my forehead—?and then walked toward the Michaelsons’ house with Macon and Janelle. What if those kisses on the ocean finally changed everything? What if she regretted them, like I had thought she regretted the tree kiss? What if she was too sad? What if she needed Maggie? What if I was too much, too little?
What if what if what if blah blah blah.
But, just after one a.m., my window slid open. We didn’t say much, and we spent most of the first hour or so just touching—?fingers idling up and down arms, palms smoothing circles over backs. We didn’t even kiss for a long time, but it was all right. It’s what she needed, and it felt good giving her that.
