“This is a family vacation. You’re supposed to be with family,” he says, parroting Emily and the conversation he overheard yesterday from the woods, and we laugh at her expense. “Sorry,” he says, his smile flattening. “I shouldn’t talk shit about your mom.”
“No. It’s fine. I do.”
“Yeah, but she’s your mom. You’re supposed to talk shit about her,” he says, like it’s my birthright, like every kid is out there talking shit about their moms. Many are, but then there are the ones like my little cousin Cass, who actually hero-worships her mom, or Skylar, who has spa dates and goes on shopping sprees with hers, where her mom, Caroline, splurges on Lululemon and shit.
I ask, “What’s your mom like?”
He shrugs, saying that she’s dead, and I recoil. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” What happens next is totally unexpected. My hand moves as if all on its own, reaching out to touch his before pulling back. In the real world, I’d never do that. I would never touch him. I would just stand there, feeling awkward, hating myself for asking the question as if I should have somehow known that his mom was dead, and maybe it’s the fact that I’m on vacation and may never see this guy again that makes me realize I can be anyone I want to be. I can do anything I want to do.
He shrugs again. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill her.” He looks away. When he looks back, he says, “I actually saw you twice yesterday. At your cottage and again at the lodge. I waved at you.” He waits for me to say something, but when I don’t, he says, “You didn’t wave back.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“No?” he asks, his smile playful this time, and it takes everything in me not to smile back and give myself away. “Because it seemed like maybe you did.”
Heat fills my cheeks. I think of the way I stood at the window yesterday, watching him unload boxes from the pickup truck. I wonder what he could see from the other side of the window, just the faint outline of my face or the look on it as I stared, imagining what he looked like under his shirt.
“Well, I didn’t,” I say. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t even at the lodge yesterday.”
“That’s too bad. I was kind of hoping it was you, because whoever I saw was pretty as hell.”
My face goes red. I’m about to take it back—to tell him it was me at the lodge after all—when all of a sudden I hear the sound of voices in the distance, carrying through the woods, closing in on us, and my heart sinks because I know they’re about to ruin this moment for me because they ruin everything.
When I see them, Emily’s arms are crossed. She tries hard to keep up with Nolan, who walks ahead, the gap between them widening with each step because she can’t keep pace. I don’t know if Nolan is trying to intentionally ditch her or not because he always walks ahead of her, like he can’t ever slow down, like he has only one speed. “Why do you always do that?” she asks, her voice out of breath from trying to keep up, and I don’t even know what they’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the same argument, different day.
“Do what?”
“Why do you always contradict everything I say? Why can’t you agree with me for once?”
He stops, wheels around to face her, his voice loud and unchecked. “Why can you never just fucking compromise? Why do you always have to tell everyone what to do?”
“Can you just be quiet? Can you lower your voice,please?”
“Why?” Nolan asks, his voice escalating because it can, just to piss her off, to embarrass her. “Why do I have to befuckingquiet? When are we ever going to see thesefuckingpeople again?”
I take Daniel by the arm and drag him deeper into the woods.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
I put a finger to my lips and whisper, “Shhh.”
Emily says, “You’re only acting like this because you’re drunk.”
This time, when she says it, Nolan steps up close, entering her personal space with such velocity I’m not sure he’s not going to hit her. Emily feels it too. She backs away from him as he says, “I am not drunk. I had two beers.”
“You had at least three, if not four.”
“Are youcounting? We’re on vacation, Emily. You need to relax.”
Suddenly, Daniel’s hand is on my arm. I turn toward him, losing myself in his eyes. “What are you doing later?” he asks, his voice low.
But Nolan’s tone is aggressive, incensed, pulling my attention away again as he says, “You’re ruining everyone’s trip, Emily. Everyone would be having a far better time if you weren’t here.” He turns, walking away from her again, and I feel Daniel’s hand on my cheek this time, turning my face, making me look into his eyes.
“When?” I ask.
“Tonight,” he says. “I want to show you something.”
“Show me what?” I ask, but the truth is that I don’t care what he wants to show me. Whatever it is, if it means being with him, then I want to see.
