I’m less sure when she says, “Thank you.”
I glance over. Her eyes are on the darkening horizon.
“For what?” I question.
“For showing up a year ago. I know I made that conversation … difficult. I was trying to give you an easy out. I didn’t think you’d wait for more than twenty minutes. But it meant a lot that you stayed, that you checked on me at all. And I realized I never told you that. So … thanks.”
“I have brief bouts of not being an asshole.”
“How concerning. Have you seen a doctor about that?”
I smile, letting one arm support my weight and scooping up a handful of sand with my other hand. “I’d always wanted to see how the other half lived anyway.”
“Bullshit. You think my world is ostentatious and ridiculous, and … you’re not wrong.” There’s a sad, hollow echo to her last three words.
“What does ostentatious mean?” I ask, hoping it’ll annoy or amuse her.
She glances over. “I know you too well to buy that.”
“Too well, huh?”
It’s hard to tell in the limited light, but Wren might be blushing a little. “Well enough, I mean.”
“Mmhmm.” I lie down flat since my arm is going numb, supporting my weight. “When’s your birthday?”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes, staring at the constellations overhead. “Because I told you mine.”
She lies down, too, tucking one arm behind her head. The fireworks should be starting at any second. I’m dreading the disruption all of a sudden, wishing it were possible to linger in this stillness for longer.
“March 11,” Wren finally answers.
Something about that date tickles the back of my brain, but I can’t come up with any concrete reason why.
Wren reaches out, picking up my right hand and holding it aloft in the moonlight. My heart stutters, then starts again at a more rapid pace as her fingers graze the stain on my palm.
“What’s with the paint?” she asks, letting my arm drop back to the sand.
“My mom has been doing some redecorating. House needed a makeover.”
“I thought it was nice.”
I snort. “You weren’t missing the view of Central Park?”
A pause.
“Lucky guess, or you looked it up?”
“I had your address. Took two seconds.”
“Have you been?”
“To Central Park?”
“Yeah. Or to New York.”
“Never. Too far away.”
