The boat. He’d gotten it the summer he turned sixteen, a present from his stepfather. It was the summer we’d gotten to know one another, exchanging late night texts and talking on the phone for hours. He’d sent me a thousand pictures of the boat, and I’d started to catch feelings for him through those pictures and texts. There was something about the awkward, lanky nerd I’d gotten to know covered in grease that just did it for me. Even if I never wanted to touch anything greasy, ever. Some things just did not come out from under the nails easily, and I was too vain for that.
I remembered him calling and telling me that he was bringing the boat back to King’s Bay that summer. I had expected to hear that his mom or stepdad had rented a tow for it, but instead, he’d sailed it and docked it at the same pier we were at now. The boat, like every other part of King’s Bay, held a lot of memories of the relationship we’d once shared.
I did want to see it again.
“Let’s go.”
I followed him down the sidewalk toward the marina where his boat was docked. He led me to the same dock the boat had been in when we’d been in high school, but it was in a differentslip—three down from where it had once been. The boat hadn’t changed, though I could tell that he’d painted it at least once in the years we’d been apart. The hunter green at the bottom was less cracked than it had been in my memories, the white on top more crisp. He expertly stepped aboard the boat and offered his hand to me.
I’d never been as steady as he was boarding the boat, always afraid that I’d slip in the space between the wooden planks and the boat itself. I was surprised Matt remembered that, but at the same time, I wasn’t. He’d always been attentive to the needs of others.
He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the sliding glass door that led to the interior. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”
He looked over his shoulder at me and grinned. “I’ve changed a few things,” he countered. “Pictures. Sheets on the pull out.”
“I’d hope you’d changed the sheets.”
“Oh my god, Noah, you know what I mean.”
I laughed, the noise echoing around the small space. My eyes moved around the boat, taking inventory of the things that had changed and the things that had stayed the same. It still had the same wood paneled interior. The upholstery on the couch had been dated when we were in high school, and it might have been considered ancient now. I would have had to change it. The captain’s chair was different. I remembered it had cracked brown faux leather, but the chair I was looking at was smooth black. I ran my fingers over it. Oh yeah, that was real leather, none of that plastic crap he’d had years ago. “You’ve changed the chair,” I commented.
“Of course that’s what you’d notice,” he said with a laugh. “Yeah, had to change it. The old one broke and dumped my ass right on the floor. I was so glad I was alone because it was embarrassing.”
I could imagine it. One minute he was sitting on the chair and the next, he was on the floor, sprawled out with that baffled look on his face. I followed him down the three stairs that separated the living area from the rest of the boat. There was a small kitchenette. The refrigerator had been replaced, but I didn’t think the one he had now was any newer than the one that had once been there. I only knew it wasn’t the same one because the old one had been an awful shade of pea green, and this one was a murky shade of off-white that looked dirty. If it were anyone other than Matt, I would have thought it was. However, I’d cooked with him enough to know that he kept the kitchen area meticulous, no matter where the kitchen was.
The bedroom area of the boat laid just beyond that. He still had the same faded blue bedspread on the double bed with the crocheted afghan his grandmother had made for him laid across the bottom, neatly folded. There was a small shelf on the side, lined with rubber ducks. One caught my eye more than the others. The painted sweater was chipped, but I could still make out the small MIT logo painted across the front. I smiled as I picked it up delicately. “You still have this?”
His eyes moved to the duck I was holding. “Like I’d ever get rid of it.”
I felt a warmth in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years, a warmth that I associated solely with Matt. Because he’d been the only person that had ever been able to make me feel that way. I looked between him and the rubber duck a few times before placing it back on the shelf. I’d made that duck for him when he’d gotten his acceptance letter to MIT. It had been a part of our plans. I was going to Brown; he was going to MIT. Except it hadn’t worked out that way. He’d chosen a college in California, and it had been the end of our relationship.
I’d have thought that he’d have gotten rid of the duck over the years. It was a sentimental present, not something that mostpeople would have kept after a breakup. I wondered if it meant anything, the fact that he’d kept it all these years. It was a stupid thought, because while not much on this boat had changed, I knew that the two men on it had.
I had.
The duck was likely nothing more than a memory of first love or something.
Matt opened the door off the bedroom area, and we climbed the small ladder up to the top of the boat. The heavy chairs on top had changed. The double-seater that we’d spent nights cuddled up on, kissing under the stars, was gone. It had been replaced by the metal frame of a double lounger. He noticed me looking at it and grinned. “It has a cushion,” he assured me, like that had been on my mind at all. I figured it had to. Matt had always been a bit strange, but I didn’t think he’d choose to have a seat that was just metal bars.
He’d never been a masochist.
“I’d offer to get them out so we could relax up here, but they’re all the way at the front of the boat,” he explained. I noticed the way he was shifting from leg to leg, almost like he was anxious. Or maybe he just had to pee. With the Matt I remembered, it could have been either. I wondered if that had stayed the same.
Either way, I wanted to put him at ease. “It’s fine,” I assured him. “We can hang out up here another time. Besides, it’s better when the stars are out.”
“Or sunset,” he agreed. “Or sunrise. Really any time but midday. I mean, it’s nice up here midday, but notasnice, you know?” He paused. Like, actually paused. He stopped moving completely, like someone had hit a pause button and froze him in place. Then, his smile grew about ten sizes. “Wait, another time?”
“What, did you think we were only going to hang out once?” I questioned with a chuckle.
He shrugged, and that warmth bloomed in my chest again. It really was just a Matt thing.
We climbed down the ladder back to the main part of the boat and went to the small living room. He plopped down on the couch, and I sat beside him. I was careful to leave space between us. I had to admit that while the couch was hideous, it was comfortable. The fabric was still soft, worn with age. The design might have been faded to the point where if I hadn’t known that it had once had a floral print, I might have questioned what the details were. I traced my fingers over the faded shapes. “Have you ever thought of reupholstering this thing?”
“No. It serves its purpose.”
Matt never had cared as much for aesthetics as I had, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.
We talked a little longer. He told me about the website he was working on, some commission for a company halfway across the country. They’d reached out to him online because he’d worked on stuff for people the owner knew. According to him, it was a pretty big project, and it would lead to a lot more work if he did it well. I knew Matt. He’d do it well. He might not have an eye for interior design, but he seemed to know how people’s minds worked when it came to almost any kind of tech. Every design I’d ever seen him do was instinctive. Even the small apps he’d played around with building when we were in high school had that same instinctive flow to it.
