“Okay.” He keeps a tight wrap on his emotions per usual.
I, on the other hand, must stand, taking rapid steps away from him before he can change his mind.
“Oh, and Miles… bring a towel, or you can bet you’ll be using one with Taylor Swift’s face on it.”
A rumbling sound drifts from his throat again. He rests his fishing pole beside him and eases back on the palms of his hands.
“Noted.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SUMMER, THREE YEARS AGO
Icouldn’t keep a tally of how many days I spent away from Bear Lake this time. It hurt too much. I missed Miles, and each mark was a reminder of all the things we left unsaid.
Me and my weak heart.
The truth is the moment we pulled away from the cabin I regretted not asking for a way to contact him. I was forced to resume my life in a different world than the one he lived in with me.
Sophomore year was even better than freshman. For one, I could finally talk to guys without sputtering over my words like a drunken sailor. They seemed so much more relatable than intimidating.
It took the entire first semester of writing notes, cataloguing my summer to Cozy like a bunch of diary entries, for her to forgive me. I never did send a single email, but when I got to the part about my first kiss with Miles, she could have cared less about anything else. She ran right up to me after homeroom in a squealing hug. Between that and joining the yearbook committee, the fact that we spent a summer apart no longermattered to her. Our time together during the school year more than made up for the summer we spent contactless, and it kept me busy in all the ways I needed to be.
Max Edwards asked me to the prom in the spring. He was two grades above me and freaked the crap out of my parents, but he was just a friend. He kissed me good night at the end of the dance and had soft enough lips, but there were no fireworks.
When May came, my parents made good on their promise of gifting me a cellphone. Its capabilities felt archaic compared to the ones my friends used with internet and social media access, but I could contact Cozy this summer, so I wasn’t complaining. She was in denial that I was leaving again and put together this whole summer bucket list as a way of begging me to stay.
“Just hear me out, we can spend afternoons by the Boise River where you can sketch. It’s not a lake, but it’s majestic nonetheless. And we can go bowling at the student union building on the weekends. I know they don’t have bowling in that teeny town. Take that, Bear Lake! Oh, and we can rent one of those swan paddle boats! It will feel very lake-esque. I promise.”
She may as well have been down on her knees as she proposed it. I went to my mom for advice just like I do with everything else, and she suggested Cozy and I make it a virtual summer bucket list. We could FaceTime and text each other pictures as we each experience summer memories from afar.
“Then the first thing on your list is to set the record straight with Miles. I’m not sending you there to spend all your time with someone who takes you for granted,” Cozy challenged.
She seemed pleased when I cringed in fear, but I agreed. I made that mistake once, and I wasn’t going to do it again.
“Sunniest... first… June… lake has seen in years,” the choppy local radio host cuts through the static as the canyon gives way to Garden Valley. “Let those summer BBQs begin!”
My dad exhales, rolling down all four windows and letting the sun drench our skin. I know it’s a Friday at nine, and that the shop doesn’t open for another hour, but I still sit up straighter in my seat, my hands on the window ledge as we pull past All Caught Up. It’s got a fresh coat of paint with this season’s markdowns hand-drawn on the windows.
My mind floods with memories of Miles and me restocking the fishing lures on the middle aisle. When we reached for the same wrung, our fingers brushed together. It also reminds me of the time an ice cream truck delivered us free mint chocolate chip during our lunch break out back. He wiped a drip from the corner of my lips with his thumb and licked it clean. I wanted to be the one to do that.
While navigating memory lane, I miss the spot where we shared our first kiss and look back longingly as my dad steers the car down the driveway. The sweet floral decent of perennial blooms planted against the side of the cabin are the reminder I need that good things do come back.
Shrieking from the Morgan property drowns out the car radio. From where we’re parked, I make out two guys chest-deep in the lake, each with a pair of long legs wrapped around their necks. The oak trees block my view, and on instinct, I push my way toward them for a closer look.
“I’m gonna go say hi to Reed,” I call over my shoulder.
I can feel my mom’s eyes on my back, but I can’t even give her the time of day as another screech rings through the air.
“Okay, honey, just…”
Be careful, I know.She uses the same tone I imagine she’d use if she ever had to tell me that someone burned all the pages in my sketchbook and there’s nothing left.
Something inside me screams that I should turn back. I can feel it now, but I’m a few feet closer, and can I make out Miles’s dark eyes and crooked smile. I almost trip over that same damn tree root I do every year at the sight of it. The commotion of my almost-fall catches his attention, but I dodge to the left knowing from where he’s standing, he won’t see me behind the overgrown trunk. I don’t know why I hide, but I’m glad I do.
As I squat down, I watch a beautiful brunette girl with hair halfway down her back in a pink bikini topple from Miles’s shoulders into the water. It feels like time grinds to a halt as his smile doubles. When the pucker of her pouty berry-colored lips crests the water, he leans down and kisses her square on the mouth.
I don’t stay for the rest.
