Suddenly the missingpieces of the vision of my future are utterly clear.Not just theprofessional part.The part where I come home to the beautiful,badass lawyer.To however many of my kids she's willing to have.Itdoesn't matter where—an apartment in the city, a house in thesuburbs.It only matters that she's there.And as I watch her twisther lips into another forced photo-smile, then break out intogiggles when Carl whispers something in her ear, I finally believeshe will be.
She does great during thedance, bouncing around with her friends for a few songs before wewind up sitting around and talking just like I said we would, notriggers in sight.Almost everyone sips from a flask, but Irefrain.When a Journey ballad comes on and Rory starts hummingabsentmindedly, I take her hand and drag her back to the dancefloor.She smiles sweetly up at me as she slides her hands uparound my neck and starts playing with the hair at my nape while wesway slowly to the music.
I pull her tighter againstmy body as I fight to keep my hands above the curve of her tight,round ass.Godshe makes me crazy.I bring my lips down to hers and kiss herright there on the dance floor.It doesn't matter.There's no oneelse here.I only see Rory.
Around midnight we allpile into the party bus, most of our friends pretty tipsy by now,but I'm drunk on Rory's mood.She's relaxed, living in the moment.Not loud or giggly like some of the other girls, just enjoying thenight.Every now and then she peeks up at me with this look—likeI'm her whole fucking world, and it makes my chest feel so full itcould explode.
We get to East Hampton ina little over an hour.We've all changed into comfortable clothes,Rory in leggings and my varsity shirt, and the satisfaction I feelseeing my last name written across her back is unreal.
The after-party is tamerthan one might expect.There's more drinking, a few joints, and I'mpretty sure Marshall and Luke have been sneaking lines in thebathroom with their dates, but mostly we sit around and do moretalking while Dave curates the playlist on the house's soundsystem.
There are eight couplesand only six bedrooms, but not everyone is exactly planning tosleep.Either way, I secured the master, which is in its own wingof the house.
Rory excuses herself to goto sleep around three a.m., insisting that I stay up and hang outwith my friends.I last another five minutes before I make my wayupstairs to join her.In those five minutes Rory has passed out onthe bedspread.I climb behind her, tug her back against my chest,and close my eyes.
A few months ago thisisn't how I would have imagined my prom night.Now it's how Iimagine every night.
Chapter Twenty Three
Everyoneleaves in the party bus thenext morning except Sam and me.He tells me he arranged for a carservice to take us home tonight so we could spend the day.I don'tcomplain.The beach-front property is gorgeous, and though I knewhis uncle was successful, a house like this is almost shockinglyluxurious.It isn't warm enough to swim so we wrap a throw blanketaround our shoulders and walk along the beach, hand inhand.
We don't say much.Thereisn't a whole lot left to be said.For the first time in thelongest time, I feel completely present.I'm not stifled by my pastor terrified of my future.I'm just here, now, with Sam.
Sam orders us lunch and weeat out on the pool deck, then we watch a movie on the sofa whichturns into a long nap.The whole place is incredibly relaxing.Ican't believe Thea's family will get to spend the entire summerhere, and I tell Sam so.He tells me we can come down any time wewant.That he needs to be in the city during the week to help hisuncle with his new hotel, but that he'd be happy to take me backhere any weekend—everyweekend.
I stare out the window atthe infinite ocean, picturing us here in a couple of weeks whenit's summer in earnest.Something about the ocean has always beencalming to me.It makes me feel like I fit in the world, or rather,that it doesn't matter whether I do or not.Because the world is anenormous place, with billions of people, and it will go on whetherI fit or not.That whatever happens, good or bad, the ocean willstill be here, its tides rising and falling, its waves surging andebbing.
The ocean doesn't careabout my problems; its tidal currents will continue its agelessmovement whether Robin is free or imprisoned, or whether I chooseto give into my issues or choose strength—to keep going.Becauseitisa choice.It always has been.And no one can make it but me.
I look over at Sam, watchhim watch me like he does—like I'm the most captivating thing inthe universe.It took this beautiful boy to make me understand notonly that it was my choice, but that I had the strength to make itafter all.
His midnight blues shimmerin the afternoon light, one side of his mouth curled up into ahalf-smile, his dimple peeking out.I love the way he looks at me.I love the way he looksperiod.Especially when he seems socontent.It mirrors my sentiment, the one he elicits, and thoughI'm not sure I deserve it, not sure I deservehim, I'm past being able to give himup.
I know we're not perfect,because I'm not.But I finally feel like I'm heading in the rightdirection.
I talked to Dr.Schallabout Cam on Wednesday.I told him how Sam said his accident wasn'tmy fault.How he accused me of feeling like I should have been theone who died that morning in his place.Dr.Schall didn't sayanything for a full minute, just sat there with a small, knowingsmile, confirming my suspicion—that Sam was right.
He was so pleased I'dfinally opened up about Cam that he didn't even push me to make upthe sessions I missed while I was in Miami.But I didn't tell himeverything.I didn't tell him about the kiss I shared with Cam thatlast night.Didn't get into my confusion over what might have been,and the guilt I feel for wondering.I don't want him to think itmeans I wish I was with him instead of Sam.Because I don't.Idon't want to be with anyone else, for the rest of my life.But Ido wish Cam was alive.I'll never stop wishing that.
So we may never beperfect, because I know I never will be.But Sam, maybe he can beperfect enough for the both of us.Or at least, perfect forme.
For dinner Sam takes meout to The Shell Shack, a beachy cafe right on the water, full offamilies cracking crab shells with hammers and laughingexuberantly.He pulls me to the deck in the back, and we eatoutdoors overlooking the beach.
We have a long, lazy mealand it's already late when we head home.I fall asleep on him inthe back of the town car and don't awaken until he's carrying me tomy front porch, his scent overwhelming my senses, and I press myface to his skin, inhaling deeply.I brush my lips over the softday-old stubble just under his jaw.I love when he goes a daywithout shaving.I love the feel of it against my skin.
"Mmm, baby.Don't get meworked up right now, yeah?"
I climb out of his armswith a yawn and fish through my purse for my house keys.The driverplaces our overnight bags on my porch and Sam thanks him before hedrives off.He picks up my bag to carry it inside, but he doesn'ttouch his own.
"You're not staying?"Iask, sounding far too disappointed.
"Do you want meto?"
I blink at him.Wherewould he get the idea that I wouldn't?
He runs his fingers throughhis hair."I’ve barely slept home in weeks.I thought maybe youcould use a break," he says uncertainly.
I don't want a break fromhim.Does he want one from me?
