“So, you’re a vegetarian, but not a purist?”
“I guess so,” I say with a shrug.
He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath as he stands. “Do you remember when you said you’re incredibly easy to read? That was untrue then, and it’s untrue now.”
“Are you saying I’m complicated because I’m semi-vegetarian?”
“Complicated is not the right word,” he says.
“Intricate?” I offer. “Convoluted?”
“Layered,” Will retorts.
My heart flares as he walks away.
I watch him cross the field for an embarrassing number of seconds, his body firm and sure and strong, before pulling out my laptop and connecting to my Wi-Fi hot spot. I click play on my latest CEO class and flip magazine pages while I listen.
Will returns twenty minutes later with cauliflower tacos for me, barbacoa for him. I pause the online class.
“No, keep watching,” he says. “I’m the one crashing your night. I want to listen.”
“You want to listen to a lecture on effective project management.”
“Dying to.” He takes a bite of his taco and honest-to-goodnesswinksat me.
I hit play, and we keep coexisting in silence. Will polishes off his dinner and I do the same. He sticks his feet out, crosses them, and then lies all the way back on the towel. We’re head to foot right now, two opposite charges neutralizing each other.
The class ends, and Will sits back up. I take a few notes on the app on my phone, answer some discussion questions online, and then look back at him.
It’s dark now, the sky tinted purplish black. The park has started to clear out. It’s one of the rare weekends where there’s no concert, no event here at all.
“You make sense here,” Will says, the blue in his eyes darkening to match the night. “In Austin, I mean. It fits you.”
“Thank you,” I say, perking up at this compliment. “I think so,too. Nashville was too… restrictive, I guess? I didn’t want to go back to the mold I’d made for myself during high school, with my family.”
“Have you ever been kayaking on the river?” he asks. “I saw a whole slew of people out there a couple weeks back.”
“No,” I say.
“That’s too bad.”
“Camila and I have matching paddleboards.”
Will grins. “That tracks.”
“Is it horrible of me to say I’m not sure you make sense in New York?”
Will shakes his head, his gaze flicking back to the cityscape, lights illuminating every building. “It’s not horrible of you to say. I definitely think I used to. When I was eighteen and I’d just started college at NYU, I loved Manhattan. It was the perfect escape from the family drama of the previous year. A totally new experience for me.”
I wait in silence, hoping he’ll go on. He does.
“Once Zoe moved up after she graduated, New York became our place. We were at that life stage where you’re finally in charge of everything and nothing’s gotten messed up yet. We’d always been close except for that one bad year, but New York is where Zoe and I became friends as adults. You know when you learn to not just love your sibling, but tolikethem, to respect them as a person youchooseto be around?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never been close with my brother. But I love that for you two.”
Will’s eyes pity me. “I don’t know who I would become if I lost touch with my sister again. She’s one of the most grounding people I know.”
“Maybe you don’t want to leave Manhattan even though you might be ready to, because of that reason,” I suggest.
