Something lodges in my throat. I open my mouth, then close it again. Yes, I’ve occasionally had thoughts along those lines this summer, but I’ve tried not to let them stick. I’m not sure if it’sbecause I don’t want to believe Kat’s moved on (and so quickly) or because I’m trying to justify her actions as non-shitty so I can tell myself that what I’m doing with Myles isn’t shitty either. We’re both making the best of the new opportunities presented to us, right? What’s wrong with that?
Whether he’s right or not, having Gregory in my corner makes something pleasant bloom in my chest.
“Well…,” I start, and hold out the rounded piece of glass. He takes it and drops it into his pocket. “Thank you. And, um… thank you for coming up to me at that party. I’m glad you did.”
I can’t look at him when I say it, but I hear the smile in his voice when he replies.
“Yeah. I am too.”
22PLAYLIST:boys who cry
TEN MINUTES LATER WEarrive at Kat’s and my old beach spot. Which feels a little strange after the conversation Gregory and I just had. On the other hand, maybe it’s a certain kind of closure—bringing someone new to this place where Kat may never come again.
“Here we are,” I say.
“The beach? Why am I not surprised?”
I walk to the line where the sand shifts from fluffy and dry to damp and condensed, and plop down. “Not just any part of the beach. This spot has special healing powers.”
“Ah.” Gregory doesn’t question me and hits the sand beside me. “Do I need to do anything in particular? To be healed?”
“Nope. Just let her do her thing.”
I extend my feet, and he mimics me. We’re comfortably quietfor several minutes—me tracing designs in the sand and him leaning back on his hands, staring into the endless waves.
“This is kind of nice,” he says finally.
“It is,” I agree.
Several more moments pass. I watch a few people walk by and fade into the distance with the dip of the sun, and I’m content to sit here and just be.
But then Gregory says something so quiet, I almost miss it.
“Today’s my dad’s birthday.”
I stop tracing.
His voice wobbles a little. “I thought I’d be fine, you know? Like, this year might be different because we’re in a new place and there’s nothing around to remind me of him.” I sit still, listening. “I was wrong.”
I keep my eyes forward and scoot closer, planning to… what? Put an arm around his shoulders? Hug him? Squeeze his arm?
“Don’t,” he orders.
I still and shift away again.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, voice softer. “It’s just… I want to talk about it. Just don’t touch me, okay? I know some people want that when they’re… like this. But I don’t. It only makes it worse for me.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I start doodling in the sand again. Not in a distracted way but so he knows I’m not, like, staring at him, waiting for him to keep going. Stressing him out or making him feel exposed is the last thing I want to do.
“I was thirteen when he died. It was March, which washis favorite time of year because he was obsessed with college basketball. He needed surgery to fix a hernia he got trying to move some furniture my mom told him to hire someone for, and before he went in, he joked that he’d done it on purpose so he could take time off to watch March Madness while he recovered. The surgery was supposed to be no big deal. He was supposed to come home the same day, even. But during the procedure someone gave him the wrong amount of some medication, like ten times the normal dose or something, and it killed him.”
I suck in a breath. “Oh my God.”
His sigh feels like,I know, right?“I… It was just so sudden, you know? I had no idea when I went to school that morning that it was the last time I’d see him.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him swipe at his face with the back of his hand. It takes all my willpower to follow his directions and stay put. “For the longest time I didn’t want to talk about him, or see anything that reminded me of him. I didn’t want to think about him. It just hurt so fucking bad. It still does.
“It’s been a little better here, though. Especially for my mom. She’s spent the last three years buried in a lawsuit against the hospital. It’s all she did and all she cared about when she wasn’t at work. I think it was her way of grieving… or avoiding it, maybe. But it sort of felt like I’d lost part of her, too. Now that it’s all over and she used some of the money we got to move us here—where she said she and my dad got engaged—it’s like I have her back. She’s happier. Wants to do things with me again. It’s like she feels lighter here, I guess.”
