We sit together on the edge of the pool, and Grace opens her purse to show me tons of mini bottles of horrible-flavored liquors. “My dad used to travel for work,” shesays. “And he always saved the mini liquor bottles from the hotels.”
“Whoa.” I didn’t see Grace drink at all over the summer. Not even once.
She shrugs. “A little liquid courage, I guess.”
“I think I’ll stick to beer,” I tell her.
“More for me.” She opens one of her mini bottles and downs it in two shots.
The moonlight highlights her cheekbones and the tip of her narrow nose. In another world, this could be our life. Both of us in the same town, being together whenever we want.
She reaches for another mini bottle. “Freddie seems nice.”
I let my hand fall to her thigh, running my fingers up her leg as I trace constellations onto her skin. “He’s a good guy.”
She finishes off her second bottle in two gulps.
“Maybe take it easy on the booze, ya know?”
She faces me, clearly annoyed. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”
“You’re right,” I say. I don’t want to argue about something stupid, so instead I lean into her and push the hair off her neck before gently kissing the soft spot behind her ear. She turns to me and laces her fingers through my hair.
“I missed your hair.” She closes her eyes and lets it tickle her nose. “You’re impossible to forget. Do you know that? I almost hate you for it.”
And then I kiss her before she can say another word.
“I’m still with him,” she says, her lips moving against mine.
“I don’t care,” I lie.
She responds, parting my lips with hers and not being at all shy with her tongue.
She is here. She’s here with me. In my arms. Not his.
Each of our hands roams, pressing hard against the other’s skin, as if the clothing separating us might somehow dissolve with every—
Grace pulls back, out of breath.
“Andrew,” she breathes. “I can’t keep hurting him. I can’t lie to him like this.”
“What about me?” I ask. I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I do. “Have you ever thought that you’re hurting me as much as you’re hurting him? And did you ever think that maybe it’s yourself you’re lying to?”
But she doesn’t hear me. She shakes her head vigorously and stands up, pulling her feet out of the pool. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here this weekend.” She walks off, leaving wet footprints on the concrete.
“Grace! Wait!”
A pothead in a Hawaiian shirt mimics me. “Grace! Wait!”
“Fuck off!” I shout.
I take my feet out of the water and grab her purse, flip-flops, and my boots. Dodging in and out of the crowd, I follow her path to the side of the house and through the back gate.
And there she is. Grace sits on the curb by the mailbox. I guess she realized she could only get so far without shoes and a phone.
She stands, steadying herself on the mailbox. “You can’t kiss me like that,” she says. “In front of people.”
I drop our shoes and her purse in the grass. “Grace, no one even knows you here. And it’s not like I have anything to hide,” I spit out. “What’s the big deal?”
