“He has a house there, for the necessary and all-too-rare act of recharging,” my mother explained, as William rolled his eyes again. “But he’s based in Lakeview and spends mostof his time traveling, giving lectures. It’s a fluid lifestyle, allowing for adjustments as needed.”
“This is what I meant when I said she memorized the book,” William told me. “She speaks in bullet points and catchphrases now.”
“It’s very good!” my mother said. “In fact, John is having additional copies sent for both of you, along with the accompanying workbook. I think you’ll really benefit from it.”
“Louna is seventeen, Natalie,” William said. “She doesn’t need to worry about being a workaholic yet.”
“The term is a workhole, and it’s not just about that,” she replied, as her phone lit up again. Immediately, she grabbed it. Eyes on the screen, she was nonetheless able to say, “It’s about the courage to go for what youwant, not just what you think you need. Sometimes, we don’t even know what that is.”
“Well, I need to get home,” William replied, standing up, his hand on his hat. “We’ve got that meeting at the office first thing tomorrow with Amber Dashwood about her three-ring circus of a wedding.”
“Circus?” I asked. “How did I miss this?”
“It’s a recent development,” my mother said. “Apparently she decided a couple of weeks ago she wants a theme after all. So we’re calling the tent a Big Top and hiring acrobats.”
“Wow,” I said, regretting for a second I’d decided to sit it out. “Sounds insane.”
“She wanted exotic animals, too, but that’s harder to pull together permit-wise,” William said, collecting his bag. “Also, liability. Maybe Ambrose can bring that dog of his and we’ll pretend?”
“He’s not exactly ferocious,” my mom said. “But what is she expecting on such short notice?”
I had a flash of Ira, his wiry snout and eyebrows, the way his tail thumped hard against whatever was nearby whenever Ambrose appeared. True love, that was, instant in the second he was rescued and we carried him away. As I thought this, I felt William looking at me again, and wondered if my face had yet again changed. But this time, he said nothing.
It wasn’t until later that night, when he was gone and my mother had retired to her room with her already dog-eared and highlighted copy ofWorkholes: How to Be the Person You Want to Be and Do the Job You Lovethat I realized in the hours we’d spent together I’d never even mentioned the news about my own love life, and Ben. This didn’t really mean anything; we’d talked mostly about their trip, with me leaning over their respective phones to look at pictures (William: scenery, food, and sunsets; my mother: herself in front of sunsets and scenery, with John). And anyway, the next morning duringDaybreak USA, when she brought up my birthday, I said right away I was seeing someone that I wanted invited to the dinner she was hosting. In the weeks following, after William worked up the nerve to invite Matt, his cheese friend, out for drinks (twice) and dinner (three times) he’d decided to bring him along as well. Now here we were, all of us paired off, planning to come together to celebrate, well, me. Things were surely different. But not totally: we were still doing it a day early, as a wedding rehearsal was booked for the actual date.
As for me, with free days for the first time in recentmemory, I’d been getting stuff for school, hanging out with Jilly and the kids, and trying to get used tonotbeing at work, which was harder than I’d expected. The first couple of days felt totally decadent, sleeping in, eating bowls of cereal in front of marathons ofBig New YorkandChicagoin my pajamas, then reading until dinner. Then I’d finally drag myself into the shower so I could meet Ben, either alone or with his friends, for dinner or to hit the various farewell parties that were already starting. After a week or so, though, I was finding it harder to keep busy. Maybe I was more of a workhole than I realized.
When it came to Ben, though, everything was easy. We already knew each other enough that there were no real surprises. Word had gotten around school after the Brownwood shooting about my relationship with Ethan. He’d never mentioned it then, but the subject had come up a couple of times since we’d gotten together—that was part of our story, too, the events that came before—and just as easily been discussed before moving on. That was the difference, with a person you knew and one you didn’t: I couldn’t have kept that secret from Ben even if I wanted to.
But these were thoughts that only came in the middle of the night, when I allowed myself to retrace that Saturday of Maya and Roger’s wedding, going over each moment for clues of how, in some way, I could have done things differently. It wasn’t like the way I’d savored my night with Ethan, everything perfect from start to finish. With this, I could see nothing but the places where I could or should have done something else, all the way up to that moment on the dancefloor, when everything had gotten to be too much and I’d chosen to run. WhathadI been thinking, in that moment? Even now as I replayed it, I wasn’t sure. It was like Ethan suddenly being conjured was what it took to make it finally clear Ambrose and I were already too messy and strange to ever be anything else.
What I had with Ben, instead, was neat and tidy, easy. I saw it now, as we started across the parking lot, away from Jump Java, toward his car so he could go to work. It was the way we were reflected in the glass of the stationery store, his hand holding mine, how we walked in rhythm, not rushing or dragging, just right. Because of all those pictures, I knew just how we appeared. A good-looking boy, tall with broad shoulders, in jeans and a Jumbo Smoothie polo shirt; a girl wearing a sundress and flip-flops, dark hair in a messy bun, sunglasses parked on her head. When the reflection stopped, it seemed odd to me that we didn’t, as well.
“Of course I do,” Jilly said, popping open another tube of sunscreen. “And we still have plenty of time.”
I watched her, skeptical, as she squeezed a dollop into her open palm. “It’s already July fifteenth. You leave in a little over a month.”
“Exactly,” she replied, pulling Bean, clothed in a swim diaper and a sunhat, closer to her. As she began to slather on the cream with one hand while keeping her in place with another, she added, “From the way you’re talking, you’d think it was tomorrow.”
To this I said nothing, watching as Bean squirmed in her grip. Ahead of us, some kid leaping into the pool did a cannonball, splashing water everywhere. “You are coming to my birthday dinner, though, right?”
“Louna.” She looked at me. “Of course. Why are you being so weird about this?”
“I’m not the one being weird,” I told her, meaning it. “I’ve been with Ben for three weeks and you haven’t even hung out with us once. I met Michael Salem, like, immediately.”
“I know Ben,” she said, finally unleashing Bean, who immediately started across the beach chair between us. “Remember? We went to school together?”
“You don’t know him as my boyfriend.”
“Is he really that different?” she asked. “And besides, with all those pictures he’s tagging you in on Ume I basically feel like I’m hanging out with you guys anyway.”
Hearing this, I felt stung enough to sit back in my chair, busying myself with another coat of sunblock. I was just starting on my legs when Crawford, sitting fully clothed on Jilly’s other side reading a thick novel, said, “She’s right, you know. You are avoiding her.”
Jilly sighed, adjusting her bathing suit straps as she sat back on her chair. “Crawford, shut up. How can I be avoiding her? She’s right here.”
“Avoiding her with herboyfriend,” he said in his flat, nasal tone, not looking up from the page in front of him. “You told her you guys had plans last night and couldn’t do dinner. But you sat on the couch and watched TV all night.”
Silence. If shame was audible, however, Jilly’s face wouldhave been at high volume. “Is that true?” I said finally. “Youliedto me?”
