I shrugged, then took three big gulps, draining it by a half. “Don’t care.”
“Really,” he said. “What’s that like? I’m curious.”
“Not caring?” I asked, clarifying.
“Yeah. That’s not exactly my strong suit.”
“It’s new for me, too,” I admitted.
“Well, keep me posted.” He popped another grape, then eased back against the counter, pushing his hair out of his face. “So you were dating a sailor?”
“A sailor?”
“You said he was at sea,” he replied, his mouth full.
“On a cruise,” I told him. “Disney.”
He winced, as if this was a particularly disturbing detail. “Yikes.”
“Right?” A burp came out of me, loud. He tried not to flinch, failing. I took another swig. “We were together forty-eight hours ago! Talking about Seymour the Goat!”
“Who?”
I waved my hand, not wanting to explain. “And yet he said he’d been thinking about this. For a while, in fact. And I had no clue. How is that evenpossible?”
I basically spat this last part out, then sucked down the rest of the beer. It felt good. Colin and I rarely drank, but I wasn’t with Colin anymore. Apparently. I took another one, popping the cap off.
“Look,” he said, “I’ve got to go feed the hummingbirds. You can come if you—”
“Sure.” I didn’t even let him finish. Suddenly, this seemed like the exact thing I needed to do. Birds. Yes. “Let’s go.”
Outside, it was cooler, although not by much, the sun almost to the water as I followed him down the stairs and toward the small cabin on the other side of the driveway. There were people still out on the lake, jumping off a raft a few hundred feet off shore. I watched them—splash, splash—as I tipped my beer up, walking.
A week ago Colin and I had been at Hannah’s, doing the last few StuCo things before school ended for real. After leaving, he’d taken the long way back to my house, holding my hand at every stoplight. Just a normal, basic Monday night. I’d had no idea it was the last one we’d have together.
The cabin was cute, painted white with black shutters. The small front porch held a couple of chairs and a metal table. Flowers were everywhere: blooming in bushes along the steps, trailing from the trees, dotting the scrubby grass.
“This is Kasey’s?” I asked as we started around the side of the cabin, passing a huge hydrangea bush with blossoms so perfect and purple, they didn’t even seem real.
“In the summers. Rest of the year she lives over the Egg.” He pushed through a wooden gate, shifting a leafy vine withbright orange flowers out of the way. “Watch the prickers. They’ll get you.”
“What is this?” I asked as I ducked under.
“Some weird, almost-extinct species found nowhere else,” he replied. “Kasey’s magic. She’s like a plant whisperer.”
Just then something dive-bombed me. It was quick, and buzzing. I shrieked.
“Birds, too,” he added. He turned around. “Don’t worry. They don’t bite.”
I collected myself, or tried to. “Bite?”
As I said this, another came over my shoulder. This time, as it whizzed past, I saw it was a hummingbird. Little clicking noises got close, then retreated.
“They can be real jerks when they’re hungry,” he said as we came around the house. “Just like people. Back in a sec.”
He ducked under a pink blossom tree and up the steps into the cabin. I kept walking, taking in the yard as I went deeper into it. So many flowers. Big and small. Spiky and puffy. On vines and with tightly wound stems. Every color you could imagine, crammed into the tiny space from the back of the cabin to where brush took over by the water.
Also: red feeders. On poles, hanging from hooks, strung in the trees. The hummingbirds buzzed from one to the next, making little angry chirpy noises. I just stood there, taking in the pure energy of this living place as it moved around me.
