“Ugh!” River pulls away with a laugh and walks out toward the ocean. I toe my shoes off, roll my jeans up, and join him in the cooling waves. River finds some sea glass and makes me hold it, which is a tried-and-true part of our entire friendship. Usually River finds the sea glass, then divides it up afterward. Which is exactly what we do this time. I gently set down the glass on the table back at the house, watching fondly as River sorts through it with a divot of concentration between his eyebrows.
“Yooooooo!” Gilbert calls out as he rounds the corner,Orson, Scott, and Scott’s wife, Erica, tagging along behind him.
River’s shoulders immediately tense at the sound of Gilbert’s voice, which is again very familiar and oddly comforting. Their animosity is as familiar as Hope Island is to me now. River always says there’s nothing like sandbox love when he talks about our friendship and then spouts off about sandbox hate when he mentions Gilbert. Whatever that man did in kindergarten willneverbe forgotten, trust. River finishes sorting the sea glass and disappears into the house to no doubt grab plastic bags for our shiny new treasures. When River returns, Erica murmurs something to him softly, and River just rolls his eyes as he pivots to avoid narrowly touching Gilbert. A dance as old as time.
“Thank you,” I say as I accept the bag of sea glass River pushes into my arms. “I will treasure it with my life, as always.”
“Whatever.”
“Where’s my sea glass?” Gilbert asks as he heads toward the wood pile.
“Up my ass.”
Gilbert spins around with a cocky grin. “Oh yeah?”
River blushes crimson and flicks him off. Curious. I pocket the sea glass in my jeans, then join Scott, Orson, and Gilbert in carrying wood out to the shore for the bonfire. The sun is halfway gone and a thin layer of sweat covers me once we’ve built the bonfire up enough to River’s liking. The rest of the old crew has arrived, and I smell the familiar smell of pizza and beer.
“I heard you invited Charles,” Gilbert says as he kicks a log into place.
Orson looks profoundly uncomfortable at the turn ofconversation, which is again very typical for him. I bite back a laugh when Orson points toward the house and disappears that way, knowing the girls won’t try to make him talk either. Gilbert makes a smacking, annoying sound with his mouth that has Scott making big eyes at him.
“Listen, we all like Charles.” Gilbert squints one eye at me. I’m simultaneously annoyed and endeared at what appears to be a shovel talk forCharles. Wait. Did they give Charles a shovel talk about me? Please God, no. “We like you more though, so just like… you know. If you get involved with him and he turns out to not be a good guy, tell us. We don’t need another Anthony situation on our hands.”
Scott blinks slowly. “What did Anthony do?”
Gilbert looks slightly shamed, as if he has knowledge he shouldn’t. This is another item added to the confused category, because only River has details about Anthony, and River is my vault. River doesn’t tell anyoneanything.Except for Gilbert it appears, unless he’s suddenly gathered powers of deduction, which seems unlikely after thirty-some years of willful ignorance about everything that goes on around him.
“Anthony was not a very good boyfriend,” I say softly, lips pursed and stomach clenched. God. I even hate talking about him.
“Well, fuck him,” Scott spits out, chest puffed up.
“Agreed,” Gilbert says with a pleased smile.
“Thanks, guys.”
“Are you guys done building the fire or what? Hello?” River calls out from the house, clearly annoyed.
Gilbert raises his arm up and sticks his middle finger out. Scott and I share a fond laugh at their consistent inability to leave each other alone. Gilbert bends down and fixes the kindling, gently bringing the fire to life. The sky is dark blueand burnt orange now as the fire takes shape. A steady strum of cheers behind me has me turning back to find a very shy-looking Charles rounding the corner of the house. He looks overwhelmed as he meets everyone. He’s so endearing that I feel like I might vomit. Guys like him haveneverbeen my type. I’ve always wanted the ones who are bad for me, who make me hurt, who everyone in my life is a little wary of because they radiate asshole energy. But Charles doesn’t have a single asshole bone in his body, and that’s almost scarier than the familiar type of man I typically choose.
We return to the house, and I make myself do small talk, but my gaze keeps drifting to Charles. Even as we move toward the bonfire, and Charles stands speaking with Scott, I can’t keep my eyes off him. Much to River’s chagrin, who keeps elbowing me to get my attention back on him and an obviously in-on-the-game Erica.
A gentle breeze blows over us, carrying the scent of smoke and marsh on it. I follow the plume of smoke toward the ocean. My gaze finally lands on Charles again, and he looks so much like a lost puppy, I know I need to save him. Scott is dramatically moving his arms, miming tossing a football. Charles winces and nods, but I can see the discomfort plain as day on his face. Sigh.
“Scott,” I say, coming to a stop beside him. “Are you talking about the infamous senior-year touchdown?”
Scott blinks slowly, like a baby deer. “Yes. How could you tell? Is my toss still perfect even from afar?”
“No. I could tell because Charles looks bored shitless. Leave him alone.”
“Tucker, that’s mean,” Scott admonishes with a playful pout.
“Eat me.” I grab the edge of Charles’ hoodie and drag himtoward the two empty chairs on the other side of the bonfire. “Sit with me.”
“Okay,” Charles says easily.
“Were you introduced to everyone yet?” I ask as I lift my hands toward the bonfire, my fingers already frozen cold. “Jesus fuck it’s cold tonight.”
“I was introduced to everyone, yes, and it’s probably because you’re only wearing a flannel.”
