“Barf. At least next year, you guys can do that away from us.”
“Knowing you two, you’re going to have dorm rooms right next to each other,” Alex teases.
Ethan squeezes my thigh, and I know what he’s thinking.I can’t wait.But my stomach seizes, and I desperately want to change the subject.
“Let’s deal,” I say. “Who’s up?” Trevor pulls out a deck of cards from under the coffee table and starts shuffling. We’ve been doing this exact Friday-night ritual for years, since Frankie and Alex were old enough to understand the rules.
“Mills, hearts or what? It’s your turn to choose.” Trevor nudges Millie with his socked foot, but she’s got her eyes on me, that bottom lip wobbling.Oh no. I hate when she gets like this.
“What are we going to do on Friday nights in the fall?” she asks, her voice strained. “When you’re gone?”
A hush falls over the room, and while I used to think her sentimentality was sweet, I wish she’d stop making such a big deal about next year. The whole shtick has started to bug me and makes it so I can’t focus on my emotions, only hers. I’d never say that to her face, though. My oldest-sister brain kicks on, and I reach my hand to hers and squeeze. “You’ll do the same things, and it’ll be fun. I promise.”
My phone buzzes beside me, and Frankie swipes it before I can see. “Speaking of fun,” Frankie says, “looks like Billy is having a throw down tonight.”
I cringe. That’s a party I have no intention of attending.
“Please say you’re not going,” Millie says. “We only have eight Fridays left.”
“We’re not going,” I say, and elbow Ethan. “Right?”
“No way. I don’t want to be hungover for work tomorrow.” Ethan flashes a grin at Millie. “See you on the lifeguard stand.”
—
“It’s almost midnight,”I say, not even trying to suppress a yawn. “Time to call it.”
Everyone rises from their seats, yawning and rubbing their eyes. These nights usually go late like this, but over the past few weeks, Millie has been stretching them longer and longer, like she’s desperate to make time stand still. Ethan’s always telling me that I can’t keep worrying about her like she’s my kid or something, but that’s impossible.
Mom says that having children is like having a piece of your heart walk around outside your body—that’s how I feel about my sisters. Millie and Frankie are small slices of me, toddling out in the world on their own, and I’ll always want to protect them.
As everyone makes their way to the door, Ethan grabs my hand and holds me back so we’re the last ones in the pool house. “Wanna go down to the bonfire?” he asks, his breath soft on my ear. “I left some blankets down there.”
“Okay,” I say, even though the promise of sleep sounds better. “For a little.”
When we get outside, Millie and Frankie are about to disappear through the archway between our properties, and Trevor and Alex are racing back to their house. Millie turns around, and I wave at her. “Go on without me,” I say. “It’s okay.”
She nods once, her brows pinching, and then disappears behind the hedges.
Ethan slips his hand into mine, his touch as familiar as if it were my own. Together, we trod over the wooden walkway, beyond the dune, and drop down onto the blankets spread around the firepit. Only a few hours earlier, we were here with both sets of parents, roasting marshmallows, assembling s’mores, the air heavy with heat and humidity. But now the wind has picked up, whipping my hair across my face, and the darkness above is an inky black dotted with stars.
Ethan leans forward and blows on some of the embers that have stayed lit. I lay a few pieces of kindling on top, then stack driftwood like a Jenga tower. It doesn’t take long for the splintered edges of wood to catch fire.
“How many hours do you think we’ve spent on this beach?” Ethan asks, leaning back to rest on his elbow.
“Months.” I sit cross-legged and warm my hands against the flames. Ethan wraps his arm around my back, his fingers light on my side.
“Years,” he says. “By the time we’re our parents’ age, how long do you think it’ll be?”
Something inside my brain zaps like it does every time Ethan brings up our future. These big assumptions that he and I will live exactly like our parents do, that perhaps we’ll inhabit this very same stretch of Pelican Island Road and send our children to Pelican Island Academy and find a family to live next door who can produce a child the very same age as ours, which will result in an inevitable best friendship, or perhaps a new generation of Gold-Silvers, though we’d probably have to choose one last name because together they sound absurd.
At some point over the last two years, Ethan assumed we had our lives planned out together, on one single track, even though I have no recollection of ever agreeing to such a thing. When Ethan talks like this it has a dizzying effect, like my head is a Mylar balloon being pumped full of helium and it might soon float away on its own.
“I don’t know,” I say, and scoot closer to the fire.
“Everything okay?” Ethan asks. “Are you nervous about work?”
I shake my head. Interning at Mayor Cho’s office has been the only thing I’ve been thinking about since graduation, even while all Ethan wants to do is play tennis and go to Billy’s parties and fool around in the pool house.
