Typically, Augie avoided sharing details about Maine, afraid of having to explain the reasons for their move. It all led back to herdad, memories of the restaurant and the waitress, how she hadn’t spoken to him since she was ten. These were things she didn’t share.
“Ah, Maine. That’s one of my favorite states, at least of the ones I’ve been to. A few years ago, during spring break, I hiked part of the Appalachian trail with some hockey guys. Ended at Mount Katahdin. It was amazing. I’m really glad we went when we did.” An air of sadness hovered around his words.
“Why’s that? Pandemic?”
Chat went quiet as he grabbed a pitcher from the counter and turned the faucet on, rinsing the pitcher by tipping it up and down, up and down, as if it were an hourglass.
“I mean, yeah. I also got injured my sophomore year. I was in a coma for a few days, then couldn’t play hockey anymore. Couldn’t do anything, really. I don’t usually mention it—I got so tired of everyone feeling bad for me, and it’s difficult to explain.”
Augie studied him. “That’s awful.” It was the first and truest thing that came to mind.
“Yeah.” He set the pitcher down. “Itwasawful. But it worked out in the end. Like I said, I was going through the motions before. I didn’t like how intense hockey was becoming. It was just the only way I thought I could get to Europe. I have an uncle out there, and a friend from college. I’ve been sick of St. Cloud for years. I didn’t want to end up like my dad, who has never even been to Canada. Can you believe that? It’s so insane. It’s only like three hours away. He was too lazy to get a passport.”
Augie didn’t know how to respond. She’d been so snappy with him before, judging him for his take on college, for everything. It made more sense now. She, of everyone, understood feeling stuck. She, of everyone, understood not wanting to be like one’s father. She’d never seen Chat so solemn. It felt jarring and intimate.
“Of course, I couldn’t feel too sorry for myself,” he continued, talking faster. “COVID hit not long after my concussion, and everyone was knocked off course. No one could play hockey—or travel. I had to do PT on my own, couldn’t get into the right hospitals. Anyway”—his voice swung an octave higher—“that’s my little sob story. Things are looking up. Now that I’ve graduated, I can finally make plans. And hey, I’m finally out of St. Cloud, too. Can you believe this is the first summer I’ve lived somewhere else? Not exactly Germany, but I’m going to book my flight this week. So that’s something.”
“That’s great.” Augie sucked in a breath. “Really. I’m glad it’s working out.”
On instinct, she reached out and put her hand on top of his. Then he put his other hand on top of hers, and she felt lightheaded, like sunlight was shooting from their stacked palms. Her hand burned with electricity, her whole body buzzing like it had on the boat.
Everything felt different after that—like they’d moved past some hurdle. They talked easily as they finished cleaning. They discussed what they had studied in college (Augie: communications, Chat: business); how they usually spent summers (Augie: the Club, Chat: a landscaping company, though it didn’t pay well and the noise hurt his head after the injury); how many siblings and pets they had (Augie: zero, Chat: two younger sisters and a bunny named Mr. Bun Bun). Augie was so wrapped up in his presence, she was disappointed when Zami and Teuta reappeared, arms filled with covered trays. She felt Chat’s mood fall, too.
“Egg bake tomorrow.” Zami nudged Chat with his shoulder as he slid a tray into the fridge. “With za’atar and feta. You’ll love it.”
Augie didn’t like to imagine Chat being there all week. She also wished she had asked him more about Mrs. Crawley, what it waslike living with them—why she was so horrible to Augie—but they’d been so caught up in their own world, she hadn’t thought of it.
It wasn’t until the last dish had been stored, the last surface wiped, the last cutting board packed away, that they heard the screams from outside—and all froze in unison. Even the boys looked up from their screens.
Before anyone could register what was happening, Zami was off and running. For a large man, he was quick on his feet, and he raced to the deck and back again, lunging for the fire extinguisher. Chat rushed to follow, pausing down the hall as he remembered the boys. He whipped around to Augie. “Max, Cooper, can you?” he yelled as he chased after Zami.
Things moved in a whirlwind from there. Zami hosed down the table, turning it to a mess of white dust; the guests and Crawleys were equally disheveled, and eventually they all split off to their rooms to regroup.
Augie also wanted to scream when she went to the porch and saw all they were now responsible for cleaning. It took a whole extra hour to get rid of the fire extinguisher residue—to sweep and vacuum and strip the table, to run the dishwasher again and again. Zami tried to keep them in good spirits as they worked—he said they were lucky the fire hadn’t caught the table, that these things happened, that the Crawleys would pay them extra—but Augie was tired. When they were finally finished, the clock was pushing nine and all she wanted was her bed.
Of course, she still wanted one more moment with Chat. She wanted to say goodbye. So as they packed the last of the bags and began running everything back to the car, Augie lingered by the stairs,listening for him. She hovered against the banister until she finally heard his laugh echoing from somewhere nearby. She listened closer as Teuta and Zami walked past.
“Coming?” Teuta held open the front door.
“One second. I think I forgot my water bottle. I’ll be right out.”
As they left, Augie heard Chat more clearly from down the hall. She walked toward the sound, arriving at the front sitting room where they’d started the evening. She’d thought he was alone with the boys, but now she heard another voice.
Mrs. Crawley.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chat said, his tone light. “It’s all good. People love a story. Everyone still had a good time.”
Augie stood outside the door. Mrs. Crawley sighed—and was that a sniffle? Was she crying? Augie desperately wanted to inch forward and look inside, but she was afraid.
“So chaotic,” Mrs. Crawley said.
A rumpling of movement—were they sitting on the couch together?
“Did you know Abby wasn’t even invited?” Mrs. Crawley continued, her voice muffled, as if she were talking into a napkin. “Incredibly rude. And I just, I don’t know what has gotten into Bill. I can’t believe he even invited everyone up here. Especially, you know,him.”
“Josh Mike.” Chat’s voice had an unfamiliar harshness. “Such a fucking dick.”
Augie straightened. She had never heard Chat swear before. He and Mrs. Crawley were speaking their own language—their own practiced back-and-forth.
