The smell of Old Bay lingers, and I rub my stomach, tired and full from shucking crabs for Mr. Marrow’s annual birthday celebration. Since I missed it last year, I may have overdone it a bit. There’s still spice underneath my short nails, despite washing my hands twice, but I’m way too comfortable to care.
Richard helps with cleanup while Mr. Marrow scrubs down the grill, and the moms sit and chat in two foldout chairs near the picnic table with plastic cups filled with wine. Jules is still at the table, sitting behind Mason and styling his hair into some sort of updo.
I should get up and sit with everyone or at the very least offer to help with the cleanup, but my eyes are heavy, and my body feels weighted down. The soft sound of birds and laughter acts as a lullaby, and the hammock sways gently in the breeze, casting me into an easy sort of sleep. Then a soft presence shrouds itself around me, the feeling of being watched pulling me out of my sleepy haze. Another breeze carries the scent of jasmine and clean linen, and I smile.
“You’re staring at me again.”
“I’m just glad you’re home.”
I crack an eye open to see Jules watching me with a slight frown. “Then why do you look sad?”
Her expression almost immediately shifts, as if knowing that she’s been caught. “Because I leave for Penn soon, and you leave for NYU, and you just got back, and I’ve missed you.”
“We still have, like, two months,” I remind her. But it doesn’t seem to help. I shift and beckon her over because I know what she means. When I think about how long we were apart and how we’re going to have to do it all over again, it hurts down to my very core.
She crawls in the swaying hammock and lies half on top of me, her head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her and drop a kiss on her hair. “I’m sorry I was away for so long.” Looking over her head, I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Marrow’s peony bushes and smile. “The peonies are going off. How many times have you stuck your nose in them?”
“I haven’t yet. I’ve been waiting for you,” she admits.
Every year, since we were about nine, Jules and I brave the ants that like to crawl over the peonies so we can enjoy their sweet, perfumy scent. It’s one of Jules’s favorite things about spring and something I’m now realizing how much I missed.
“We better go do it, then.”
She hums, but neither of us move.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Jules asks quietly, her thoughts still obviously hung up on my prolonged absence.
The question catches me off guard. Mostly because I’m not sure I was looking for anything other than the chance of not feeling so stuck. Ever since I came out in middle school, I’ve always felt like I was on the outside looking in. Watching my friends all go boy crazy while I secretly tried not to be disappointed when Sandy Peterson started dating a football player, even though I knew I never had a chance with her anyway. My friends were great—they never treated me any different—except for trying to set me up with anyone who was even remotely queer passing, but it never felt like I fit.
Then, when Mason got really sick again, I had to watch helplessly as Mom navigated that while all I could do was sit back and hope that he’d be okay. When he finally got better, he and Mom just moved on like almost dying—again—was perfectly normal. Then Jules and Chloe started dating different people, and once again, I was left behind. Things went back to normal for everyone else while I was still stuck in a balancing act of pretending.
Pretending that my brother was fine. Pretending that it didn’t bother me that all my crushes didn’t like me back. I just needed to be anywhere but here.
Except, I have a feeling telling Jules all that won’t make her feel any better.
“I learned a lot,” I say lamely.
She scoffs. “That’s a very diplomatic nonanswer.” Okay, yeah, she’s right, it’s clear she can see through my bullshit. “Which was your favorite? Portugal, France, or Greece?” she asks when it’s clear she isn’t getting an answer to her other question.
A breath escapes in a whoosh, and I press my hand to my chest. “That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.” She snorts. “I liked them all for different reasons. The food in France, the culture in Portugal…” The life lessons in Greece. “The beaches in Greece.”
She seems to think about my answer, and if she notices my hesitation, she doesn’t mention it. “Okay, if you could fly to one of them, which would you choose?”
“I’d go somewhere new.”
She tenses like she’s bracing for impact, then asks, “Like where?”
“Tokyo. Machu Picchu. Bora Bora.”
Jules lifts her head from my shoulder. Her brows are furrowed, and the worry from earlier has intensified into something that almost resembles fear. “Please don’t leave for that long again. College notwithstanding.” Any sort of teasing slides from my lips, taking my smile with it.
I knew leaving was hard on us both, but she always seemed to handle it well. At least, I thought she did. But the look in her eyes tells me that the distance was harder on her than I thought. I feel guilty for not realizing it before now.
“I promise.” My vow is instant, and I’d say it again a hundred times if she needed me to. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
She stares at me, pinning me with an intense kind of scrutiny, and I want to close my eyes just to avoid it. “What happened in Greece?” she asks before I’m able to look away.
Greece is not something I’m ready to discuss. At least not with her. Because I think if I do, it’ll change things. And I’m not ready for that.
