Mason and I both raise our hands while continuing to swing.
Chloe lies back so she’s stretched out across the slide, her usual spot, and rubs at her stomach. “I’m so full. I don’t think I left room for dessert.”
Mason and I share a knowing look. “Rookie mistake,” he teases.
As we swing, my gaze lands on my mom’s peonies. They’re in full bloom, thriving in the early June sun. I have to remember to smell them, maybe cut a few to fill my vase back at my apartment. Another reminder of Alex.
“It feels weird,” I say quietly, more so to myself than anyone else, “Alex not being here.”
“She’s still coming home for Christmas, right?” Chloe asks.
“She’ll be here for Christmas,” Mason confirms. “Even if I have to go to London and bring her back myself.”
But he shouldn’t have to. She shouldwantto come home. She shouldwantto be here.
And Christmas is so far away. Like, another six months. I try not to think about all the other traditions she continues to miss. Like our summer beach trips and long days spent by the pool. Summer baseballgames and the Fourth of July. I know flying back and forth is expensive, and I know I haven’t been out to see her nearly as much as I would’ve liked with school and graduation and jobs, but it all just sucks.
I miss my best friend.
Laugher rings out from across the yard, and I watch as Brian uses the bottle opener on his keychain to open another beer for Richard before diving back into an animated conversation. His outward excitement and passion makes me smile.
“Brian asked me to move in with him.”
Mason’s legs stop moving, and his swinging instantly slows. I was going to wait and tell them later, once we’ve cut into the cake and pulled out the wine. Once the sun has set and we are full and happy and tired. But the words tumble past my lips, and I hold my breath, wondering if I should’ve tried harder to stop them from spilling out.
For a split second, everything pauses. There are no birds chirping. There is no breeze. Just the squeaking of my swing and the nervous beating of my heart. I shouldn’t be anxious about their reaction, but I am.
Chloe shifts on the slide so she’s facing me. “Isn’t his place, like, a lot farther from campus?”
I grip the chains of the swing and twist from side to side. “Yeah, but I don’t go there every day, so it’s fine.”
Mason drags his feet to come to a stop, and I notice the silent exchange between him and Chloe. “What’s with the look? Why are you both being weird?”
Chloe’s hands fly up in a defensive posture. “I’m not being weird. I think it’s awesome that you and Brian are ready to take that next step.” I narrow my eyes because I’m not sure I believe her. She squints back.
Mason gently touches my arm to get my attention. “I just can’t believe you’re moving out before I do.”
And that’s just like him to defuse a tense situation before it gets too hot. To make himself Switzerland and guide us into safer,nicerterritory. It’s not the first time he’s used kindness to redirect, and even though I know what he’s doing, itworks.
“To be fair, you have a pretty nice setup at home, and I was in a shoebox with paper-thin walls and a neighbor who loves polka music.”
“And now you get to live a life of luxury,” Chloe says with a cheeky smile.
We stare at each other again. Another silent game of “what are you trying to prove here,” with Mason sighing heavily in the middle. It must be exhausting brokering for peace all the time.
Brian chooses that moment to walk over, his beer in one hand and the other shoved deep inside his light pink chino shorts. Chloe nods in his direction as if to say, “See, he comes from money.”
I roll my eyes. I’m not moving in with him because his family has money. I’m moving in with him because that’s what two people in love do. They live together. They build a life together. He makes me happy, and Iwantthis.
“What are you all talking about?”
Chloe directs her overly sweet smile to him. “How Jules is about to invade your space and clog your drains with her hair.”
Brian’s smile slips, and he glances at me, confused.
“I told them we’re moving in together.”
His smile returns, and he walks over to me, standing close and giving me a push on the swing. “It’s going to be great. No more overnight bags or constant takeout.”
