Page 39 of Meet Me Back Here

A laugh slips out of him as he realizes it’s a losing battle, and I can’t help but join in.

“I’d like to see you do any better,” he challenges, nodding his head toward the liquid-filled wrapper beside me. I think the stick is basically floating in goo.

“Not a chance,” I say, pushing the slop away from me before I accidentally stick my hand in it.

“You have to. That’s the rule,” Forrest insists, rolling onto his knees and waving his popsicle at me, flinging strawberry gel on the wall.

I wrap my hand around his to make him stop, leaning away.

“Fine, fine,” I relent, taking his popsicle from him and having some.

Forrest falls back onto his heels, and his smile slips, like he’s just remembered the rest of his day.

I finish the popsicle, my hands now as sticky as Forrest’s, and drop the stick on top of the other. This place needs to be hosed down.

“Forrest,” I say softly, pulling his attention back to me. “Are you going to leave?”

It’s the summer before we start high school. If his parents were to move Forrest, this would be the time to do it.

“I don’t know,” Forrest admits. “That’s what they were arguing about when I came out here. Neither thought to ask me. But Dad thinks a young man needs his father.” He says the last part in a deep voice, his imitation of his father.

“Do you want to go with your dad?” I ask, holding my breath while I wait for him to answer. “I would understand wanting to get out. I want to get out too. To see more than what we have in this little town. Boston is nice.”

He shakes his head.

“No. I don’t want to go anywhere else. I like it here. I want to stay with you—” He sputters, flushing all the way to the top of his T-shirt. “I mean, I want to stay here. I don’t want to meet new people and figure out a new school district.” He tries to recover, but my heart is too busy soaring. “I think it would be hard on Ashley. All the change.”

Forrest’s sister is about to head to college in a few weeks. She’s fiercely independent and has hated their parents fighting as much as Forrest has. I’ve even heard her shouts join in the mix on occasion. She’s thrilled to be living on campus in the fall and hasn’t stopped talking about it all summer. Both Forrest and I know the person this divorce would be least hard on is Ashley, but he’s using her as an excuse. I don’t think we need excuses anymore though.

Ignoring the fact that both of us are sticky with strawberry syrup, I place my hand on top of Forrest’s where it holds him up.

“I want you to stay here with me too.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

may the course be with you

PRESENT

“Forrest, get up!” I call from the bedroom door as I fling a spare pillow at the plume of his hair peeking out of the top of his blanket. It bounces off what I assume is his face and lands on the floor.

An indecipherable bear grumble is the only response I get. It would seem Forrest is still slow to rise, and I expect he’ll blame it on staying out late line dancing, even though the man has never voluntarily gotten up early a day in his life, jet lag aside.

“Come on, Forrest,” I groan, sliding up to his bed and poking his shoulder hard. He rocks to the side and the bed makes a whining screech at his movement. “It’s Saturday. If we don’t get out to the range early, it’ll be packed. Golf is an Arizona rite of passage, and it’s something I did a lot when I was here. You said you wanted to see my life, right?”

Neither of us has ever been particularly drawn to ball sports, but even I went to the driving range when I was out here. It was repetitive and quiet in a therapeutic kind of way. Ava and I would go to this small range near school when classes were stressful, and would always leave feeling loads better. It turns out that wailing on golf balls is a great way to let go of pent-up frustration.

Who knew?

“Up!” I try one more time, picking up the launched pillow from the floor and smacking him in the head with it.

Forrest’s arm emerges from his bundle far enough to grab the pillow and draw it back under the blanket. Just like he used to do to me.

“Forrest…” I warn, unsure what I’m going to follow the threat up with. I’ll think of something if I have to.

“Ok, ok,” he rasps, flipping the blanket down from his head. “I’m getting up.”

“Great,” I chirp, skipping away from the bed to give him privacy to get ready. “We leave in five, so hop to it!”