For some reason, his reaction pained me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. What fool would consider leaving this wonderful, supportive guy—my match in so many ways? My lower lip wobbled as I tried to speak. “But your 250-mile-radius rule. If I get in, we—”
“I know,” he said, nodding. As the only child of a single mom, Max wanted to stay an easy weekend drive from home, which still left tons of options. I imagined Oakhurst as the center dot on the map, with a penciled-in circumference stretching from St. Louis to just beyond Columbus, Ohio. “We’ll be apart.”
“Far apart. But the odds of me getting in are so slim …”
“Janie,” he replied, gentle. “We can’t cross a bridge before we reach it. So let’s wait till we’re there, yeah?”
The confidence in his voice—his relaxed posture. He really wasn’t freaking out, and the energy calmed the whole room. I inhaled, like I could feel the oxygen reach all the way to my fingertips.
“Are you sure?” I asked him, lighter now. “Because I’d be happy to painstakingly diagram every possible way across the bridge and worry which one it will be. No? Torture myself, and you, with worst-case scenarios?”
Max smiled, pleased to have jostled me back toward humor. “How about just kiss me?”
I did, but quickly. If there was a relationship stage where you stopped caring about post-breakfast-burrito breath, we were nowhere near it.
“So,” he said after I sat back. “You’ve really got a plan. I’m jealous!”
I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Please. I’ve, like, reluctantly accepted that this one expensive, fat-chance plan is something I’ll regret if I don’t try. You have a bunch of plans that you’d be happy with!”
“Ha. Fair enough.” He paused, probably tallying up the many places he planned to apply to: IU! Purdue! Notre Dame! Northwestern! Wash U! OSU! UC! In premed! Or engineering! Or education! He had so many interests, and the willingness to be open to all of them. “So. What do you want to do today?”
“Well, I was wondering,” I said. “Gondolas on the Canal in downtown Indy: depressing, compared to Venice? Or a fun way to relive it?”
“Fun,” Max said.
“Maybe we do the boats and then meet up with everyone somewhere?” I raked a finger across my lip, thinking. “If Tessa needs a distraction.”
“Laurel will have hit the road by now?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching for my phone. Tessa had been upbeat last night, but I also imagined her last, clutching-on hug with Laurel before a three-hour drive and at least a month apart. “Let me check in with her real quick and see.”
“Sounds perfect,” Max said, glancing over my shoulder as I typed to Tessa.
Laurel take off?
Yep!
You okay?
Yeah. Sucks. But, ya know!
I narrowed my eyes at the exclamation points—like two fake smiles, which I didn’t buy for a second.
I’m totally fine. Have the best time with Max!!
Then an actual smiley-face emoji, meant as reassurance. But by then, I knew: she was not even sort of fine.
“Double exclamation points?” Max grimaced. “Yikes.”
“Right?” I studied her words again, my instincts clanging. If she wanted to be alone, no problem. But she could have said that. Instead, she was pretending. And not even pretending well. I frowned at the screen.
“Go,” Max said, one finger brushing my bangs from my eyes. I didn’t fully register the gesture for a few stunned seconds, but then felt overcome by the sweetness of it. Like I was his to fuss over. “Text me if you need the Cheer-Up Committee B-Squad. I’ll bring Ry.”
“But the gondolas …” And you just got home, and I missed you so much, and school starts so soon, and and and … And Tessa had stuck by me for years, through grief like fog that extended farther than either of us could see. Going to her wasn’t even a question.
“Eh, I’m happy to wait when something is worth it.” He lagged his head toward me, and my God—that pleased-with-himself smile. “Source: all of last year.”
I tilted my head, mimicking his pose. “You’re pretty great, you know that?”
“Oh yes,” he said, solemn. “That’s all I ever heard in middle school. Every kid was like: ‘Man, that Max Watson. Pretty great.’ ”
I breathed out a laugh. Max getting bullied as a kid wasn’t funny, but I figured he owned the experience and could joke if he wanted to. I rested a hand on his cheek as I kissed him, my fingertips against his jaw, and I only pulled away at the sound of the basement door opening, followed by footsteps on the stairs.
“Sorry to interrupt,” his mom said cheerfully. “Just throwing in some laundry!”
“Very subtle, huh?” Max whispered to me.
“What was that?” Dr. Watson asked.
“Nothing, Mom!” Max called amiably. “Love you!”
Tessa’s grandmother opened the front door, her expression relaxing at the sight of me. “Hi, sweetie pie. I’m so glad she called you.”
Well, something like that. “Is she in her room?”
“She is.” Then, a little sadly, “I suppose I should have known today would be hard on her. I loved the sound of her laugh all summer. Laurel’s, too. Filled up the whole house.”
I nodded. I should have seen it coming, too—the moment when love and leaving hit like a head-on collision.
“Well, Norah and Roger are home tomorrow.” Gram McMahon gestured me toward the stairs. “I think that’ll get her mind off it, at least.”
Tessa’s parents were sophisticated and full of bright energy, blowing into the house like a spring breeze. Her mom would rouse Tessa from bed, take her shopping; she’d overnight desserts from fancy bakeries in New York. But she wouldn’t notice if Tessa needed to feel it, to be told it was okay to be sad. Enter me.
I stood outside Tessa’s bedroom door for a moment. Music was playing, of course—strings and a soulful voice. And beneath it, a sniffle, then another. I tapped with one knuckle.
“I’m really okay, Gram.” Tessa’s tone was almost convincing—the vocal equivalent of a brave face. “I’ll come down in a few minutes.”
“It’s me,” I said, mouth close to the seam of the door.
A few beats of silence. “You’re supposed to be with Max.”
“And you’re supposed to tell your best friend the truth about your well-being,” I said cheerfully. “But here we are.”
Rustling from inside, and—I could have sworn—a defeated sigh. “You can come in.”
She’d never looked smaller to me than she did now—cuddled into a pile of pillows against the tufted headboard. A little girl with a scraped-knee heart. I shut the door behind me and climbed onto the bed.
Up close, my best friend looked like an amateurish oil painting of herself. It was definitely Tessa, blond curls gone fuzzy in a topknot, but the details weren’t quite right. Pale cheeks blotchy, eyelids puffed.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” A new song warbled from her phone on its nightstand perch, in easy reach. Before I could launch into my reassurances, she cleared her face. “I’m being a giant baby. I know it’s not that big a deal—I really do.”