“Stop her,” he says immediately, like he’s thought this through, knows with certainty the right answer. “Stand up for Julia instead of shutting down. Not run away to the city the second I turned eighteen, and come back once a week like it made any fucking difference.”
“It did make a difference,” I say, “or she wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Maybe.” When he looks up at me, his eyes are stark, tired. “But I don’t even know why she’s here, because she won’t tell me. No matter how hard I try, I always make the wrong decision. I fuck it up and people get hurt.”
“Miles.” I grab his shoulders, turn his upper body toward me, and scoot in close, nearly into his lap. “She got out.”
“On her own.” He shakes his head. “She saw through the shit way before I did. Chose an out-of-state college, and when our mom tried to tell her she couldn’t go, she went anyway. Applied for her own loans, had me cosign, moved to Wisconsin. Mom stopped talking to her to punish her, which completely backfired, so then she did her version of an apology. Sorry I wasn’t perfect, but you’ll understand when you’re a mother someday. You can’t do everything right, and your kids will hate you for it.”
“God,” I say. “I’m so sorry. Is that when you stopped talking to her?”
He laughs coarsely. “No. I wanted everything to be okay so badly. So I tried to broker peace. Just one more bad decision. My mom kept trying to pit me against Julia, and it didn’t matter how many times I tried to set a boundary, she wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t take any blame. Won’t say she’s sorry, or admit she did anything wrong, so eventually I had to cut her off too.”
“And your dad’s just okay with this?” I say.
“Not okay,” Miles says. “Just avoidant as fuck. Travels a lot for work.”
“So he left you guys to deal with all that on your own,” I say, “and you think you’re the bad guy for finding a way to survive. For ‘only’ going home once a week, to spirit Julia away to a McDonald’s?”
His brows draw together. “How’d you know it was McDonald’s?”
“Because she told me, Miles,” I say. “She told me you rescued her, and took her to a filthy play-place and let her be an obnoxious kid and were completely unflappable no matter how terrible she was.”
“I’m not unflappable.” His voice takes on a damp gravel. “Honestly, it’s hard to even look at her sometimes, because it makes me think about everything I should’ve done differently, all the shit I try not to think about, and I just start feeling like I’m about to self-destruct.”
“You weren’t the adult,” I say.
“I was what she had,” he argues.
“And you did what you could,” I tell him.
“That’s the thing, though.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I did. I don’t trust my perception of things. That’s what my childhood did to me. Made my brain into a fucking fun house where I might think I’m standing on the floor, but really I’m stuck to a wall. I never know if I’m feeling the right thing, and I’m tired of fucking things up for the people I care about.”
“I don’t think there’s a right way to feel,” I say. “And you can’t control it, anyway. Feelings are like weather. They just happen, and then they pass.”
He rubs his face again. “I’m sorry. This is why I don’t talk about it.”
“Don’t apologize.” I wrap my arms around his waist, and his eyes lift back to mine. “I’m your friend. I want to know all this. I want to be there for you.”
I knew it was true, but when I say it, some crank inside my abdomen is slowly turning, pulling my heart tight against my chest. That’s what Miles needs right now. A friend.
And now I understand what he meant, how risky this really is, not just for me but for him too.
This isn’t just a fun distraction or a rebound anymore. He matters to me, and if this thing between us blows up, there’ll be nowhere for either of us to run right now.
“You should talk to your sister about all of this,” I tell him. “Because I know you think you failed her, but from the outside, what I see is, something’s going on with your sister, and she got on a plane straight to you. Didn’t even ask first, because she knew you’d make space. You’re where she ran when she needed to feel safe.”
“Maybe she just didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he murmurs.
“Maybe,” I allow. “But neither did I, and you took care of me too. That’s who you are. If I had to be marooned, I’m glad it was with you.”
“Me too,” he says quietly, then after a second, “I don’t want to fuck this up. Things are already a mess right now, for both of us.”
“I don’t want to mess it up either,” I promise. This time, I mean it. Not just because now I know him so much better, care so much more about this friendship. But also because I can admit what I couldn’t before: I like Miles Nowak enough that he could really hurt me.
“So,” he says, unsticking a strand of my hair from my eyebrow and tucking it behind my ear. “That was my complaint. What have you got?”
Despite the ache in it, my heart flutters at this piece of evidence that he knows me, that I matter to him like he does to me. “Are we playing Whiny Babies now?” I ask.
He nods. “Any grievances to air?”
“Well.” I think for a beat. “I’m not a huge fan of global warming.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle, my heart leaping in response. “I hear the Great Barrier Reef is in trouble,” he says.
“The wealth gap is ridiculous,” I return.
“And insurance is way too fucking expensive,” he adds.
“Not to mention, all day long, my sock kept getting caught under my heel,” I say.
He laughs a little, touches my chin. The moment feels like the meniscus of a glass, like any second it might spill over. “I guess we should go home.”
I nod. His hand falls away. “Thank you,” he says.
“For what?” I ask.
“Just, thank you.”
OceanofPDF.com
20
THURSDAY, JULY 4TH
44 DAYS UNTIL I COULD LEAVE (IF I STILL WANT TO)
Maybe things are complicated, but they’re also good.
Julia decides to stick around a bit longer, and the apartment is never empty, rarely quiet. Miles drops off chai for me at the library on his way into work. Ashleigh tells me about school drop-off drama over smoothies at a juice bar. One night, she, Julia, and I hit up Cherry Hill and watch Miles dazzle his customers at the bar’s far end. Every time he looks over, it’s like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, and I do my best to feel content, to be just another person at the edge of his glow.
On Thursday, he, Julia, and I go to Traverse City for the Fourth of July parade, then sit in a row on grass so cool it feels damp, to watch the fireworks pop and sparkle out over the bay. It’s the kind of perfect summer night I can’t remember having since I was a kid, not even this time last year, when Peter and I went to his parents’ annual barbecue.
Because there, in their gorgeous, lightning bug–filled garden, with all of their longtime friends tipsy and flushed and happy in rattan patio chairs, a part of me had still ached.
Could feel that I was standing outside of things, waiting for the moment I would finally become a part of it.
Here, tonight, though, I’m in the center of everything. This moment, though fleeting, belongs to me too.
