I head over to the Donnellys’ the next evening to watch some weird Canadian import show Gabe can’t get enough of, everybody dressed in plaid and saying “aboot” all the time. His long fingers play idly in my hair. The episode’s just ended when the screen door in the kitchen slaps open, Julia’s giggle ringing out through the house. She appears in the doorway of the family room a moment later. I hear a set of footsteps behind her, and I’m terrified it’s going to be Patrick, but instead it’s Elizabeth at her heels, holding a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “Oh, hey,” Julia says, her eyes flicking from Gabe to me and back again. “I didn’t know you guys were here.”
“Here we are,” Gabe says mildly, but I wonder if he can feel the muscles in my arms and back and shoulders seizing up, how self-conscious I feel about the way I’m sacked out across the cushions. How many times has Julia walked in on this exact tableau over the course of our lifetimes—but with me tucked into the crook of Patrick’s arm instead of Gabe’s?
If she thinks it’s weird, though, she doesn’t say anything about it. “You want ice cream?” she asks instead. Then, without waiting for us to answer: “Lizzie, you wanna get two more spoons?”
Which is how I wind up splitting a pint of Phish Food with Gabe, Julia, and Julia’s girlfriend, the two of them sitting on the floor and scrolling through the channels for close to an hour, all of us making fun of lame car insurance commercials and passing the ice cream back and forth. Elizabeth, randomly, does a really good William Shatner impression.
“I heard you talked Penn into throwing an end-of-summer staff party,” she says as she’s getting ready to leave later, sliding her feet back into her Sperrys. “That was pretty cool of you.”
It’s not exactly Sorry I tormented you at our place of business, but I’ll take what I can get. Gabe nudges me in the back with all the subtlety of a big brass band. “Yeah,” I tell her, ignoring him and smiling a little. “It should be fun.”
Gabe walks me out not long after, the smell of coming rain wet and heavy in the air. “Thaaaaaat was something out of an alternate universe,” I say, disbelieving. “Like, in all seriousness, did I just hallucinate this whole night?”
Gabe shrugs. “Face it, Molly Barlow. We’re old news.”
“I guess so.” I smile in wonder. None of us talked about anything important, nothing was awkward or heavy or weird. It felt . . . normal.
Gabe’s not interested in processing the events of the night with me, though: “So, hey,” he begins, and right away it’s clear he’s got something else entirely on his mind. “You know my buddy Ryan, the one who had the party? He’s at some music festival in Nashville the next couple days.” Gabe shrugs a little then, too casual to actually be nonchalant. “He said the camper’s empty, if we wanted to use it for a night or two.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, unable to hide a grin even as my stomach’s flipping over at the notion. “I’m sorry,” I tease, glancing instinctively at the barn, which is dark and shuttered. “If we wanted to use it for what exactly?”
Gabe shakes his head at me, all that fake coolness melting away like ice cream on a sun-warmed sidewalk. “Shut up,” he mutters, smiling.
“No, really, tell me,” I nudge, bumping my bare ankle at his. “I want to know what exactly you were imagining we’d be using Ryan’s super-swank camper to do.”
Gabe rolls his eyes, rubs at his jaw a little. “You’re the worst.”
“I know,” I tell him, still grinning. “Tell me.”
He changes tactics then, slips a finger into my belt loop, gets closer. “To be alone,” he says.
“Oh, to be alone.” I pretend to consider it—as if there’s anything left to consider at this point. I pop up onto my tiptoes to press a kiss against his mouth, gentle. “I see.”
Day 83
The carpet in Ryan’s decrepit camper by the lake is this truly hideous green shag number, the kind I feel sure must be housing some kind of wildlife; Gabe and I sit on it anyway, my legs canted open over his and an ancient checkerboard on the floor between us. He traces patterns on my ankle with one finger, the skin prickling there.
“My dad used to love checkers,” Gabe tells me, skipping his red checker over two of mine. There’s a Young the Giant song on his iPhone, quiet and slow. “We used to have these epic tournaments every time it snowed.”
I smile at him, remembering. “I know.”
“Shit, of course you do.” Gabe shakes his head. “I love that you knew my dad, you know that? I love you.” Then, as my surprised gaze comes up away from the board to look at him: “I do. I mean it. I know I kind of said it at Falling Star, but I mean it.”
“I love you, too.” It’s tumbling out of my mouth before I even think about it, maybe the first thing I’ve done or said all summer without worrying about how it’s going to look or sound. It’s true, though; I know as soon as I hear it. It feels like everything that happened since I got back to Star Lake—including, especially what happened with Patrick—has led me here. “Hey. Gabe.” I grin, the feeling of it breaking open inside me, molten and real. “I love you, too.”
“Yeah?” He looks surprised at that, and so happy—it feels good and powerful, to make someone so glad. He leans across the board and he kisses me. I hold on as tight as I possibly can.
Day 84
I wake up in the camper’s tiny bed the next morning and find Gabe rummaging through Ryan’s mini fridge, the kind you’d find tucked under a lofted bed in a college dorm. Pale yellow sunlight trickles through the tiny windows, making kaleidoscope patterns on the rug. “Hi,” I say around a yawn, rolling over onto my side to see him more clearly, his tan unblemished skin and the T-shirt he slept in. “Whatcha doing?”
“Scoping out the breakfast situation,” Gabe tells me, smiling at my presumably sleepy expression. “There’s eggs. And, like, gross instant coffee. Or we could drive into town and go to French Roast, if you want.”
I look at him for a beat longer, a package of questionable Kraft Singles in one hand and his easy morning grin. Last night’s I love you echoes inside my head like the refrain of my favorite new song. I take a deep breath.