His shoulders fall, as if he’s relieved. And his subtle show of happiness makes my stomach flip and sends a tingle all the way to my fingertips.
“But.” I raise a flattened palm. “Just because we feel a certain way doesn’t mean we should act on it.”
The flash in his eyes that was there a moment ago dims. “We’re both adults. Maybe they won’t be thrilled about this at first, but if we can prove to them that nothing bad’s going to happen, that we’re capable of handling this like adults should things go south …”
“I’ve been here a week,” I say. “And your grandfather didn’t have to give me a job, but he did. If I didn’t have this? I’d have nothing. Nowhere to go. I have zero dollars to my name. My mom barely had enough life insurance to cover the cost of her funeral. If I’m fired? I’ll literally be homeless. And if my grandparents are fired because of me?” My stomach knots. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I was responsible for that.”
“Granddad loves Ed and Junie. He would never fire them. Believe me. And I would never let you be homeless. We’d figure something out.”
“And you? What if he cuts you off? Is a little summer fling even worth that risk?” I ask. “We’re talking about your future here.”
“He won’t cut me off,” Thayer says. “It means too much to him that I’m going to Yale. It’s literally like a dream come true for him. He’s been talking about this since I was four years old.”
Thayer sounds so confident, so assured about all of this. Like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. People who’ve lived comfortable lives with very little trauma and drama and loss tend to have that sort of world view.
He takes the seat beside me, and I inhale the faded scent of the ocean from his clothes. It’s a strange scent. Not necessarily pleasant, but very much distinct. One I’ll remember and associate with him for the rest of my life, just like I associate the smell of lilacs with my mother since she was always cutting them off trees in the spring and filling vases around our condo with them.
“They’re only around for so long, Lila,” she’d say. “We have to enjoy them while we can.”
“I don’t know if this is worth the risk,” I tell him.
“Of course you don’t know,” he says. “Even I don’t know. Yet. But I want to know, don’t you? Because what if in a weird sort of way we were always meant to be together. What if we’re meant to have this epic love story that would make it all worth it? If we let other people and the fear of the unknown keep us apart, we’ll never know.”
“And what if it isn’t worth it? What if we fight and by the end of the summer we hate each other more than we ever thought it was possible to hate another human being?” I ask. “And let’s say I lose my job and my grandparents lose theirs and you lose your college education and we’ve destroyed lives and futures, and for what?”
“Are you always this pessimistic?” he asks.
“Are you always this optimistic?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
“You realize we have nothing in common.” I bite my thumbnail before folding my hands in my lap. “Like … zero.”
“No, I didn’t realize that because between you not giving me the time of day and hiding from me, you’re impossible to get to know.”
“Then how do you know you even like me?” I mentally pat myself on the back, like I’ve just found a clue when I wasn’t even looking, a hole in his story.
“I’m attracted to you, and I find you and all your confusing and mysterious and contradictory ways fascinating. Those reasons alone are enough for me to like the idea of getting to know you more,” he says. “I get the feeling that underneath this invisible coat of armor you wear, there’s a really amazing person, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t try to get to know her.”
No one’s ever accused me of wearing an invisible coat of armor. It’s funny. I could’ve said the same about my mother. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“How about this,” he begins to say. “We test the waters. We sneak around, like Romeo and Juliet. We tell no one. We play it cool when we’re around the rest of the family. And at the end of the summer, if what we have is real—”
“—that’s another thing. You’re going back to school in the fall. I don’t think I could afford the rent on a closet in New Haven and the long-distance thing is the worst, so …”
“Lila, will you just stop?” His voice is almost raised. Almost. He’s much too kind of a person to yell at me. “Stop thinking of all the reasons it’s going to explode in our faces and start thinking about all of the ways it could be the best thing to ever happen to us.”