I turn my body to face him. "But I hadn’t told you anything, so I can’t really blame you for jumping to conclusions. There’s so much I should have said—so much you shouldn’t have had to find out about from my best friend at a party."
Van shrugs. "Maybe if I hadn’t been an asshole that night, you’d have told me."
"It had nothing to do with you," I assure him. "I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, at least not actively. But how would that have even worked? I mean, I remember when you and Pete saw Mel and me at the fountain. We’d met a couple nights before, and of course, I’d told Mel about the hot guy who hung out in my room while his friend was getting…friendly with one of my neighbors. I never thought I’d see you again, or if I did, that you wouldn’t remember me. But then you and Pete walked up, smiling. You had this look on your face like you were so happy to see me."
There’s that dimple again. "I was. I, um…I told Pete all about you when I got back to the room that night. I rememberedeverything—the fact that your closet was piled high with books, that you had the prettiest brown eyes I’d ever seen. But I forgot the most important part—your name." His cheeks heat with that admission. "I figured I had no chance of finding you again. Pete agreed. Apparently, there are a lot of pretty girls with brown hair who are a foot shorter than me," he says, smiling. "But then he came home the next day and said we should buy lottery tickets. I looked at him like he was crazy, and that’s when he said he found my Toasty Pocket girl at his first scholarship club meeting. So, I booked my ass to the fountain, Pete followed, and there you were."
"You walked right up to us and asked me out," I say, remembering the scene so well. "The sky was a brilliant blue and I could feel the warmth of the September sun on my back. There were people all over the quad, but you were looking right at me and asking me to go to the movies. So, of course I said yes. And what should I have done? Stopped you there and said I had residual trauma from the premature deaths of my parents? You can’t just weave that into conversation. But then we started dating and there was never a good time to just blurt out, ‘Hey, this really awful thing happened to my family and now I’m the stand-in mom for my brothers and sisters.’ Please believe me, Van. I wanted to tell you. I tried to, at the party, but then I got selfish."
Van’s been soaking up every word. His eyes haven’t left mine since I started explaining, but now he pulls back. "Selfish?"
"We were talking to your friends, and you had your hands wrapped around my shoulders. It felt so good to just be normal. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like the girl whose parents died. Or the one who was raising a baby, two preschoolers, and a twelve-year-old. I come from a small town and everybody meant well, but their attention was suffocating. I’d be in the grocery store shopping for diapers and fruit snacks and I could feel eyeson me. They were never mean, just nosy and a bit judgmental. So, when I was here, in Bainbridge, with you, it felt so good to just be a girl whose boyfriend adored her. And that sounds so bad, because I love my siblings so much. And I don’t regret the decision Levi and I made, not one bit. But I was nineteen, too. And trips home were complicated. I missed my mom and dad terribly. They were gone without warning. Plus, my weekends and Wednesdays were filled with laundry and orthodontist appointments and meltdowns because I cut Milo’s sandwich in triangles when he asked me to cut it into rectangles. It was awful and wonderful, all at the same time, but it was overwhelming. And then I’d come here and see you, and all you wanted to do was be with me and make me feel good. I was young and in lust and selfish. I let you be what I needed, but I never once thought about how you’d feel when you found out."
My last words come out in a rush and a stream of tears follows. I’ve been holding them back, but I’m powerless to stop them now. I mumble my thanks when Van ducks over to a table and grabs a wad of tissues for me. Soon enough, he’s back in my space, impossible to ignore. He reaches for me, and his words draw me close.
"Let me hold you, Josie. Please."
I melt into his embrace, knowing it’s foolish. I let his touch comfort me. I shouldn’t, but I do.
The tears keep coming as he holds me tight. They’re tears for my parents—you’d think after five years I’d be over crying jags, but that’s just not true. They’re tears for the mistakes I’ve made, for what I lost, and for all the ways I wish I’d handled things differently with Van that night. "I’m not good at fighting," I confess, my cheeks wet. "That’s obvious, right? I hate it. I avoid it. I’m working on that now, but back then? You were mad and you had every right to be, but it’s like I was frozen,or maybe inslow motion. I couldn’t find the right words. I couldn’t get them out fast enough."
Van leans back and tips my chin up. "And I was a cocky kid who felt like he was being rejected. I lashed out when I should have shut the hell up and listened. I’m working on that, too. For what it’s worth, Jos, I’m sorry for all of it—the fight, freezing you out, and for all you went through. I should have been there for you. I could have listened, at least. Maybe even helped? Hell, I don’t know. I just hate that you went through all of that and instead of making your life easier, I made it much harder."
We sit together for a while and I begin to wonder if I’m the only one who’s been shedding tears. Being a crier sucks sometimes—my face gets splotchy, my nose runs, and a lot of people just don’t know what to do with someone else’s tears. But crying is cathartic, too. Despite my protests over the last few weeks, I can admit that Van was right. We needed to talk. But where do we go from here?
My anxiety doesn’t even get started on that question, because his phone starts lighting up, and mine does, too.
"Let me guess. That’s a message from your teammates?"
He laughs. "More like twenty, but yeah. Is Levi checking in on you?"
I nod, tapping out the familiar text. "I should get home, not only so he won’t worry, but also because it’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow."
Van agrees, but we both stay still for a moment. It’s like we know that once we stand up and start moving, real life will resume around us. And this little bubble is nice. I hate to leave it behind, but we can’t stay here forever.
23
Van
"Let me walk you back, okay?" I ask as Josie stands and puts on her coat. I’m not ready to leave her just yet, and I’m also not ready to think about why I’m so attached to her.
"I’m fine," she insists. "And the guys?—"
I’m shaking my head. "The guys can wait another ten minutes. Believe it or not, Jos, even I know some things are more important than hockey."
She smiles up at me as we walk downstairs. "I’m not sure my brother Zane would agree. He’s pretty obsessed right now."
That makes me happier than it should. "Can’t lie. I love that he plays hockey. It’s the best sport there is. He’s what, a freshman? What position does he play? Do the other kids play, too?"
Josie answers my list of questions one by one. "He’s a freshman, yes, and he’s a goalie. No one else plays hockey. The twins are swimmers and Iris does ballet. Levi played soccer back in the day."
"How about you?" I ask. We’ve had some heavy conversation the past few nights, so this is a good distraction. "Let me guess…started playing soccer because your older brother did, but then you switched to…tennis?"
We step outside and start the familiar walk to her dorm. It’s November now and the temperature is getting colder, but I’m unbothered by the chill tonight. "You have it half right," she tells me. "I did start soccer because that’s what Levi was doing, but I hated it. And I never tried tennis. I went straight to reading."
He smirks. "Is reading a sport?"
"It is the way I do it," she teases. The walk to her place is quick and conversation stays neutral, safe. It’s like we’re both exhausted from the past forty-eight hours. We get to her building, and I automatically follow her in and up the stairs. I wish I could stay and hold her some more, maybe watch one of those shows she likes where they all wear fancy gowns and talk with British accents. But I’m not pushing my luck. Hell, the fact that Josie opened up as much as she did is a miracle and I’m taking it.
