“You said ‘absolutely not.’ ”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “I have big opinions. We’re not always going to agree. We might never, ever agree.”
That’s true. We walk in silence for a moment. “But, Tatum,” I say, persisting, “you must know a ton of people on this island. Meer said you do. Why don’t you see any of them on purpose? Atall?”
He stops and looks down at me. We’re under a streetlight. People walk by us, talking and laughing. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“You don’t have to ask.”
He bends down and touches his lips to mine, very gently. Then he says, so low that only I could possibly hear it, “June doesn’t want me to.”
“June? This is about June?”
“She has a good reason. And I literally owe her my life. I’m so sorry, Matilda, but can we leave it at that for now?”
“How come?”
“Because I’m asking you to. Please. Can we just go hear this band, and have this night, you and me, without worrying about anything else? Just tonight?”
I nod.
He kisses me again and then pulls me through the door into the venue.
—
It’s crowded. Wehang our jackets on hooks. The room ishot.
The opening band is already playing.
Like the big-city kid I am, I drag Tatum through the crowd till we’re near the front, and then we are lost in the music. It thrums through the floorboards and into our veins. Wooden Cage comes on and they’re larger than life, beautiful and sweaty, their voices hoarser and looser than they are on the albums.
The hot skin of Tatum’s arm brushes mine as we dance and jump and sway and shout with the crowd.
He laces his fingers in mine.
When the show is over, we go out into the cold air. We’ve forgotten our jackets and have to run back inside for them.
The street is quiet now.
I catch Tatum at the back of his neck and pull him down to me, standing on tiptoe so my lips can meet his. The world disappears and it doesn’t matter what he’s not telling me, because
his kiss is so full of possibility and
devotion and affection
and curiosity.
It’s sure and electric, like
slaughtering everyone on a boss level when you’re really in a flow, and like
eating a peach pie someone made for you because they know you love it, and like
swimming in a turbulent ocean but knowing it could never hurt you.
51
Tatum has anearly pickup to do in the taxi-van tomorrow, sixa.m., so I kiss him good night, pressed up against the wall in the living room at Hidden Beach. I know I should let him go, should let him sleep, but I feel like there is
