Page 118 of Old Acquaintances

“Hey, Tucker, can I ask you something?” I say.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he grumbles.

I ignore this. “I told you that you were my best friend.” He meets my eye. “Was I ever yours?”

After a beat, he answers, “By your definition…yeah. I guess so.”

“Then can you just tell me the truth about everything? I know you’re holding something back. I know when you’re keeping secrets.”

He laughs lightly. “No. I won’t tell you the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll give you too much power over me.” He finally sits. “And you have no idea what it looks like when I’m holding something back.”

Tucker’s satisfied with that answer. I look ahead, feeling defeat, when he says, “Do you remember when you planted lemon seeds and peach seeds and avocado seeds in your backyard? Because you wanted an orchard?”

“No,” I answer.

“Well, I do.” He says that like it’s meaningful. He remembers something that I don’t. He goes on: “Do you remember that dog you found at the park and you took home and kept in your bathroom?”

“Kind of.”

“Do you remember what you want you wanted to name it?”

“No, but I remember that it was not actually a lost dog, but I in fact stole someone’s dog while they were in the bathroombecause I assumed they tied it up and walked away.”

He slows the boat down, I can hear him more clearly. “Chunk. You wanted to name it Chunk. You thought it could be our fourth Goonie.” He shakes his head. “I know that you don’t remember the time before your accident because of trauma, or whatever, but I don’t have that, Ella. I don’t have the luxury of forgetting.”

Tucker’s shirt billows in the wind. The sun bounces off his glossy eyes as he says, “I remember everything.”

I take my shot. “Then you remember the last time we spoke to each other?”

“Of course.”

“And…?”

He bounces his knee. Anxiety ripples through his body. “That’s the point, Ella. I remembereverything. You have no idea how much.” He speeds the boat up again and asks, “Can we not talk anymore?”

I want to say no - talk to me. But there’s this other part of me that heard his words. I won’t know what led me on that road and what it felt like to break my arm, leg, skull. Tucker has to live with that for the rest of his life. He’s done nothing but care for me for most of my life.

As much as I want to shake the truth out of him, I respect him. I love him. I don’t want him to suffer. If talking about the wedding makes him suffer then I can give him one quiet boat ride.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Wedding

Our senior year of college, I didn’t go home very often, and the boys didn’t come up to see me. I didn’t even see Tucker at Christmas because the Harrisons went to Gavin’s house that year, the first time we’d not shared a holiday together in my whole life. They wanted to spend it with his new baby. Even our group text - Me, Johnny, Tucker, Serena, Wyatt, Ritchie - only shared a passing message every few weeks.

Everything was changing, soon and fast. We’d all graduate and find jobs and move away, the ideas of which made me feel panicky and scared. I’d nevernothad Johnny and Tucker and in very specific ways. I could always call Johnny and talk on the phone because he loved that. He grew up with sisters, close to his mother, and he didn’t have guy friends who wanted to talk about their feelings like he could with me. He didn’t live next door anymore. I couldn’t pop over when I was irritated at my sisters and needed a distraction.

My relationship with Tucker was vastly different. We didn’t talk on the phone, or even text. I only heard about his life through my mother, via Lori. As the months ticked by, from winter to spring, I became increasingly more agitated. I had my final senior performance, my original choreography to perform, and classes to finish. I had an audition for the Alabama Ballet. The panic of a new life itched me in places I couldn’t scratchbecause I couldn’t find them, I didn’t know where it prickled or how to ease the nerves.

“What’s Tucker up to?” I found myself asking Johnny all the time.

“Oh, he’s busy working, you know.” Then Johnny would change the subject.

I would ask, “Is Tucker going to graduate in the spring?”

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