Page 31 of Sawyer

“Fine,” I say again, grabbing my script and heading up the aisle toward the theater exit.

Behind me, Sawyer says: “Hey, listen! I don’t judge other people for going to college. I mean, it’s fine for some people. You, for example, seem to have flourished there. It just wasn’t for me.”

He’s mistakenly assumed that his decision not to attend college was the source of my weirdo outburst. Grateful foranything that takes my mind off his “happy trail,” I lean into a new avenue of conversation.

“Why wasn’t it for you?” I ask, stepping onto the boardwalk and taking a deep gulp of the chilly night air. It prickles my lungs, which is grounding.

“Even at seventeen, I knew I wanted to stay in Skagway and work with my family. I love the tourist business, and I love my family,” he says as we turn toward the Purple Parsnip.

“It’s amazing you had that kind of clarity at such a young age,” I say. “Some people spend a whole lifetime trying to figure out what they love and what they’re good at and how to make a living by combining the two.”

“Well, I knew. So, I didn’t see the need to spend money on an expensive education.”

I feel a little jealous of how clear-headed and certain he sounds. I’m still not sure how exactly I’m going to use my newly-minted college degree. My father wants me to go into politics, and marrying Clark certainly dovetails with that plan. But I haven’t thought much about whatIwant.

As though reading my mind, Sawyer asks, “What do you plan to do? Once Priscilla’s better, and you leave Skagway?”

“Clark and I just bought an apartment in Juneau,” I say. “It’s nice. There’s a view of the harbor.”

He doesn’t say anything in response to this, just keeps walking beside me, his arm occasionally brushing mine in a way that’s distracting and comforting at once.

“He’s going to work with his dad at the capital. I had an internship all set up there for the fall, but I had to, you know, postpone it.”

“They’re holding it for you?”

“I don’t think so,” I answer honestly. “They’re all very angry with me.”

“Who’s angry?”

“Clark, my father, Clark’s father.” I try to laugh, but it sounds strangled and pathetic. “All the men in my life are furious with me.”

“I bet your Uncle Alan isn’t furious with you.”

I glance up at Sawyer—at his strong, sharp jaw and plush lips. His lashes, especially when I look at his profile, are long and dark. The Parsnip is only six blocks away, and I find myself wishing it was a much longer walk.

“He’s not,” I say. “He’s grateful I’m here.”

“That’s because being here is the right choice,” he says matter-of-factly. “Prioritizing the people you love is never the wrong move. I think it sucks that your father, fiancé, and future father-in-law don’t recognize that.”

Me too.

“What would it say about you if you prioritized a flashy apartment and posh internship over the aunt you love?”

That I was shallow and heartless and selfish.

“I admire you for being here,” he continues. “If they can’t see that, well, that’s on them, Ivy.”

His words remind me that before we were co-stars, before we were lovers, we were friends, and he was always kind to me. Throughout my childhood and early adolescence, Sawyer was a good friend to me every summer. I loop my mittened hand though his bent elbow, even though he didn’t offer it.

“Thanks, Sawyer.”

He doesn’t unlink our arms or otherwise push me away, and it makes me happy.

“But you still didn’t answer my question,” he points out. “What doyouplan to do once your aunt’s feeling better?”

I look around the almost-empty streets of Skagway—at the old-western storefronts on either side of us and the wooden-plank boardwalk under our feet. The air is crisp and clean, and you can see every star in the sky. The thought of returning toJuneau makes me feel melancholy. It shouldn’t, of course—my apartment is beautiful, I’ll have a challenging job, there are lots of cultural opportunities, and I can begin planning my wedding—but it does. It makes my heart feel heavy. It makes me feel like crying.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice a broken sound.

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