Page 35 of Same Time Next Summer

“It was,” he says. Then, “This is the best part of you. The part that just says what needs to be said.”

I don’t know why he’s being so calm when I’m feeling so nervous. “Now I forget what I needed to say.”

“You’re sorry we’re not friends?” Wyatt offers.

That’s not it, really. “It was hard for me. Losing you,” I say.

“Travis told Michael you were fine.”

“Travis knew I wasn’t fine.” I look directly at him and wonder if he can see on my face the remains of just how not fine I was.

“I didn’t know how to come back here,” he says. “Or how to reach out to you after I was so harsh. And then you were so harsh.” He looks down at his hands, presumably for a cheat sheet to get him through this moment. He finally looks up at me and says, “I remember exactly what it felt like when we were together, and it’s unbelievable to me thatI could have shut you out like that. I was a mess, and I know it’s not an excuse, really, but I was eighteen.” He leans back on the couch like it’s perfectly normal for us to be having this conversation. All these years later. In his swept-clean treehouse. “Are you over it now?”

I let out a little laugh. “What a question. I’m getting married.” I stare at my hands, twisting my engagement ring. “I guess I’m ready to be over it. Everyone has moved on. You have a life with your music and fixing cars, a lounge singer.”

Wyatt laughs, “She’s not a lounge singer.”

“Whatever. I want her to be. She smells like smoke and her evening gowns are tired.”

“She sometimes smells like smoke, and we’re not really a couple.”

The humidity has made my hair unruly and I busy myself by braiding the chunk that has fallen in my face. I can feel Wyatt watching me.

“How are your parents?”

“They’re fine. Both remarried.”

“Michael?”

“Good. Sober.”

“Good. And you like your life?” I ask.

“I get to do things I love every day. The weather’s always nice.”

“Wow, that’s so Zen. Self-actualized.”

“Not really. What about you? Is your life what you wanted?”

I turn to face him, crossing my legs on the sofa. The space between us has shrunk. “Well, I’ve sort of screwed upmy job. But I love living in the city. I get to see Gracie all the time, which is awesome.”

“Get a new job.”

“I’m probably going to get fired. Don’t tell my parents. They’d love it too much.”

“They’d love that you were getting fired?”

“Well, I think my dad can’t get used to the fact that I have such a ‘tight-ass job.’ His words. He’d love that I blew up my whole career by blurting out two words when my whole job is keeping employees in line.”

Wyatt laughs. “What were they, ‘tight-ass’?”

“ ‘Flash mob,’ ” I say, and cover my face with my hands.

“Oh God.”

“I was working with a client who was trying to get his team to work more cooperatively. There are exactly three right solutions to this problem in our company manual: send them to a ropes course, give them a series of puzzles to work through together, administer an enneagram test. I’ve recommended these things a hundred times, and I’m just sick of them.”

“So?”

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