Page 25 of Sounds Like Love

Last time I saw Van Erickson was … too long ago. Two weeks after college graduation on the beach in front of the Ferris wheel,purply dusk settling across the ocean. We’d seen each other every day since we’d been home, sleeping over at his house or mine every night. After four years of dating while we were at different colleges, I couldn’t get enough of him, and I thought he couldn’t get enough of me, either. We’d been friends in high school, but a drunk kiss during winter break of our freshman year of college changed everything. We started dating, and after a while I stopped thinking inmes and more inwes. Our vacations. Our couch. Our apartment. Our families. Our future. He was good for me, levelheaded and orderly. I was good for him, or at least I thought I was.

But then just two weeks after college graduation, sitting on the beach where I’d grown up making sandcastles, he told me his plans for the future—and none of them involved me.

“Youareback,” I whispered aloud, and then realized it with a jolt of embarrassment. “Oh my god, did I just say that out loud? I definitely did. I’m sorry, I—”

His smile widened. “I heard you were back, too, Joni.”

Even after nine years, the way he said my name sounded so easy. Like he had never stopped. I felt that old, soft love flickering awake in my middle, because he always had such a lovely smile, and I was so glad that hadn’t changed. But then I remembered that he’d broken up with me and left, and I bit the inside of my cheek to ground myself. I wasoverhim.

Had been for nine years.

“So how is, um”—I pretended to rack my brain for where he was now—“Boston, was it?”

“Yeah, you know how I love a good city. You’re out west, right?”

I nodded. “Ever since—”Ever since you left, and then I left.“For the past few years,” I course corrected. “What brings you back?”

“Just helping my parents move into a new house inland,” he replied,putting his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t stopped smiling at me.

As if he was happy to see me.

And I hated how I didn’t hate it at all.

The barista, Todd, cleared his throat, and I realized in mortification that I hadn’t paid for my drink yet. I spun back around. “I am so sorry—”

“Can I get it?” Van asked, and before I could say no, he stepped up and ordered a Joe DiMatcha-io. It was the same thing he had always ordered as a teen, too. After he paid, he winked at me and added, “You always used to pay for mine, so it’s the least I can do.”

I let out a huff of a laugh. “Youwerealways so broke.”

“A lifetime ago,” he replied, returning his wallet to his back left pocket, where he had always put it, and where he’d always slipped my hand, too, when he used to bring me against his chest and kiss me. It was a feeling, no matter how many years I’d been away, that came back like whiplash.

He walked with me over to the other side of the counter as the barista started on our orders. “Speaking of that, I hear you’re pretty successful yourself these days.”

I didn’t want to read between the lines, but did that mean he had asked about me?

“Of course he has,”the voice in my head interjected.

I jolted in surprise, and looked around the small coffee shop, even though I knew the owner of the voice wouldn’t be there. I clenched my teeth.These are private thoughts.

He went on, unbothered,“That’s why he said it the way he did. He wants you to know.”

How can you tell?

“I’m a guy, he’s a guy,”he reasoned.

Van looked around us when he noticed that I was scanning the café, and asked, “Is something the matter?”

“No,” I replied, turning back around, telling myself to ignore the voice in my head. “So—um—what all have you heard?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Oh, just things my mom’s said about you. That you made it. You’re a songwriter.”

So hehadasked about me. I … didn’t know what to think.

“Told you,”the voice gloated.

“I am,” I said quickly. “I live in LA now. Great food, and I’m only like an hour from the beach so that’s nice, and I can see the mountains from my apartment …”

“Your songs are pretty great, too.”

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