Page 96 of Fun at Parties
“Hey.” His eyes are soft, but his face is otherwise indecipherable.
“Hey,” I squeak, my mouth dry and my face hot. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t formulate the words. Not that it’s the right setting, anyway, as proven by the series of hugs and hellos that follows with the rest of the people in the circle.
“You were supposed to wear a costume,” I manage to say once the greetings are over, gesturing at his basic gray hoodie.
The guy across from me laughs in a way that makes it clear I’m not the first person to make that comment.
“It is a costume,” Nate explains. “I’m Michael Cera inSuperbad.”
Before I can say anything else, Bailey’s parents rush over, her mom’s arms wide as she wraps Nate and Logan in a hug. “A little birdie told me you’re going to be the new owner of this place!” she says to Nate.
His eyes dart to mine. “I am.”
He got the camp. My heart leaps at the realization, but it also leaves my throat aching. I wanted this for him so badly, but I hate that I’m finding out alongside all these other people. It’s a preview of the future. If I don’t find a way to be brave and fix this, the infrequent conversations I’ll have with Nate going forward will be mostly the same as the ones he has with Artie from the JV swim team.
I use the congratulatory commotion that follows as an opportunity to slip away, weaving through the crowd alone with a polite smile pasted on my face. It’s almost an out-of-body experience: Every way I turn, I see somebody I care about. Bailey, Michelle, Nate, Logan. The people I love most in this world, they’re all here, plus plenty of others I’ve known for years and am normally thrilled to see.
It’s temporary, I remind myself. Michelle is moving to Connecticut, several hours away from here. Logan is headed to Boston, and most of the others here are scattered up and down the Eastern Seaboard. But Nate lives here now, and so does Bailey, and Connecticut is much closer to New Jersey than it is to Los Angeles. This place doesn’t feel temporary; it feels full and real and steady and permanent. It’s L.A. that feels like a cardboard diorama to me, flimsy and empty and not really mine.
This room, right now, is the closest thing I have to a home.
Red and green swirl inside me, wrapping around my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I let it happen. They blur my vision and fog my brain and completely overwhelm me until I stumble over the leg of a chair. “Excuse me,” I mumble to the person sitting in it, and find the nearest exit.
I don’t know every corner of the camp, but I do know my way to the pool.
The pool is enclosed by a white privacy fence on three sides and a building with locker rooms and equipment storage on the other. The code hasn’t changed since the first night Nate brought me here, or any of the times we all snuck in after that. I punch it into the keypad and slip inside.
The pool glows like a jewel in the dark. Most of the lounge chairs have been packed away for the season, but they haven’t put the cover on yet, so I seat myself on the edge of the deep end and dip my feet in. The heater must still be on, because the water is warmer than the crisp, chlorine-scented air.
I’ve known something needed to change for a long time. My body told me first, with its red-alarm rushes of emotion—tightness in my chest and swirling in my stomach, difficulty sleeping and jitters in my legs. My mind decided that the thing that needed to change was me, but my mind was wrong.
It took the best/worst road trip in history for me to see it. It took everything going wrong—blisters and Jolly the Clown and muddy fields and Nashville glitter, Logan wriggling out of our grasp at every turn and far too many drunk partiers—for me to understand what I can and cannot control. To begin to understand where happiness comes from, and what to do when it doesn’t show up. To name my feelings. The truth was lodged somewhere inside me the whole time, and this wildmisadventure set it free like the Heimlich does to a grape in the throat.
I’ve known what I want to do for days, I think. But it took time and courage and a bit of rewiring the way my brain has worked for the last twenty-nine years for me to decide I’m going to try to make it happen, for myself and the people I care about. Not just for Nate.
But also, there is Nate. Both in my heart and walking toward me through the gate.
He takes his time approaching, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets, his face impossible to make out in the shadowy moonlight.
“Hey.” My voice is rough with nerves. There’s a chance this won’t go the way I want, that my choice not to put us first in Asheville was the last straw for him. Years ago, he didn’t know his worth. Now he does, and I’m glad, even if it means I lose him.
“I was afraid you left.” He toes off his Vans, tosses his socks on top of them, and sits down next to me. “I figured if I was going to find you anywhere, it would be here.”
“You know me,” I say. “I tend to gravitate toward the nearest pool.”
His mouth crooks. “I do know you.”
My hands are braced against the concrete. I dig my fingertips in and watch our feet float next to each other in the electric blue of the water. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m so proud of you.”
He drags his feet forward and backward under the water. “Thanks. There’s a lot of work to do, but I can’t wait to get started. And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
I look up at him. “Nate.”
“Wait a minute, okay? Before you say anything, let me.” He looks up at the stars as he gathers his thoughts. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I only like you when you’re sad. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“I was lashing out. I don’t really think that.” I smile feebly. “I know you too, you know.”
He shakes his head. “You were picking up on something real, though. I used to feel like the only times I had anything of value to offer you were the times you were struggling. Like I was one of the few people you were willing to show that side of yourself to, because I was such a miserable ass that you felt comfortable with me in that way. But I couldn’t be any use to you when you were happy, and that meant I didn’t deserve you.”
