Page 87 of Late Fees

“It’s different,” Tilly said softly as she surveyed the room.

“Yeah, the renters painted it. I’ll probably repaint this summer. Olive green isn’t exactly my thing.”

“I get it,” Tilly said, taking off her sweater and hanging it on the doorknob of my small closet. “Same comforter, though.”

“Yep,” I said.

“Brings back memories,” she said, the mystery in her eyes pulling me in like a magnet. I was dying to know what she was thinking, feeling, wanting.

“Yep,” I said. “Definitely.”

“Is it weird being back?”

“In my house or back in the U.S.?

“Either…both.”

“Yeah, kinda. But then, it’s also a little like muscle memory…for the brain.”

“Huh?”

“You know, like riding a bike. You could go a few years without doing it, and then you hop on and just start pedaling.”

“Yeah, I get that, but not understanding the analogy.”

“Living here, being here…it’s like riding a bike. I got used to Norway, sure, but this is my home. This is where I belong.”

Tilly nodded, giving me a genuine smile. “Speaking of which—do you have photos and stuff from Norway? I’ve never been…obviously.”

“Sure, yeah. I don’t have a lot, though, because well, I’m a guy,” I said with an awkward laugh. “But I have some pictures with my classmates and stuff.”

Without thinking, I knelt down on the floor and reached underneath my bed, pulling out the large shoebox that held my memories from Norway. But I forgot about one thing that was in that box…until it was too late. The top was off the box, and all the color drained from Tilly’s cheeks.

“What’s that?” she asked, placing her hand inside the box and moving a few stacks of photos aside. She then pulled out the wrinkled bakery bag with grease marks absorbed into the material, making the bottom translucent.

I’d forgotten it was in there.

Goddamnit. Way to go, Wyatt.

I swallowed hard, willing my voice to stay casual, unaffected, aloof. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Wyatt, what is this?”

“I told you, it’s nothing. Just shove it under the rest of the stuff.” I grabbed a stack of photos, my heart thumping in my chest and my stomach doing flip-flops. “Here are some pictures—”

“No. I want to know if that’s what I think it is.”

“And what do you think it is?” I asked, trying to sound annoyed, trying desperately not to feel like my heart was on the outside of my freaking body. But it was. I was completely exposed.

“I think…I think maybe I gave that to you…years ago.”

Feeling stuck and embarrassed, I sighed. “I forgot it was in there.”

“Wyatt.”

I nodded and closed my eyes. “The apple fritters you brought me—they were in there.”

She waved the paper bag. “And you kept this? Why?”

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