Just Friends(30)

“Are you reading from a list?” I demand.

“Maybe,” he says, faux shyness creeping into his voice.

I shake my head, but then the answer hits me. I contemplate choosing a lighter one, but I can’t think of a decoy in time. So out it comes. “I’d probably ask if I’ll ever see my dad again.”

The darkness has gone from navy blue to nearly black except for the subtle glow of the moonlight. If the world didn’t feel so still, I don’t think I’d have offered this level of candor.

Declan rolls onto his side in the sand, facing me with his head on his bicep.

“You know,” his voice is soft, like an outstretched hand inviting me in. “It’s on your dad for never coming back. Not you.”

I stare at a specific star in the sky, scared of how my face will betray me if I look at him.

“Yeah, I know,” I choke out. “I just think—” I press my lips together.

“You just think what?”

“I know my dad is the only one to blame for his actions. But knowing something and believing it are two different things.”

I feel Declan’s meaningful stare on the side of my face, but I don’t turn. If I meet his eyes and see sadness in them, I’ll stop saying how I really feel. And it feels good to say it out loud for once.

“You blame yourself?” Declan says it like a fact. “For how he left you and your mom. You’ve somehow deduced that it was your fault?”

“Well,” I huff, turning to meet his eyes finally. “It sounds so wrong when you put it like that. But when you’re five and no one is telling you what’s going on, it’s only natural to make up your own conclusion. Even if the information you’ve gathered with your tiny mind is incorrect.”

“Hey,” Declan protests. “My five-year-old brain loved your tiny mind. As unformed as it was, it was responsible for all your cute little expressions.”

My mouth splits into a smile.

“But in all seriousness, I know what you mean. About knowing something is true but not believing it. You came to the false conclusion that there was something about you that caused your dad to leave, and you started believing that so long ago, it’s hard to spontaneously not believe it anymore. Even with your grown-up brain.” He taps the side of my temple playfully. I laugh and then his expression becomes grave again. “But, Blair, someone who chose to leave you must be the stupidest man in the entire world. There’s just no other explanation.”

The corners of my lips wobble and I have to smash them together to prevent my chin from trembling too. “That’s what you said our freshman year too.”

“Hah,” he laughs. “I must still be bad at comforting you then.”

“No,” I say quietly as I relax my head into the sand and stare at the sky again. “You’re very good at it.”

He must know I’ve laid down to avoid being looked at while I fight grateful tears, so he joins me in looking at the sky.

“I don’t know if your dad is in your future, but I know I will be,” he says, voice husky like it’s been forced from his throat. “If you let me be.”

“Of course I will.” There’s nothing I want more, I don’t add.

We let the tender hope of it lay between us. The twinkling stars and whispering ocean are our only witnesses.

“I would like to know what I’m doing for work at the age of forty,” he says abruptly.

I chuckle, his sudden way of talking has always been my favorite. “Why forty? And why work?” I ask.

“Because,” he says. “If I do end up making it to the NFL, it’s not a career that lasts your entire life. Unless you’re Tom Brady and you play football until you’re, like, eighty. But sometimes, I get scared that I don’t have my finger on the pulse of anything other than football. I don’t know what I’d find myself doing once I didn’t have to think about it twenty-four seven. Which is kind of destabilizing, you know?” he finishes with effort, punctuating each word.

“Hmm,” I muse, craving a deflection from the rising panic of where we’ll be in that many years. We don’t even know where we’re going to college. “First of all, you will make it to the NFL, and second, anyone who uses the word ‘destabilizing’ in a casual sentence is smart enough to figure out what to do with their time.”

His eyes dart down to my mouth, half-smirking as I wait for his chuckle. After it arrives, I take a more sincere approach. “You’re too creative to stay bored for long. You like engineering, right? You could build stuff.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he says, more so to himself like he’s rolling the thought over in his mind. “Not a bad idea at all.”

The seed of doubt worms its way back to the forefront of my mind. I don’t want to put a damper on our first date by thinking so far into the future, but we’ve already applied to colleges. Don’t we need to put some forethought into how we’ll last past high school?

“Declan,” I start, unable to push off the racing thoughts. “How is this going to work if we go to different colleges?”

“We applied to a lot of the same ones, right?” he replies, not missing a beat.

“It’s just that…” I peter off, realizing I’m in danger of souring the mood.