Love You More(15)

* * *



— That night, my parents hosted a small party for the neighborhood graduates. It wasn’t fancy: a red plastic tablecloth on the picnic table, a cluster of Mylar balloons, and a Costco sheet cake. The adults gathered on the patio, and my friends and I moved into the yard. We drank beers from the cooler while our parents pretended not to notice.

Mick showed up later, after stopping by another party. I watched as he said hello to my parents, then joined us around the firepit. It had been ages since he’d hung out with my friends. I took his hand in mine as the group stared at us in surprise.

“So,” I said. “Mick and I are dating now.”

Eliot looked at Erin. “Did you know?”

“Of course I did! And by the way—I called this four years ago!”

“Wow,” Sam said to Erin. “You really are a vault.”

She put on a smug smile, then raised her Solo cup. “To happy endings!”

We all lifted our beers. Mick’s smile caught mine.

“And to next chapters,” he said, his voice low but certain.

The glow of the flames painted his face in amber, softening the sharp lines I’d memorized years before.



* * *



— That summer felt enchanted—like one long golden hour. We spent weekends at the lake, went to Brewers games, and hung out on Erin’s porch. Sometimes, the three of us would just drive around, Mick and I holding hands up front while Erin rode in the middle backseat, belting out ballads like “Purple Rain” and “End of the Road.”

One night, we made a late run to Taco Bell, sitting in the parking lot eating and talking.

“Ever think about getting a tattoo?” Erin asked.

“It’s crossed my mind,” Mick said.

I looked at him, surprised. He didn’t seem like a tattoo guy. “What would you get?”

“Maybe Maeve’s initials.”

“That’s so sweet,” Erin said.

“Yeah,” I said, laughing. “I can’t fathom getting my brother’s initials.”

“What about you?” Mick asked Erin.

“I’d love to get something cute and small like a shooting star or a butterfly,” she said. “What about you, Billie?”

“I doubt I’d ever get one. It feels…too permanent. What are the chances I’m going to want the same tattoo now that I’d want at thirty or forty?”

“Forty?” Erin said. “Why are you worrying about forty? We’ll be so old by then it won’t matter.”

It was one way Erin and I differed. I was making decisions for my forty-year-old self. She was living in the moment.

Later that night, as we curled up in her bed for one of our last summer sleepovers, she sighed and said, “I wish I’d gotten into Madison.”

“Minnesota will be great. You and Lucy will have a blast.”

“I know, but it won’t be the same. You’re like a sister to me.”

“Once you pledge, you’ll have a hundred sisters.” I smiled.

Erin sighed again and said, “I’m serious, Billie. I’m sad.”

My mind raced, trying to think of something comforting to tell her, knowing I’d feel the same if I were going to college without Mick or her.

“Remember what you told me on the first day of high school? On the bus ride home?”

“No. What brilliant advice might that have been?”

“You said to try new things, put yourself out there, don’t play it safe,” I said, paraphrasing.

She smiled faintly. “Gosh, I was wise.”

“You sure were. Still are. And I think we need to follow that advice now,” I said. “Whatever we do, we need to give it our all. Make the next four years count.”

“Just promise we’ll always be close.”

“I promise,” I said.

“Pinkie swear?” she said, holding up her hand.

“Pinkie swear,” I said as we linked our little fingers.



* * *



— The night before Erin left for college, she, Mick, and I sat on her porch with a deck of cards, a bottle of Malibu, and three shot glasses. Erin kept trying to teach us some convoluted drinking game, while Mick and I kept deliberately messing it up. Eventually, we were all doubled over with laughter.

For a second, I looked at her face in the soft lamplight—her freckles glowing, her hair wild—and I wanted to grab hold of the moment, stretch it out, keep it from slipping away.

The next day, she and I stood in her driveway under a heavy gray sky. Joan’s car was packed to the gills with pillows, storage bins, and laundry baskets filled with clothes. Erin shifted from foot to foot, her mouth twisting like she was trying to hold everything in.

“I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

“Only for now,” I said, blinking fast.

We hugged hard. Her shampoo smelled fruity and sweet.

“We’ll talk all the time,” I said. “I mean it.”

We hooked pinkies one final time before she climbed into the front seat, where Joan had been patiently waiting.

I watched as the car pulled away, arms dangling at my sides, wondering how I could already feel homesick when I was still home.