The Shippers(72)

Maybe if I hadn’t been wearing yesterday’s clothes, and maybe if Cooper weren’t so shockingly, nothing-like-I’d-ever-imagined angry, and maybe if I hadn’t stayed up half the night desperately not thinking about what appalling things Cooper might be up to … maybe I could have navigated this moment better.

If I’d been thinking even a tiny bit more clearly, maybe things could’ve sorted themselves out.

But I couldn’t think clearly. My brain was wobbling off its axis. Things were all out of order. I hadn’t even sorted out yesterday, much less gotten clear on this morning.

What I should have done was calmly explain to him the most important thing: I had not just slept with Finn. I’d only let him kiss me.

It wouldn’t be news to Cooper, of course, if he’d watched it happen.

But what might be news to Cooper—what might be really vital information right now—was that enduring a kiss that I did not want from Finn only clarified to me what, and who, I did want.

Looking back: It was so obviously crucial to say that—ASAP.

That was just basic triage.

But that’s not what I did in the blur of it all.

I guess I was trying to start at the beginning? Trying to create order by going chronologically? Without considering that I might never make it to the end?

“Look,” I said, “I need you to understand that we should have won that dance contest last night. It was totally unfair for Finn to just strut in at the end and take a prize he hadn’t even competed for.”

Cooper just turned and leaned out over the balcony like he was longing to take flight. “You think I care about winning a fake dance contest?”

“And I never should have let him drag me out of there like that,” I went on, talking to Cooper’s profile. “He just—did it. And, true—I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want to go with him, but I also didn’t fight him. But”—how to explain?—“I have unfinished business with that guy! You have to understand how big that first kiss was in my life. It meant much more to me than it should have, yes—but I can’t change that. I mean, I could replay the whole thing for you second-by-second in slo-mo and include every detail—from the ambulance siren in the distance to the sound of girls jump-roping twenty feet away. That whole three-minute segment of my life is indelibly tattooed on my brain. I remember the exact weight of his hands on my shoulders. The precise rhythm of his breathing. The scent of his grape-flavored bubble gum. Not to mention the tragic spasms of joy that my heart lapsed into as soon as he got close. I could pick that kiss out of a lineup. I’d know that kiss anywhere.”

“Really?” Cooper said, now turning to face me. “You’d know that kiss anywhere?”

Why was this making Cooper madder?

His chest rose and fell. His neck pulsed. His shoulders rounded, like an ape or something. And he was, I think any witness would agree, positively glowering.

“What?” I said. “I’m just trying to explain to you that the kiss he gave me was a huge, massive big deal in my life. I know I haven’t been making the best decisions, and maybe I’ve been giving Finn more benefits of more doubts than he ever deserved, but I wasn’t just being stubborn—or stupid. I wasn’t just being a pain in the ass for no reason. We’re talking about life-defining stuff here.”

Cooper took a step closer.

I reread his face. Was it anger? Or just—intensity?

“That,” Cooper said, “is what I wanted to tell you yesterday.”

“What?” I asked.

“That kiss? That life-defining kiss?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“That kiss that you can’t let go of—or forget?”

“Yeah?”

“The kiss that ruined your life? The one that’s had us trailing around after that dumb douchebag this whole week? The one you imprinted on so hard that you’ll never be able to love anybody in your whole life other than the one guy who gave it to you?”

This felt like a lot of buildup. I waved my hands, like Hurry up. “Yeah?”

Cooper looked straight into my eyes. “That was me.”





Twenty-Four


I FORGOT TO breathe for a second. The wind on our cabin balcony thrashed all around me.

But then I shook my head. “No. It was Finn.”

“It was me.”

What was Cooper doing right now? “It wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” Cooper demanded. “You had a blindfold on.”

“Because,” I said, digging in, “Finn was the one who got the dare.”

Cooper squinted. “Why does that prove he’s the one who did it?”

“Because!” I said, like that was a legitimate answer.

Because this was a bedrock, unchangeable fact of my life. This was a basic cornerstone of my personality. This was what I’d believed for almost twenty years. Cooper couldn’t just go around changing facts! It was like he’d said my parents weren’t my parents. Or the sun rose in the west. Or the sky was made of water. Some things just were what they were—and you couldn’t alter them without altering everything else.

I like to think of myself as somewhat mentally nimble.

But in this moment, under these circumstances? I just wasn’t.