This Summer Will Be Different(81)

“I don’t want to go another year without talking,” I say. “I want more than an emoji.”

He turns around. “I can do that.”

I nod, and he opens the door. I know this is the part where we say goodbye, but I don’t think I can manage the word. So I lift my arm to wave.

But Felix captures my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “I relish you, Lucy Beth Ashby.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, either.





35





Now





Felix has been gone for ten minutes, but it’s almost like none of it happened, as if it was all too perfect to be real.

My tears are dry. The champagne buzz has faded to nothing. My thoughts have, too. I wash my face and braid my hair and change into my nightgown, numb.

But my sheets smell like him, and as soon as I set my head on my pillow, it comes rushing back. The days Felix and I spent basking in the glow of each other on PEI. Felix lying here next to me last night. Felix squeezing ketchup on my fries. Felix and I kissing on the beach last summer. Felix meeting my aunt, Felix at Thanksgiving, Felix in the bathroom, Felix the first time I saw him. A crackle of blue, a flash of an oyster knife, fast hands, messy hair.

I push him out, but my mind wanders to Bridget. My best friend who’s leaving in two months. I picture Teacup Rock before the hurricane swept it into the ocean. That magnificent red formation of sandstone carried away by the wind. I hear Bridget, whispering, “It feels like things are slipping away.”

And I cry.



* * *



? ? ?

    I awake with a stiff neck and eyes that feel like sandpaper. I head directly to the coffee machine, and while it brews, I text Bridget. She’s packing for her honeymoon today, but I need my best friend.


Do you have time to come over? Or if not, then a call?



Bridget shows up that evening, a grocery bag in her hands. She holds it up. “I brought ice cream.

“I’ve already talked to Wolf, but I want to hear from you what happened,” she says when we’re on the couch, bowls of Moose Tracks on our laps.

“He ended things.” The back of my nose starts to tingle. I shake my head. Then take a deep breath. Bridget squeezes my shoulder. “Or I guess we both did.”

“He put it differently. He used the word ‘breather.’?”

“Maybe that’s what it is. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I do think I need some time. I can’t go on the way I have been—I don’t want to dread going into work. I don’t want to lie in a puddle of my own tears when you go to Australia because I have no other friends to spend time with. Part of me still wants to get on a plane to the island and never come back, but I know that would only make things worse. For me, and for Felix. I really like him, Bridget.”

Her smile is soft. “I know you do.”

“I want to make it work, but I know that would be impossible if he’s worried I’m a flight risk. And I guess I can admit that it isn’t an ideal time for me to jump into a relationship with everything that’s going on at work. He’d probably feel ignored the way Carter did.”

“That doesn’t sound like Wolf. Nor does it sound like you.” She studies me. “I haven’t seen you this worked up about a guy before.”

“No,” I say. “Me neither.”

“Have you talked to him today?”

I shake my head. “I’m a little nervous to get in touch. I’m afraid he won’t write back or that he’ll be cold. What if he was breaking up with me in the gentlest way possible, and I never hear from him again?”

Bridget laughs. “I’m sorry,” she says. “But I saw Wolf. I know that’s not what happened. You should reach out. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”

Bridget hums. “It’s not a bad plan, you know? To take some time to think about yourself—what you want, what you need—that can only be a good thing. I approve. And if it makes you feel better,” Bridget says, “my mom gave Wolf an earful when he told us what happened. Apparently she doesn’t believe in ‘breathers.’ And you know what Christine Clark is like when she’s salty.”

That does make me feel better. “How many horse shits?”

“All of them,” Bridget says. “I think she ran out.”

My apartment seems quieter than ever once Bridget leaves. She’s not moving for another two months, but I can feel her absence already. It’s only when I’m serving myself another bowl of ice cream that I remember her offer to keep helping me with the flower shop. It nags at me as I braid my hair before bed. I’m lucky my best friend has acted as my professional safety net, but I’ve been running In Bloom for more than three years—I should be my own safety net.

I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve been running for too long. I need space to ask myself big questions and quiet so I can hear the answers. I need a fresh start.

But I don’t need it right now. Right now I need my bed.



* * *



? ? ?

The following day, Farah takes Sylvia for her afternoon walk and returns with coffee. We sit at the table, the dog’s muzzle on my foot, and she tells me for the sixth or seventh time how smoothly everything ran while I was gone.