This Summer Will Be Different(91)

“It’s so wild, the things we do for love,” Bridget says, looking right at us, her chin trembling. I put my hand on Felix’s cheek. It’s damp now, like his sister’s. He turns his head and kisses my fingers. “Sometimes where we find it is even wilder.”

Bridget raises her champagne flute, and the rest of the room follows. “To Lucy and Felix and their new home.” She winks at us. “It’s about time.”



* * *



? ? ?

Everyone has cleared out except for the six of us. My family is staying at Salt Cottages, and Christine and Ken are babysitting Rowan at Summer Wind. Bridget and I sit side by side on the back steps. It’s growing dark, but we can see Miles’s and Felix’s silhouettes. They’re lighting a bonfire in the field. Zach and Lana are already settled by the pit, wool blankets across their laps. We’re having a sleepover tonight, although one couple is on an air mattress. Our third bedroom has no furniture.

“This place is unreal, Bee. I can’t believe everything you’ve done,” Bridget says. “You and Wolf are a good team.”

My gaze drifts to Felix. “We are.”

I had a stall at a farmer’s market for two weekends earlier this month. I didn’t have a lot of material, but I managed to pull together bouquets with this year’s annuals. It seemed like a good idea, but it was a lot to take on with the construction and the flower shop. Felix found me crying in the field, one of several of my “I’m in over my head” moments.

He held me and whispered, “You and me, Lucy. We’ve got this.” I focused on the weight of his arms and the smell of his skin, and I knew he was right. We ended up sprawled on the grass, my dress pushed above my waist, his pants around his ankles, laughing and covered in petals. Afterward, Felix watched me arrange a few bouquets, then asked to do some himself. He has a better eye than his sister.

“I didn’t know it would feel so nice,” I say to Bridget now.

“What’s that?”

“Having a partner.” I used to think doing things on my own was the highest of achievements, and it is fulfilling, but asking Felix for help doesn’t make me feel smaller. When I’m with him, anything seems possible. It’s almost drugging, how powerful I feel. How sacred and adored. On the evenings when we’re so tired all we can do is curl up on the couch in silence, Felix reading while I watch TV, I don’t worry that we’re tiptoeing toward monotony. I don’t feel like a piece of furniture. I just feel lucky.

“But I do miss my best friend,” I say. “Another two years Down Under, huh?” She and Miles have decided to extend their stay.

“Yeah, and then back to Toronto, although I’m not sure how I’ll ever cope with winter again.”

“I would prefer you to be right next door, or at least in Charlottetown, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“The flight here will feel like nothing after traveling to and from Australia,” Bridget says. “We’ll come out so often, you’ll be sick of us.”

Felix is crouched, crumpling newspaper and arranging kindling in a pyramid. A flame begins to flicker.

“You better. I caught your brother watching a video tutorial about swing set construction. He’s going to build a playground out there for Rowan and the kids who visit the farm.”

“And for your own kids one day?” Bridget gives me a guilty smile.

“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe not. We’re not really thinking about that yet.” Felix and I have taken the questions of marriage and children off the table, at least for now. I give Bridget a flat look. “Funny, I thought I’d mentioned that to you. On multiple occasions.”

She gives me a sheepish grin. “Noted.” Bridget hops up. “Wait one sec.”

I watch Felix while she’s gone. He’s waited, patient, until the flame burns steady to set small logs onto the fire. I can see his satisfaction in the orange glow. He turns toward me, his eyes finding mine. My stomach dips. It still catches me off guard—how clear his love is—how openly he offers it up.

Bridget returns holding a round wooden tray. On it is a bottle of expensive rye and six glasses that look like vintage crystal. A bag of peanuts is tucked under her arm.

“Your housewarming gift,” she says. “Like old times.”

I rise and kiss her cheek. “Almost.”

When the fire is strong and everyone has a drink, I snuggle on Felix’s lap. The conversation is one born of friends old and new—stories that slip into nostalgia and inside jokes that get translated for those who don’t know them yet.

Bridget forcing Felix and Zach to do her Barbies’ hair.

The night my aunt tried to replicate her favorite restaurant’s pasta alla vodka, and we ended up drunk on the sauce.

Felix stabbing himself with an oyster knife when we met.

“So you really didn’t know who the other was?” Lana asks Felix and me.

“No,” we reply in unison.

“Really?”

“Really,” we say.

“My best friend and my brother. It’s mildly disturbing, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Bridget says.

I throw a peanut at her.

It’s the kind of night where I can feel something lock into place. This is it, I think. This is everything I want.