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“Okay,” she says as we walk to the line behind a kid buying candy.
“Gosh, this brings back memories.”
“It does.” She looks melancholy as we stand there. I try to grab her stare as she looks at the rocky sand. “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, nothing. Actually—” She punches a finger in the air. “It feels like no time has passed. Like obviously a lot of time has passed, but it also feels like it’s always been like this?”
“It does.” I press my lips together, wondering if I should say it. Screw it. “It’s always been easy. Being with you.”
“I agree.”
“I think we have this co-parenting thing down. I mean, I like you.”
“You do?” Emily asks.
“I do. You know,” I say, “I was so mad at you for not reaching out, but my phone wasn’t working, and I had your email wrong. This was my fault.”
“No, Max—”
“No, Em, it was.” Before I called her Martini, I called her Em. My use of her nickname parts her lips, and it makes me wants to push her against the snack bar’s wall and devour her mouth.
“What can I get you?” the teenage employee asks, interrupting our conversation. I order two Diet Cokes, then hand a sweating can to Emily. Anything to break this tension.
“To being kid-free,” I say, knocking our cans together.
“To being kid-free,” she says, her face growing sadder. She pauses, and I drink my soda, the liquid cool on my hot throat. It’s warm out today, with the highs in the nineties. Emily’s hair is wild around her face, and I want to push it away and lay one on her.
She’s quiet until she blurts out, “I broke up with Burke.”
“You did? Why?” I’m trying not to let a smile creep onto my face.
“I just didn’t feel…enough for him.”
I shove my hands in my shorts. You can’t smile at this.
“That’s too bad.”
“It is. Burke is a nice guy. Hopefully, he finds someone who, you know, can make him happy.”
I kick a rock with my shoe and take a drink.
Emily elbows me. “Why do you look so smug?”
“I’m not being smug.”
“That’s a smug face.” She swirls her finger around my nose.
“It’s just…you’ve always felt like mine, even if you weren’t.”
“Oh, really,” Emily says, reaching out to tickle my side.
“Not fair, Em.”
“Good to see you’re still ticklish.” I wiggle out of her grasp, her fingers feeling like ants on my skin.
Two kids run between us, and a little bit of soda spills out onto Emily’s arm. Dark brown liquid runs down her bicep onto her forearm. I consider offering my tongue to lick it off. She’s a free woman; I’m a free man.
But I’ll wait for crystal-clear signals that she’s interested again.
