Maybe it’s the quiet of the lake, or the fact that Ethan’s not looking at me, just staring out at the water. Maybe I’m just tired of carrying it all. Whatever the reason, I find myself talking.
“CalTech wants me to visit. Meet the faculty, tour the labs.”
“Dude, that’s huge!” He turns to me, then catches my expression. “Why aren’t you excited?”
I watch the birds disappear behind trees. “It’s what I wanted. Everything I’ve worked for.”
“But?”
“But...” I struggle for words. “It feels hollow now. Like getting everything I thought I wanted just to realize it’s not enough.”
“Because it’s missing something. Or someone.”
I don’t answer, but Ethan doesn’t seem to need me to.
“You know what’s funny?” He casts his line again. “I think I might be better at people than you.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious.” He sets his rod down, turning to face me. “You’re running away because you think you’re protecting her. Because you think you’re just like your family, that you’ll hurt her like they hurt people. But here’s the thing—you picking her happiness over yours? That’s exactly what makes you different from them.”
The words hit harder than I expect. “It’s not that simple.”
“It could be.” He shrugs. “If you’d stop being such a martyr about it.”
“I got her fired.”
“Because you couldn’t stand seeing her hurt. Was it the right way to handle it? No. But your instinct wasn’t to protect the family name or make a problem disappear. It was to protect her.”
I think about my mother’s offer, about how easily she tried to buy Tara off. “I don’t want to be like them.”
“Then don’t be.” Ethan’s voice is gentle. “But pushing everyone away? That’s exactly what a Spencer would do.”
We sit in silence for a while, watching the sun start to set. Finally, Ethan says, “Her birthday party’s Friday. At Moe’s.”
My chest tightens. “Troy?—”
“Will get over it. Eventually.” He grins. “Might want to wear a cup though, just in case.”
Despite everything, I laugh. Ethan looks absurdly pleased with himself.
“When did you get so wise?” I ask.
“Please. I’ve always been wise. You all just assume I’m an idiot because I’m actually funny. And probably because I tried to do an all weeker that one time in freshman year.”
“You succeeded.”
I remember it now, Ethan looked crazed after 72 hours without sleep. We still dispute his claim that he lasted the whole week.
“Exactly! Dedication and follow-through. That’s wisdom, baby.”
The birds are back, swooping low over the water. For the first time in weeks, something in my chest loosens.
Tara would love it here. Not just for the obvious beauty, but because she’d find a dozen tiny details to get excited about - the way one bird flies slightly crooked, how the water ripples in patterns that probably remind her of some obscure fossil formation.
I miss that the most, how she notices everything, finds wonder in details everyone else overlooks. How she’s so unapologetically herself. She’s brilliant in this unconventional way, making connections I’d never see, asking questions that make me look at my research differently. And somehow, she does it all while dancing around my lab in glittery boots, completely unafraid to take up space in my carefully ordered world.
The worst part is how much I miss making her laugh. How she draws out parts of myself I didn’t know existed - makes me want to be funnier, more open, morereal. Shesees through every wall I’ve built, every defense I’ve perfected, and instead of running away, she just grins and asks more questions.
