Then she saw her mother standing not far off, smiling at a stranger with shaggy sideburns and a vest but no shirt. He handed her a square of something wrapped in foil. Leanne unwrapped it with polite curiosity, already lifting the brownie to her mouth.
Nora’s reflexes kicked in like a cat spotting a bird.
“Wait!” Nora cried, lunging through the crowd and snatching the dessert from her mother’s hand just a fraction of an inch before it hit her lips.
“What in the world—?” Leanne pressed a hand to her chest.
Nora held the treat up, sniffed once, and then flung it dramatically into the grass. “That is not a church potluck brownie.”
Leanne frowned at first, not understanding, and then her eyes widened. “Was that…?”
“Pot. Weed. Jazz cabbage. Whatever you want to call it.” Nora planted her hands on her hips. “Do you want to hallucinate a talking dog? Because that’s how we get a talking dog.”
Leanne stared for a beat—then burst into laughter. Genuine, wheezing, shoulders-shaking laughter.
“You’re enjoying this,” Nora accused, but she was laughing too. It was ridiculous. The whole summer was ridiculous.
And perfect.
A line of Hula-Hoop dancers traipsed by and Nora cheered them on.
Even the clouds overhead roiled and darkened with a threat tobreak up the fun, but no one seemed to care. Thunder cracked like a bass drum, and still, the people danced.
Nora closed her eyes. Let the sound wash through her bones. Let the beat settle into the hollows of her chest. She didn’t think about Yale. Or home. Or the fact that in less than two months, she’d be surrounded by ivy-covered buildings and boys in blazers trying to argue about politics and philosophy. None of that mattered right now.
Right now, her feet were on the earth. Her voice was belting the chorus. Her mother was beside her, singing off-key. And her heart beat louder than the music.
This wasn’t how she’d expected to spend the summer before college. And she’d been bitter at first about missing the lake days with her girlfriends, mourned the loss of a few flirty kisses with someone who smelled like Coppertone and ambition. She thought she’d ease into adulthood like dipping toes in a pool with one last carefree, friend-filled summer.
But instead, she’d been catapulted through late-night motel rooms, jukebox diners, surprise rock concerts, and emotional-whiplash conversations with a mother she was only just beginning to see as human.
And despite what she’d been sure would happen—endless disappointment and resentment—the opposite had.
Nora was alive in a way she hadn’t been before. Unguarded. Unfiltered. Unfolding.
And somewhere in this massive crowd, Joe was out there. With ink-stained fingers. With something clever to say. And if she saw him again, there was a good chance she’d tell him that she’d started to write too. That she had a notebook full of lines she hadn’t yet dared to read aloud.
But for now, she sang. Danced. Let herself be young and infinite.
Thunder clashed overhead as if the sky had started its own rock band, the clouds on drums pounding out a beat so fierce it made thereal band hesitate for just a breath. The electric hum of the amps buzzed through the heavy air, waiting for someone—anyone—to call it.
But no one said a word.
And then, as if the sky itself couldn’t help but join the chorus, the heavens opened wide.
Rain poured down in sheets, fat and relentless, turning hair into wet ropes and shirts translucent. Nora might’ve sprinted for cover in New York, shrieking about her mascara and her hair. Her mother too—prim, polished, poised—probably would’ve insisted they find shelter before a single drop ruined her perfectly ironed clothes and sensible shoes.
But not here.
Not now.
They just looked at each other and smiled like fools. Full-body, soul-bursting smiles that started in the chest and worked their way out. Together, they tilted their faces toward the sky, arms raised, mouths open.
The crowd whooped and cheered collectively like they’d all decided getting drenched was the most liberating experience they’d ever had. Some of the guys stripped off their shirts—some of the girls too—and used them as flags. Mud squelched underfoot, toes digging into the earth.
Nora’s feet sunk into the saturated lawn. The grass squished between her toes, warm and messy and wonderful. There was something raw and elemental about it, like touching the skin of the world.
She looked over and saw her mother—Leanne, who vacuumed in pearls—twirling. Actually twirling. Her damp linen blouse clung to her torso, her hair darkened by rain and dripping, and her face lit up like she’d just remembered what it meant to feel.
