The man stops in his tracks and ungracefully drops to one knee on the wet sand. The woman gasps and slaps her palm over her mouth. They’re too far away for me to eavesdrop on the man’s proposal speech, but I can only imagine the sappy words spilling from his trembling lips.
I grimace and avert my eyes back to the lake. I hate romance.
Okay, fine. Maybe that’s not entirely true. I like theideaof love. I like the thought of having a boyfriend—even though I’ve never had one.
But the painfully hard truth is that I’m far too busy raising my sister and supporting my depressed mother to maintain a relationship. What would I even have left to give to someone else? I’d be a shitty boyfriend.
Not to mention the fact that nobody here knows I’m gay. In a small town like Claremont Shores, being different makes you a target, and I’ve already got enough stacked against me.
So I swallow it down. The wanting. The loneliness. The aching desire for someone to look at me the way that girl is looking at her soon-to-be fiancé right now.
It’s just easier to be alone.
***
Tonight is the annual Claremont Shores sailboat parade. Every year after sunset, hundreds of residents and tourists crowd the pier to watch rich snobs glide past in their glittering, overdecorated sailboats.
Maybe I’m prejudiced against boat owners, but I despise their smug, preppy attitudes. Something about their khaki shorts and forced laughter makes my skin crawl. I had no intentions of going this year, until Maddie asked if she could go with her friends. So now I’m their chauffeur and chaperone.
Lucky me.
After my lifeguard shift ends, I drive back to the trailer park while listening to the radio. My fingers drum on the steering wheel with the windows rolled down, letting the wind whip through my shoulder-length brown hair. It always lightens in the summer, streaked with honey-colored highlights.
Back home, I change into something more appropriate. I know my body checks most of the boxes people seem to care about—broad shoulders, tan skin, chiseled muscles—but the parade is a family event. Exposed lifeguard abs probably aren’t welcome.
I search through my closet and pull on a pair of black jeans. I toss on a white T-shirt with a green hoodie overtop. In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my freckles scattered across my nose and cheeks—a visible reminder of long hours spent at the beach.
Maddie barges in without knocking, groaning dramatically. “Thank God, you’refinallyhome. We’re gonna be late for the parade! Hurry up.”
“Relax, Mads. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“We have to pick up Bella and Leah,” Maddie reminds me, snatching my keys off the top of my dresser. She tosses them to me with urgency, and I catch them midair.
I ruffle her hair playfully. She swats my hand away with a scowl.
“Alright, goofball. C’mon,” I say, steering her toward the front door.
In the living room, we pass Mom asleep on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. She sleeps a lot these days. Her depression has become brutal over the past few months, worsened by her love of booze. Most days, it’s a struggle just to get her to eat.
“Bye, Mom,” Maddie whispers as she kisses her cheek.
Mom’s eyelashes flutter at the contact, but she doesn’t respond. She readjusts her position on the couch and yanks the knitted blanket further up her body to cover her face. Maddie just pats her shoulder sympathetically.
The amount of patience and grace Maddie gives our mom never fails to amaze me.
“Alright, then. Let’s go,” Maddie says with a tired sigh, dragging me out the door.
***
As I expected, the pier is packed when we arrive. The sailboat parade is one of the few events each year that draws tourists to Claremont Shores. Food trucks are stationed in the parking lot, offering sugarybeverages and deep-fried foods. The scents of cinnamon dough and fresh coffee wafts through the air.
Pale moonlight glimmers on the lake as it laps against the shore. Sailboats glide past in a slow procession, decked out in string lights and blasting music from onboard speakers. The crowd cheers and snaps photos with their phones.
Maddie and her friends stand on their tiptoes, but the wall of heads blocks their view.
“Let’s get a better spot,” Maddie tells her friends as she starts to push through the crowd.
I reach out and catch her wrist. She whirls back at me with an icy expression.
