“I think it’s reasonable for her to be unsure about this weekend. I mean, what about Collin?”
“What about Collin?”
“How does he feel about this weekend?”
“He doesn’t—” A pit forms in my stomach at the reality that I don’t evenknowwhether Collin is upset about me going with Ren to this wedding instead of him. When Ren told me Amanda was fine with this weekend, however wrong he was, I just assumed Collin was too. I never thought to ask him. I clear my throat. “He doesn’t care.”
“Why not?” Ren asks, confusion in his voice.
“He just…” I trail off. “He knows we’re just friends. We trust each other.” But as I say it, I realize how shallow that statement is. I trust that Collin is a good person, that he’s not dating other people and that he won’t, I don’t know, suddenly turn out to be a wanted criminal. I trust that Collin will go out with me on a Saturday night. I don’t know that I trust him to take care of me while I have mono, or enough for me to call if I have a panic attack,or to somehow anticipate my emotions before I even know they’re coming.
We lapse into silence again. I study Ren’s profile as he looks back up at the stars, all these parts of him I’ve memorized. His thick eyelashes, the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his neck when his head is angled back like this. Even if our relationship is shifting, he’s stillhim.My favorite person. The realization softens something in me.
“I really want you to be happy,” I say. He lowers his gaze to mine. “And, look, I don’tloveyou being so attached to your phone, but if this is you happy, then so be it.”
“I promise I’ll be more present,” Ren says. “Just figuring out a balance.”
I settle farther back into my chair, try to open myself up to this new part of his life. Maybe Ren hasn’t told me more about his romantic life because I haven’t invited him to. But Amanda is different, I can tell. Important. “What do you like so much about her?” I ask.
His mouth lifts at one corner into a half smile. “She doesn’t worry too much about anything,” he says, then quickly adds, when I shoot him a dubious look, “Outside of this weekend.”
“Fair enough,” I say. I take a sip of my champagne.
“I don’t know. She doesn’t second-guess things. I do enough of that for any relationship.”
“You’re cautious,” I say, hackles rising again. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Maybe,” Ren says.
I decide not to press the issue. “What else?”
“She’s funny,” he says, and for some reason, my stomach twists. He nods in my direction. “Tell me what you like about Collin.”
I pretend to think, put my index finger and thumb to my chin, sink into the laugh it prompts out of Ren, triumph racing across my skin. The minute starts to last longer, though, and I still haven’t answered. And Ren isn’t laughing anymore. He’s just watching me, waiting.
“He—” I say, and even though there are a half dozen answers on my tongue, things likehe’s a good cookandhe has cool tattoosandhis apartment is really close to Novo, I can’t get any of them out, like I’ve suddenly lost my voice.
“Seems like he has good taste in music,” Ren says, saving me.
It’s a joke, I know, because I texted him once that Collin had the last playlist he’d sent me on repeat.
“Yeah,” I say. “Great taste in music.”
I had thought what Collin and I had was good. Fun. Easy. And maybe it is all of those things. But as Ren looks back up at the sky, I realize I never once wanted to call Collin just to talk to him this weekend. He didn’t text me just because he missed me, whereas Ren spent most of today on the phone with Amanda just to reassure her. He’ll probably send her a good-morning text tomorrow, head to her place right when he gets back to Portland.
The worst part isn’t that Collin doesn’t do those things. It’s that I didn’t care enough to notice.
When the clouds roll in across the stars, Ren and I walk back to the party. We take our time, our bodies a few feet apart, the music and sounds of people celebrating wafting toward us. When we reach the sphere of light spilling out from the barn, he steps back, waves me through the doors first.
Ren’s question about Collin or, more accurately, my lack of response, follows me inside. I wonder whether I’ll ever find someone I want to text or call all the time. The only person I’ve ever wanted to do that with is Ren. Something about the thought has my hands going numb, nervous energy tingling in my arms. When he looks over at me, I force a smile and give him back his jacket.
* * *
Our goodbye the next day is tougher than I expected. I hold on to Ren a little longer at his gate, pay attention to the exact way his arms squeeze around me right before he lets go, like he wants to remind me that we’re both stillhere, no matter how far away we may be.
On the plane, I get out the vacation book I packed with full intention of reading during some downtime this weekend, just like I’ve had every intention of reading it the past few summers at the vacation house. I’m sure there’s still sand between the pages from when I dropped it on the beach as Ren pulled me up from my chair and dragged me toward the water, where we splashed in up to our knees and then ran back out because it was so cold.
But it’s not sand that falls into my lap when I open it. It’s a strip of photos I’d forgotten about since I wedged them in there as a bookmark. In the first Ren is laughing and I’m staring at the camera with my mouth half-open, and both of us are making faces in the second. I can’t help but smile as I draw my fingers along the edges, remember Claudia and Clark’s wedding just before I left for New York.
