First Summer
Gabe and Zoey broke up just before college graduation, and everything was ruined. Perhaps more accurately, Zoey cheated on Gabe just before college graduation, and noteverythingwas ruined, butwewere. The five of us—Zoey, Gabe, Davi, Laurel, and me—could never be the same again.
We’d been planning the trip to Malibu for months, a way to bridge the gap between our three years spent living together in the little brick house on the corner across from campus and our departure to different places; new jobs, the next steps in our lives that would take us away from each other.
But Zoey was officially uninvited after Laurel and I walked into our house to find her naked with a guy that was very muchnotGabe on the couch thatIbought for us with the scant savings from my bakery job. We had to watch in horror as the olive-green fabric undulated beneath them, both entirely unaware of our presence until Laurel—out of sheer panic, I think—hurled her untouched coffee at them, effectively ending both the act they were currently engaged in and the short life of the couch. Not that I wanted anything some stranger’s bare ass had been so thoroughly ground into.
Gabe was bringing someone new on the trip to fill the spaceZoey left behind in our group. An old friend none of us had met, going on the trip that was supposed to be our last hurrah together. And of course he could, because Gabe was heartbroken, but I was still nervous about it. About someone new.
Davi, Laurel, and I drove up to the resort we’d booked back in February when the idea was first born, Gabe a few hours behind, catching a ride with his friend.
“Coastal cottages, my ass,” Davi said after we’d checked in at the main building (Spanish Revival, red blooms dripping down every surface, a man who didn’t look too happy to see us) and made our way along a winding, narrow road to the row of tiny pastel-colored cottages tucked along the beach.
Laurel’s drooping Herschel duffel landed on the ground with a loud thwack as it dropped from her shoulder. She and Davi squinted at the structure in front of us, which was drooping about as much as Laurel’s bag, the roof missing more than a few shingles and the faded blue siding several years in need of a good power wash.
“It’s cute,” I told them, waving a hand at the little flower boxes beneath the windows, out of which some hearty Southern Californian succulents grew. The effect was a little unnerving, like you might lean out a window hoping to pluck some rosemary from an herb box and instead wind up with a stab wound to your thumb, but to me, it spelled effort. Someone had tried to pretty this place up, even if it wasn’t in obvious ways.
“Cute,” Laurel repeated, her pert nose wrinkling. Five feet of pure energy, Laurel is still someone my Uncle Hank routinely describes as “spunky,” a buzzing whirlwind of ideas who swept me up our freshman year of college and hasn’t let go since. She is one of a very small handful of people I have let into my life and let stay, Davi and Gabe included. As such, I would do anything for her, including trying to convince her that the cottage,the front door of which was a little offset on its hinges, was the coastal getaway of her recently graduated dreams.
“Come on,” I said, slinging an arm around both of their shoulders. “Let’s pick our rooms before Gabe gets here.”
“Gabe andwhoever,” Davi said. “Why does he get to bring someone again?”
“Because Gabe just had his heart shattered,” I reminded him as I jiggled the doorknob until it gave. “And this guy is his friend.”
“We’rehis friends,” Davi said. “This trip is supposed to beourthing.”
“Stop being so whiny,” Laurel told him as we stepped into the cottage. “You’ll probably love him. Besides, we need a fifth.”
“Not the best way to put that,” Davi muttered as I flipped on the lights and spread my arms in ata-da!motion, though I’d never actually been to the cottage and had no real idea what, exactly, I was presenting.
It was better than the outside, at least. Small, not much more than one big open space, a bedroom downstairs and a loft with bunk beds and one twin, and a closet of a bathroom tucked into one corner, but it was cozy. There was a small vinyl-topped banquette table next to a Pullman kitchen that would serve our purposes that week, and out back—Laurel gasping and clapping her hands together as she shot toward it—a deck bigger than the whole of the house.
“Look at this,” she breathed as she yanked the doors open, letting in a cool burst of sea breeze. I dropped my bag on the orange twill couch and followed her outside. She was standing at the top of the set of steps that led down to the beach, the bottom one buried in the sand. She glanced over hershoulder at me and Davi as we joined her. “This will make Gabe feel better.”
We looked out at the white-capped waves crashing in, at beachgoers wandering or finding places to settle in to enjoy the late-afternoon warmth, until Davi broke the silence with what we were all thinking. “I’m so pissed at Zoey.”
I sighed, exchanging a look with Laurel before resignedly agreeing. “Me too.” A hot, angry point needled at me, a reminder of everything this trip was supposed to be up until a mere forty-eight hours ago. We’d still have a good week, but it—and college graduation—would now be forever tinged by what happened.
The worst part, aside from Gabe’s complete heartbreak, was the fact that Zoey had been the fifth person in our tight-knit group of friends. Gabe and Zoey officially declared their love for each other at the end of freshman year, and only then after a lot of discussion and agonizing over the fate of our friend group should things ever go south between them. None of us had seen any reason to worry: They were perfect together. Until, it turned out, they weren’t.
Gabe had told us in his trademark sweetheart way that he didn’t want this to tear us apart, that we should all still be friends with Zoey if we wanted, but we’d all felt betrayed by what she’d done to him, too. By what it meant for all of us.
Even so, it was strange not having her there.It’s a little lopsided without her, isn’t it?Gabe had asked me just the previous night, our last in the house. I’d nodded, but in reality, I didn’t know if I totally agreed.
Yes, it felt off. But somehow, what she’d done hadn’t surprised me. I was livid, to be sure, but I understood, on a fundamental level, that most people would disappoint you. It was just a matter of time until Zoey did something to screw up whathad been her perfect track record. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t have happily thrown her to the sharks for Gabe. But it did mean she’d just lived up to what I already knew was her inevitable potential.
“Maybe the friend Gabe is bringing is hot,” Laurel said.
“Laurel, no,” I said. “What did wejustlearn? None of us should be dating ourfriends.”
“But what if he’sdreamy?” Laurel asked. I scoffed.
“I don’t care if he’s Ryan Gosling. This trip is not about romance.”
“What if he’s Idris Elba?” Laurel asked. I ignored her in favor of grabbing Davi’s hand and dragging him toward the sand. “Oscar Isaac?” she called after us. I broke into a jog with Davi, headed straight to the water. “Sutton!” she shouted. “What if he’sliterallyAragorn shoving the doors open inThe Two Towers? You wouldn’t evenconsiderhim then?”
“Aragorn is taken!” I called over my shoulder, just as she sprinted after us and we splashed into the water, the sun sparkling off of it everywhere.
