“Funny,” Laurel says after a while. “I was going to say that what happens to all of us is the thing I’m most looking forward to.”
I smile over at her, find her hand and squeeze it. “Me too.”
“Same,” Gabe says.
“I was going to say this wine bar opening down the street from me, but that too,” Davi says, Gabe knocking the end of his beer bottle against his knee as we all laugh.
I look over at Everett. “I think there’s a lot to look forward to when it comes to us,” I say. The fingers we’ve had resting against each other in the sand press a little closer. “I don’t think we need to worry.”
He smiles before he lifts his water toward the fire. “To us, then,” he says, and we all follow suit, lifting our bottles in a toast and echoing his words.
“To every good thing that hasn’t happened yet,” I add.
It’s as good an ending to this week as I think any of us could have hoped for. Better, even. The five of us, in the same place where we started, still together after everything that’s happened. Older, with bigger lives that might take us away from each other, but no less important. The reason we can survive apart, I think, is because we had each other. Because we still do.
We say goodbye to Wild Horse Villa in the morning, not knowing if it will be our last time there. Something tells me we’ll come back to this place again someday, even if it’s in another ten, twenty years.
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” I ask Laurel as she slams the trunk of her car, the one I drove us here in.
She crosses her arms over her chest, nodding at where Everett is hugging Gabe goodbye. We floated the idea of Thanksgiving in Denver together, but no plans are set in stone. One foot in front of the other, like I told Laurel. Figuring out what our friendship looks like on the other side of this will take time, but I don’t feel as desperate to fix it as I used to, as I did just six days ago. I’m not worried about it ending anymore. We’ll continue to shift, together.
“I think you still have some unfinished business here,” she says, as I follow her nod to Everett. “Besides, I need a solo drive to kick off my new life.”
“I thought the party was the start of that,” I say.
She shakes her head. “A party with a bunch of people I hardly know isn’t what I want things to look like. I needed last night with my most important people.” At the look on my face, she draws me into her, making anawsound. “You can’t cry, or I’ll cry,” she says into my shoulder, already sniffling herself.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just been so long since I’ve heard you say that.”
We all gather in a circle in the driveway, arms around each other in a little huddle, and while I’ve composed myself, it’s now Laurel who’s crying, so we pull her into our center, wrap around her like a cocoon.
“Why do I feel like we’re graduating again?” Davi asks as we squeeze together, looking a little misty-eyed himself.
“Thatiswhat it feels like,” Gabe says. He’s right. It feels like something ending, and something beginning, and this is the last moment of the space in between.
“I love you all,” I say, as Laurel lifts her head up and we move apart again, still in our circle but not squeezed so tight. Everyone echoes it, and then it’s goodbye. Last looks and waves out the window, Gabe honking his horn as he and Davi disappear around the corner, Laurel turning up her music. Over as quickly as it began. On to the next thing.
Everett and I stand side by side even after they’re out of sight, like they might come careening back around the corner, demanding more. But the road stays silent.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he finally says. “But wasn’t that your ride that just left?”
I knock my elbow against his, laughing as we head back toward the house. “You going to ditch me, Bridges?”
“Never,” he says, smiling down at me.
It’s strange how quiet the house feels with everyone else gone. Everett and I pass our bags in the hallway and stop near the kitchen, turning to look at each other.
“Fifteen minutes until Ralph comes knocking,” I say, glancing at the clock above the sink. “Think it’s enough time?”
Everett doesn’t need to ask what for. “I do,” he just says.
I rub my hands up and down my arms, suddenly a little nervous even if I’m certain of everything I still need to say, the final pieces between us that have to be arranged. I think we both have a thousand things that still need to be said sitting just behind our lips.
“Did you ever think about it?” I ask, finally. “About us.”
Everett’s hand floats up to my hip, settles there as he gazes intently at me. “You know I did,” he says. “That last summer—”
“No,” I cut in. “Not in the last five years. I mean before that.” I reach down and find his other hand, draw it up to press it over the center of my chest. Everett looks at the spot, back up at me. “Did you ever think about me like this outside of all our summers here?”
