And now he’s stepping right out of my life.
Tears start burning in my eyes again. ‘I want him to stay.’
‘Maybe you should tell him that,’ she says. ‘It might not change anything, but it could help give you some closure.’
Damn, she’s perceptive. I have a strong feeling Mum might know I’m in love with Ollie, but I’m not about to confess it to her. Not when I’ve not even confessed it to him.
***
A week later, it’s the last flavour of the summer at Annie Banannie, and the day before Ollie moves away. Ollie and I pay for our pink-grapefruit sherbet ice creams and receive the final stamps.
‘Time to hand them in,’ says Kristy. ‘A full stack.’
Ollie and I look at each other. This is what we’ve been working towards all summer. Every week, coming here, collecting stamps, spending time with each other. These cards feel like more than just an entry into a competition.
‘I want to keep mine,’ blurts out Ollie.
‘Are you sure?’ says Kristy, looking at him confused. ‘You do know you need to give it to me to enter the competition?’
‘I like having all the stamps,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ she says slowly, as if she’s talking to a seven-year-old, not a seventeen-year-old. ‘But the point of collecting all the stamps is so you can enter the competition to win the ice cream.’ She points at the faded flyer behind her.
‘I’m sure,’ he says.
‘I want to keep mine too,’ I say.
‘No, you should enter, Selena,’ he says.
‘Nah, I can’t eat all that ice cream myself. And you won’t be here to help me with it,’ I say lightly. Plus, winning would only remind me of Ollie and make me sad. And potentially give me diabetes.At least now I can keep the stamp card as a memory.
‘This is wild. You both were in here every week!’ says Kristy.
‘Ha, you do remember us,’ I say. ‘Why did you act like you’ve never seen us before?’
Kristy shakes her head and wanders off, muttering something about teenagers.
‘Let’s get out of here before the ice cream melts,’ says Ollie, nodding towards the door.
We walk outside.
‘You didn’t want to enter just in case?’ I say. ‘I’m sure they would have sent the ice cream to Manchester.’
He shakes his head. ‘The card feels more important right now. Our final summer.’
Our final summer.
We walk in silence for a bit, making our way home. From tomorrow, it’ll no longer be his home. I need to tell him.
We face each other when we get to the front of our houses.
‘Well, this is it,’ he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, ice cream finally gone.
I meet his eyes.What if he rejects me and moves away tomorrow?
The thought burns into my mind, outweighing the need to tell him. I can’t bear the thought of him leaving and breaking my heart. What if he doesn’t want to talk to me when he moves, because I’m so embarrassing and he doesn’t feel the same way? Maybe closure is overrated.
‘We’ll say goodbye tomorrow,’ I say softly.
