I don’t say any of that either.
“We should go,” I say, pushing off the railing. “I don’t want to be late.”
The Wonder Worldparking lot is already half full when I get there, families arriving early before the heat turns oppressive. I find a spot near the entrance and cut the engine, sitting for a second with the windows down, watching the newest coaster running its track in the distance.
I check my phone. 8:47.
Owen hasn’t texted, which means they’re either on their way or he forgot to let me know, both equally likely. I open the car door and pull up the app. The dot is still at the cottage. Not moving. I want to see her so badly it pisses me off. That’s the most accurate way I know to describe it. It’s been that way for longer than I’m willing to admit and it doesn’t get easier. It just gets more familiar, this specific combination of wanting and resenting the wanting.
Ella’s scrolling her phone in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, doing that thing where she’s pretending not to notice that I’ve checked my phone four times since we pulled in. She’s good at pretending. Better than me, that’s for damn sure.
“They’re probably just running late,” she says without looking up.
“I know.”
“Owen’s always late.”
“I know, Ella.”
She goes back to her phone. I go back to the app. Still there at the cottage. Still not moving.
I lock the screen, but it stares at me from the dash, begging me to watch that blue dot like it could make her arrive faster.
Ten minutes pass. Ten minutes of Ella humming a Taylor Swift song, children screeching as a family parks and unpacks beside us, and me bouncing my knee, taking off and cleaning my aviators on my shirt multiple times before putting them back on again. I wish I brought my damn book.
I text Owen.We’re here. Where the fuck are you?
His response comes back fast.On our way, relax.
I don’t show it to Ella, just pocket my phone and get out of the car. She follows close behind.
The smell hits me the second I’m out of the car. Sunscreen and popcorn mixed with a hint of gas fumes from the rides. Same type of smells since we were kids. Same as the summer she talked me into riding the log flume three times in a row and I pretended to be annoyed about it.
I wasn’t annoyed. I would’ve ridden it thirty times if she kept asking.
We wait outside the ticket windows, the perfect spot to watch cars coming into the lot. I lean back against a pillar, sunglasses on, observing. Ella stands beside me, close but not touching, her own sunglasses catching the morning glare. She’s stopped humming, at least. Now she’s got her eyes glued to her phone.
The gates opened a few minutes ago, and the crowd surges forward like they’ve been holding their breath and now they can all exhale. Kids drag parents, parents drag each other, everyone performing their roles of fun, happy family about to enjoy the place they drove two hours and paid hundreds of dollars for.
A toddler runs by us, his head down like a determined bull, while his father jogs after him looking like he hasn’t slept in three years.
A normal summer morning. Everyone exactly where they think they want to be.
I pull up the app. The dot has moved, finally. They’re pulling into the lot.
I pocket my phone and straighten off the pillar.
“Are they here?” Ella asks.
“Almost.”
She nods and smooths her dress down with both hands, readying herself to be the easygoing girlfriend who everyone loves. She’s good at it. Sometimes I wonder if she actually does care for me. I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t.
I scan the lot over the heads of the crowd. Sawyer’s almost here and I still haven’t found the right words I want to say to her. I’ve had all night and all morning and the whole drive here and I still don’t have them. Whatever I say I’m going to have to find in real time, and not in front of my brother. This is between me and Sawyer.
I find her before I find Owen. I always do. I always will.
She’s moving through the crowd with her hand in his. I feel my fist tighten around my phone as I take her in. She’s wearing cut-off shorts and a short-sleeve top, it’s cropped just enough that there’s a sliver of skin at her waist when she moves. Her blonde hair’s thick and wavy and loose against her shoulders. I’ve always loved her hair, it’s perfect for wrapping fingers in and tugging.
