Page 58 of The Breakup Artists

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and we turn, making our way through the sand at a slow pace.

“What’d you do today?” I ask.

“Surfed before the twins woke up, then took care of them, and now I’m here.”

“Are you thinking of getting a summer job?” I’m not sure how to get away from these generic questions. We’ve known each other most of our lives; we live only a couple hundred feet apart. And yet, I don’t know much about Bentley other than a handful of childhood memories and surface details.

“I’d kill to work at the Surf Shack,” he says.

“So why don’t you?”

He shrugs.

“No response?”

“I can’t work there is all.”

“Did you apply?” I ask. “Everyone knows you’re a good surfer, I bet they’d hire you in a second.”

He shakes his head but again offers no explanation.

“So that’s it?”

“I guess.”

I sigh, and because I’m me I call the situation out for what it is. “You know we suck at this conversation thing, right—you more than me with your nonanswers, but we’re both crap. How do we fix that?”

“Sorry,” he says, not joining in the humor. “Is it cool if we just don’t talk about my family?”

This catches me off guard. “We weren’t talking about your family, were we?”

“No, I mean...” He pushes his hair back from his forehead. “So what did you do today?”

I stare at him, not sure where to go from here. This is one of the most awkward conversations I’ve ever had, which is shocking considering I’m best friends with August.

“Okay, wait,” I say, stopping in the sand.

He stops with me. “Val—”

“Hang on.” I lift my hand. “Let me get this out, ’cause otherwise I think we’re about to have the worst sunset walk of all time, which is basically a travesty.”

He looks out at the water and then back at me.

“How come we always go from happy and easy to... this?” I gesture to the space between us. “I’m just confused.”

He rubs the back of his tan neck. “It’s not you.”

“It kinda feels like itisme. Like at any moment I might say the wrong thing and we’ll be right back to our fight in the kitchen.”

“I just...” He drops his arm. “I didn’t want to tell you that I can’t get a regular job because my mom can’t afford childcare, okay?”

And now I’m way more confused than I was a minute ago.

He lifts his hands. “I didn’t want you to think I was a giant loser.”

“Wait, what?” I choke. “Thatdoes notmake you a loser. It makes you a great older brother.”

“Your family lives in that big house. Your parents are so nice. You’re just... perfect. I didn’t want to blow it.”