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“Your hair is so soft,” I say, stroking it.
He smiles thoughtfully. “I’m sure fashion and social media have a higher purpose I’m not seeing. Rico has made me grow a lot in that regard, too, teaching me the value of individuality, and how clothes can express our inner selves, or be a voice for those who have none. That aspect of it does speak to me, even I gotta admit. Working to keep people fashionable isn’t evil. Nothing truly is … except clowns, oatmeal raisin cookies, and weekends.”
I stop. “Weekends?”
“Yeah, because they always end. They’re the original cock tease.” Jonah chuckles at his own joke. “Never mind. But maybe my feelings about it all—the store, clothes, my life—it’s all just personal. It has all of that meaning to me because I give it that meaning. And it all ties back to Rico and the way he always used to insist I have to be. I wonder if …” He peers off, realizing something. “Wow, I wonder if I’m harboring a lot of unhealthy resentment.”
He keeps talking. But all I’m caught up on is that one cruel word: weekends.
The dark cloud is back.
“Sorry,” he says with a self-conscious chuckle. “That’s obviously my parents coming out of me—the resentment thing. They’re both therapists. Different kinds, at that. My dad’s a clinical therapist. My mom, a family and couples counselor … which I guess is just a more specific clinical therapist. They say they don’t, but they’ve totally been psychologically evaluating me my whole life—every little thing I do or say, my mental state … ugh, it’s exhausting. Have I scared you away yet?”
I let go of Jonah’s arm and lie back.
Jonah frowns down at me. “Are you alright?”
So what is it? Do I try to seem like everything’s okay? Or do I show who I really am: a guy whose every thought is the impending doom of Monday morning coming for us?
“You should hang with your friend tonight,” I tell him.
That catches him off-guard. “What?”
“Rico. Your friend. Figure out your resentment thing. Spend some time with him tonight.”
He is thoroughly confused. “Kent, I didn’t mean I need to go and hang out with him. I live with the guy. I work with him, too. I don’t need—”
“You came here on vacation with him. You shouldn’t waste all your time with me.” I sit up. “Besides, you leave tomorrow, so …” I close my eyes, unable to finish the sentence, feeling a weight on my chest.
I’ve gone and done it.
I’m already in too deep to let this go without hurting.
“Kent, just talk to me. What’s up?”
“I don’t have to spell it out.” I scoot to the edge of the chair and drop my feet to the hot sand. “I know you don’t think this way right now, but when you leave this place and get back to your job, I’m just going to be a memory.”
“No, you won’t.”
I can’t do this again. I can’t go through it again. I can’t. “Look, let’s just be adults about this, alright? We had a great time. Maybe we’ll keep in touch. Maybe we won’t. I am cool either way.” No, I’m not. “I’ll be fine.” No, I won’t. “And I’m sure you’ll be fine, too.”
“Why are you pushing me away?”
“Spend your last night in paradise with Rico. Trust me, it’s for the best, and I won’t hold it against you. Even if you go to El Amado and … do whatever it is you do there. It’s worth at least one trip before you … head home.” Saying that was difficult, like the words themselves grew hands and tried clinging to my tongue and lips on their way out, desperate to stay unsaid. “I have to get ready for work.”
“Kent …”
“But if you can do me a favor …” I put on a smile and glance at him over my shoulder. “Don’t show Rico our spot in Cottonwood Cove. I don’t want you both to get any bad ideas and get arrested for indecent exposure on your last night here. I’m pretty sure, on second thought, that Dylan does own at least a few clothes.” I get up.
Jonah rises to his feet at once. “What are you doing? I want to spend my last night here with you.”
I keep smiling. It’s all I’ve got left. “Take care, Jonah.”
My brother can say he’s right. He won. I let go of the fleeting fantasy of finding my guy on this side of the island. I didn’t break the golden rule. I was an idiot to aspire to anything higher than the flotsam and driftwood crap that washes up on the shores of Sugarberry Beach. My heart is nice and protected and unbroken, safe behind its legion of walls no one and nothing can penetrate.
Well, at least no one anymore, now that Jonah’s gone.
