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“I’m not hers.” I should leave it there. But bottling things up is dangerous. They’ll explode out. Without warning. Without caring about consequences. “I’myours, June.”
I mean the words—probably too much. Truth has an aftertaste. It settles in my mouth like the opposite of regret. Like acceptance and assurance.
“I don’t think of you as hers,” Sutton whispers. “I think of you as mine. That’s most of the problem, Johnny.”
We float for a long time. My fingers are pruned by the time she starts swimming toward the shore. I don’t know what to say as we get dressed, so I say nothing.
She breaks the silence when she leans over and grabs something from between the pages of her notebook.
“I made this for you,” she tells me, almost shyly, handing me a silver disc.
I study the writing in the moonlight.For Johnny, From June.“You made me a mixtape? On anactual CD?”
Sutton rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pinken. She loves to make fun of my CD collection, saying I should stream my music like most everyone else. But CDs don’t fail you when you have limited cell service. They’re something you own, something physical and tangible. Something I don’t have much of.
“Emailing you the link to a playlist didn’t seem like much of a gift. I wanted to give you something, let you know I was thinking of you, and…I don’t know. I figured you would appreciate this more than flowers or a hug.”
“I love it,” I tell her. “And you’re right about the flowers.” Grams’s house—mine now—is filled with their sickening scent. “But I’d still take the hug too.”
She bites her bottom lip before she steps forward. The heat of her body feels like heaven, soaking through our damp clothes and imprinting its warmth on mine.
“Bad days can sound good,” she whispers.
Sutton’s reference to our first conversation isn’t lost on me.
“It doesn’t feel like a bad day right now.”
Her arms tighten around my waist. “I’m sorry she’s gone.”
“She left a lot behind.” Left me everything.
“Yeah. She did.”
“If she were here, she’d tell me it’s never too late to leap.”
“She was right.”
“She was talking about me and you.” I never said anything to Grams; she just knew.
I tell her that, and then I walk away.
Sometimes, that’s all you can do. Especially when it’s the last thing you want to do.
