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I wait, but that’s all he says—my name. He’s never been good about communicating, about talking about anything unrelated to football. Or even things related to football if it doesn’t involve telling me what to work on, it appears.
“Okay.” I scoff. “Great explanation, Dad.”
Then I turn around and walk upstairs.
He says nothing.
We leave for my grandparents’ early on Monday morning. As much as I was dreading Weston’s presence, I’d accepted it. Being stuck in the backseat with a silent Maeve feels strange.
Everyoneis silent. We’re probably the dourest foursome that’s ever headed on vacation together.
It’s a long drive that passes slowly. The scenery is mostly rest stops and dead grass covering the median. It’s late dusk, almost nighttime, when we pull into my grandparents’ driveway.
Their house looks the same as it did last summer. We only make the long drive down here once a year. It looks like my grandmother has added more plants to her already-expansive garden, but that’s the only noticeable change.
My grandmother rushes outside before we’ve all climbed out of the car. I stretch as soon as I’m free from the tight confines, raising my arms over my head and cracking my back. The air has a salty taste that reminds me of the Cape.
“You made it!” My grandmother makes her way through hugging us all, carrying the scent of something floral and fruity with her.
My grandfather appears a couple of minutes later. Years haven’t diminished his stature or presence, just added a few more lines to his weathered skin.
He greets my father with a gruff “John,” and kisses my mother’s cheek. He hugs me, then Maeve.
“No Wes?” my grandmother asks, glancing over at us as a group.
We all wait for Maeve to answer. Ever since the argument she and Weston had in our front yard that we all pretended we never heard, he’s been a taboo topic. Aside from a curt “Wes isn’t coming to Grandma and Grandpa’s” at breakfast the following morning, Maeve hasn’t so much as mentioned his name.
And as someone who’s spent their whole relationship hoping they’ll break up, it’s surprisingly unsettling. It’s not just seeing Maeve upset. It’s just strange…not having him around.
“Uh, no,” she says. “He had something come up with…football.”
“Preseason already?” my grandfather wonders.
“No. A—uh, he’s at a training camp.”
He nods. “Maybe something you should look into for next summer, Liam.”
I nod, resisting the urge to aim a glare Maeve’s way. She couldn’t have come up with an excuse that wasn’t football related? She knows how our grandfather is—knows exactly where our dad got his intensity.
“Well, come in on, everyone,” my grandmother urges.
I grab my duffle out of the trunk of the car, along with the bag of equipment my father packed, and head toward the house. I pause, right before reaching the path that leads up to the front door.
The Atlantic Ocean stretches out into infinity, the glittering whitecaps fading from view as light drains from the sky. I watch the waves gather and crash, trying not to think about the last time I looked out at the sea.
But, like all of my attempts to avoid thinking about Natalie, it’s futile.
I’m staring at the same body of water we swam in together. She’s as unpredictable as a current and as fathomless as the rippling surface. She never does what I’m expecting and never lets me see the bottom.
“Missed this view,” Maeve says, stopping beside me.
“Yeah, me too.”
I prefer it partially blocked by blonde hair and Parker’s cottage’s railing, though. That memory reminds me of the many other moments Natalie and I have spent together—alone. It still stings, knowing she kept Wes’s secret from me. It hurts more knowing she hasn’t reached out since.
There’s been no explanation and no apology. It shouldn’t surprise me—and it doesn’t, really. It wasn’t her decision to share.
It’s also a reminder I didn’t want—she won’t ever choose me.
