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He puts a hand on his knee, supporting himself. “All right. One shot per good riddance you can think of.”
“You have to do it, too,” I say. “Okay?”
“All right. But you’re starting.”
I push my hair back over my shoulder. “Well, used gym socks everywhere. I don’t miss that even a little bit.”
“Cheers to that,” he says, and I take a shot of the rum. It burns going down. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much rum before—or probably ever will again—in one week.
“Your turn,” I say, grimacing. “Ugh, that’s strong.”
His eyes find the horizon again and the softly swelling waves. The sea is barely visible in the darkness, illuminated only by the moon and stars.
“I can’t believe… okay. Well, I won’t miss the constant texting to let someone know where I am,all the time.”
That makes me chuckle. “You guys had that kind of relationship, did you?”
He runs a hand over his face. “If I was working late and forgot… well. I’m not going to miss that.”
“That sounds stressful.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs like he wants to get rid of the memory. “Come on, what’s your next one?”
“Well, hehatedquiet nights in. Like, something always had to happen. A big movie night, dinner with friends, or going for a run.” In the last couple of years, our differences had become stark. I’d want to spend the evening on the couch with a book, and he’d call me boring or lame.
Phillip frowns. “What? That’s the best.”
“Going for a run?”
“No, having quiet nights in.”
“Right?” I smile, shrugging, too. “Anyway, what’s your next good riddance?”
He holds the small rum bottle up to his lips. “Dating someone who is constantly checking their social media,” he says and drains the bottle. “Good fucking riddance to that.”
I laugh. “That would drive me nuts.”
“Trust me,” he says, his eyebrows lifting high, “me, too.”
A comfortable silence descends. My fingers play with the tiny label on my rum bottle, carefully peeling it away. I feel warm, inside and out.
“So,” Phillip says. “Tell me your next good riddance. What did the dipshit do that you won’t miss?”
I tear the label clean off. “I won’t miss—um. Wait,” I say, shaking my head. A blush is creeping up my cheeks. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
“Oh,” he says, voice amused. “I get it.”
“You get what?”
“What you were going to say.” He raises an eyebrow, and there, on his cheek, his barely-there dimple winks at me. “So Caleb wasn’t the best in that department, was he?”
I can’t look at him. “Wow. That’s not what I was going to say.”
“No? Okay, then.” He takes another sip from his bottle, and it’s clear in the silence that he doesn’t believe me.
