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The phone is dead to me, obviously, but my bag still hangs around Stephen’s neck. I yank it off him, strangling him with the strap for good measure, then I’m pushing through the crowd, headed for the exit.
Around me, I hear the words ‘Dear Hattie’ spoken aloud. Once, twice, three times.
My face burns impossibly brighter.
By the time I spill out into the cool night air, my eyes brim with unshed tears. I charge along the beach path, teeth chattering from horror.
Screw them. Screw everything. Screw Dear Hattie, and screw this town, and screw my own stupidity.
What was I thinking?
Three
Andre
Tonight did not go well. I’m not an asshole—I do realize that. Faith was humiliated and she left angry and sickened, with her older brother hot on her heels.
This was not a good night for her. For anyone. I do know that.
But Christ… as I leave the bar thirty minutes later, hands tucked in my pockets, I feel lighter than I have in years.
Four years, to be exact.
“Go get her,” someone calls from The Buccaneer’s doorway, but I flip them off over my shoulder and keep walking.
Go get her.
I could, couldn’t I? Thirty minutes is enough of a head start—enough time for her to avoid me if she likes. But if Faith decides not to hide herself away, if she’s waiting when I get home… I could go get her.
After four years of wanting her; watching her too closely, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. Four years of self loathing, forcibly keeping myself in line so I didn’t freak out my much younger neighbor. Four years of early morning runs, burning off the worst of this constantneed.
Turns out Faith wants me too. Has wanted me all this time.
Funny old world, isn’t it?
The salt breeze lifts my hair and slips under my t-shirt. Cool, invisible fingers stroke over my chest.
Shecould touch me there soon. Faith could touch me everywhere, then lay back on my bed and let me undress her. Let me touch her too—if I allow this to happen.
The waves tumble against the beach, sucking up pebbles from the sand as they rush back out to sea. A crab scuttles near the path, up way past his bedtime.
I’m in love with my neighbor.
That was my favorite line from Faith’s letter, and I replay it over and over in my head as I walk home. Try to conjure it in her voice. The rest of the letter talked about her crush, her infatuation, but that line used the l-word. Made it sound more serious. More final.
Fuck knows my feelings for her are a done deal.
They have been since the first time I laid eyes on her. The first time I wandered up to knock on the new neighbors’ open door, hoping to introduce myself, and saw Faith there in the tiled hallway, surrounded by boxes.
She wore shorts and a white vest top, her red hair braided over one shoulder, and as she dropped a heavy box of books on the tiles, she gusted out a long sigh. Smacked her palms together, like she was brushing away dust. Then Faith stood up and wiped her arm across her forehead, her cheeks pink with exertion, and by the time she spotted me, I was already a goner.
Can’t make sense of it. She was gorgeous, sure, but she might have had the world’s worst personality.
But no—even then, a part of meknew.I stood in that entryway and I thought: I’m looking at my future wife.
Then Stephen clattered down the stairs and spotted me, and we did the awkward introductions dance, and it slowly dawned on me that Faith wasyoung.A grown adult, but still—too young for me.
Just like that, the bubble popped.
