I gaze at the New York City skyline, breathtaking in the morning sunlight. We get plenty of sunshine in Gilbert, but I swear the light here is different. The tall buildings create long shadows and sharp angles and small, unexpected pockets of sunshine. Back home, we have a big open sky that unfurls over a flat desert landscape. “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid for so long. I almost missed this view, for what? A few extra days with the same boy who didn’t love me yesterday and won’t love me tomorrow.”
“ ‘Life must be understood backward. But it must be lived forward.’ Kierkegaard.”
“Say that again.” I’m entranced by today’s Philosophy 101 quip.
“Life must be—”
“Lived forward,” I finish for him.
“That’s right. After all, what’s the point in wishing for a fate that’s surely happening in a parallel universe?”
I take Harrison’s hand and pull it tighter across my shoulders, keeping my fingers entwined with his. It feels bolder than our shadowy sidewalk kisses. We walk like that for the length of the High Line, and people look at us like we’re an adorably in love couple. And for a split second, I wish we were in a parallel universe. Because some girl is going to fall madly in love with this surly boy and his philosophical one-liners, and why shouldn’t it be me?
I never made the choice to fall in love with my best friend. But maybe I could make the choice to fall in love with Harrison. Stranger things have happened, right?
There’s a bench near the end of the High Line where we sit and make out until my stomach growls. We decide to return to his apartment for lunch, and although we don’t kiss like we did last night, we keep our hands clasped together, our shoulders bumping into each other, grinning like fools.
In his apartment building, Harrison backs me up against the front door and kisses me again.
“Stop! What if our parents see!” I swat him on the shoulder and try to make myself presentable as he unlocks the door. We’re both fighting grins as the door opens and we spill into the quiet foyer. I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on one of the hooks by the door.
“See, they’re not even here,” Harrison says as he bends to kiss my nose. “No need to worry. What are you in the mood for? Ramen?”
We walk into the kitchen, where my mom is sitting on the counter, her legs wrapped around Tyson’s waist, her arms around his neck, engaged in a make-out session that puts Harrison and me to shame.
“So, what’s Molly’s deal?” Bernie stretches her feet out so they’re inches from the fire and wiggles her toes. “She seems nice enough, but mopey. Quiet.”
“I thought you wanted to talk about Fitz.”
Bernie gives me A Look. “We are.”
I sigh. She’s not wrong. “She has a Fitz hangover.”
“Ahh!” Bernie’s eyes light up. “I know the feeling well. It’s intense for, like, three days, but then it goes away.”
Three days. If that were true, I should have been over him approximately seven hundred and twenty-seven days ago. Give or take. “What happened between you two?” It feels nosy to ask, but judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t mind. Color is coming back into her cheeks and she’s obviously in the mood to chat.
“It was a few summers ago. I live in Williams, and I was sneaking around with this guy in town. But he was a jerk, always giving me backhanded compliments, implying that I was lucky he was willing to spend time with me.”
“Ew.”
“Exactly. It really messed with my confidence. But then there was Fitz. He’s younger than me, kind of dopey in his eagerness, but he was nice and thoughtful. Taught me how to skip rocks by the lake and then kissed me on his last day in town. I saw him again six months later, and we were both dating other people.”
I’m stunned speechless by this barrage of information. First off—dopey? Never in his life has Fitz been dopey. Second, this must have been the summer after I bailed on the carnival. I wonder if things would have been different had I been brave enough to go.
“I was heartbroken for three days after he left. And then on day four I woke up and the thought popped into my head: Did he even like me? Did he even know me? And I snapped out of it.”
“You think he didn’t like you?”
“I think he thought he did, but at the end of the day, what we had was a week hanging out because I was depressed about someone else. And look, I didn’t know him either. It was a thing that happened, because summers are hot and this town is small and when a boy who looks like Fitz teaches you how to skip rocks by the lake, it makes you want to kiss him. Once your friend Molly figures that out, she’ll be fine.”
“It’s not like that with Molly. She’s in love with him. She came here to win him back.”
Bernie raises an eyebrow. “Do you think he’ll go back to her?”
“I don’t know.” I think of tennis-prodigy Priya from junior year, and how less than two weeks after the homecoming dance, Fitz had moved on to Fiona. And then after Halloween, when he told Fiona they should just be friends, she texted him every day during November, but he didn’t seem at all tempted to try again. “He never has before.”
“See? That’s what I mean. He moves on quickly. I know his type. Fall hard and fast and then it fizzles. Boys like that are good for a weekend, but there’s no point in getting attached.”
Darcy walks back into the room. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like my insides have been scooped out and replaced with cement,” Bernie says.
“I finally got a text through to your parents. The roads closer to town have been plowed, so they’re on their way to get you. If Fitz can get you and Bash to the end of the driveway, they should be able to pick you up.”
Darcy suits up and joins the crew outside to help dig out the truck. Bernie and I sit in silence on the couch. Her words slosh around my brain, making me feel even worse than last night’s vinegar.
Good for a weekend.
Didn’t even know her, didn’t even like her.
They’re the same accusations I’ve been lobbing at him all weekend, but coming from her mouth, they feel wrong. The Fitz I know, third-base Fitz and rom-com-loving Fitz and behind-the-wheel Fitz and brokenhearted-on-the-water-tower Fitz, doesn’t use people. If he were that person, wouldn’t I have been able to tell? He might not be in love with me, but he’s never made me feel anything other than wanted. And that has to be worth something.
I’ve never had intuition. Or if I did, I scared it away with all my pro-con lists and my what-ifs and SIM’s incessant nagging. But right now, I feel the whisper of something nudging my heart, refusing to believe Bernie’s characterization of Fitz. He’s not the guy she says he is.
Right?
I groan and prop my feet next to Bernie’s.
“What’s wrong?” Bernie asks.
I deflect. “You could have died.” I’m not positive this is true, but it feels true. SIM has already made a very long list of all the other ways this morning could have gone. In several of them, it’s me with the blue lips instead of her. In others, it’s Fitz. In all of them, I’m an endless well of regret.