Page 19

Nineteen

I woke up early the next morning, convinced that an anvil had fallen on my head because it hurt so badly.

My eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying myself to sleep, and it felt like someone was stirring sludge in my stomach.

I decided to pack up my stuff and head home, using my spare set of keys since Meredith still had mine.

About an hour into the drive, I felt so nauseous that I had to pull over on the side of the highway to blow some chunks.

Where was Rose álvarez’s magic preventive hangover potion when I needed it?

Then, I called my parents.

They were furious that I’d left with such a hangover.

And somehow, they beat me home from Newport.

“We’re going to discuss this at length ,” Dad emphasized.

“But first, you need to drink about a gallon of Gatorade and then get to bed…”

I slept for fourteen hours but felt sick all over again when Reese sent the bridesmaid chat a compiled video of everyone’s first and last Saturday drink.

I watched myself, all sunshine and smiles, take a sip of wine before the clip cut to that night.

Reese had caught me in the kitchen, soaked from the rain.

I looked rough . “Yeah, I’m Mads,” I said, tipping melted daiquiri over the sink.

“You know I’m a bridesmaid, and I’m dumping my final drink of this super enlightening evening.”

Meredith had texted me to ask if I was okay, and I told her I was alive but not exactly thriving.

You were right. I overdid it.

It seemed like everyone needed a break from one another, because the chat went silent for a while.

Amanda wrote to say our bridesmaid dresses had arrived at long last, but that was it.

I did miss the group a little; in a way, the bridesmaids felt like another team I’d played for this year, but high school field hockey started in a few days.

It would fill the void.

***

I didn’t block Marco again, but I declined his calls and ignored his texts, so either he would get the message and stop trying to contact me, or he’d get the message and show up in person to have it out.

Because that’s what I planned on doing if/when he eventually knocked on my door.

The whole drive home from the Finger Lakes, I’d kept replaying our conversation.

Marco: It’s me?

Me: Yes.

Marco, after the most awkward pause in existence: Mads, it’s not that I don’t care for you, but—

I hadn’t listened to the but .

Instead, I hung up on him.

It was a reflex; I was too scared to know what he’d been about to say.

Mads, it’s not that I don’t care for you, but…

You’re just a kid.

You’re like my little sister.

You’re not enough for me.

The possibilities were endless, and it wasn’t until I’d emerged from hangover hibernation that I learned part of the truth.

Hi, friend , Natalie had texted.

Do you follow Shelly on IG?

Hell, no , I replied.

Natalie somehow knew Shelly through family friends.

She’s blocked.

Okay , Natalie said.

Nat? I asked when she didn’t say more.

I’m going to send you something , she wrote after a couple minutes.

I feel shitty for doing it, but I think you should see it.

Alright… I wrote and stared at my phone until a screenshot appeared in our chat.

It was an Instagram post by @seashelly , whose caption read: living for these waves and whispers .

I blinked once, twice, three times, but the photo didn’t disappear like I wished it would.

In ripped jeans and a black PRINCETON FIELD HOCKEY sweatshirt, she, Marco, and a couple others had squeezed together onto one of the beach’s lifeguard stands.

It was twilight and Shelly was sitting on Marco’s lap with her arms around his neck, hugging him close while she laughed.

He had a Miller Lite in one hand, the other resting on Shelly’s knee, and he was smiling as he whispered something in her ear.

Stone Harbor? I thought.

Shelly had been invited to Stone Harbor?

Marco had invited her to Stone Harbor?

!

But he cut ties with her!

!! I texted Natalie, eyes welling up with tears.

I guess she stitched them back up?

she texted back. I’m so sorry, Mads.

I know we never talked about it, but I could tell you had a thing for him.

That makes one of us , I said before locking my phone and changing for a run.

Not only did I need to sweat out a bunch of alcohol, but I also needed to sweat out Marco álvarez.

Who, in fact, did stop by to touch base on life; I spotted the Bumper Car through the keeping room window a week after I got home.

“Marco is here,” I informed Dad and Da.

“I’m probably going to yell at him, okay?”

They both nodded—I’d told them everything , right down to me drunkenly professing my feelings for him.

“Jacob—Bluestein—was—wrong,” I had sobbed into Dad’s shoulder as Da offered me warm brownies.

“Marco—hasn’t—always—liked—me.”

My parents had looked at each other, as if to say, Remind me who Jacob Bluestein is?

“By all means, verbally tear him to pieces,” Dad said now.

“Should we have a code word in case you want backup?”

“Yes,” I said.

“ August .”

Since it was turning out to be the worst month.

I took a deep breath, then marched out the front door.

“Hey,” Marco said, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps.

I stood at the top with my arms folded, physically and psychologically wanting to be a level above him.

“Hey,” I said back, along with a disinterested, “What’s up?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

I shrugged.

“Sure.”

Marco gestured toward the Garden, but there was no way we were “talking” in there.

It was a special space, full of special memories.

Sweet moments with Marco, yes, but also with Connor, Samira, and my family.

I would not violate it.

But I wasn’t evil enough to stay on the porch, where my parents could obviously eavesdrop on us, so I led him toward the Christmas trees and slowed between two tagged Douglas firs.

“Okay,” I said to Marco.

“Would you like to make the opening statement?”

He did.

“Mads, about that phone call—”

“Forget the phone call,” I said, because we were not unpacking that.

For all he knew, that could’ve been a glitch, my brain a broken system thanks to my many, many ( many ) drinks.

“How about the fact that you lied to me all summer?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

He’s not sure , I thought.

He isn’t sure whether I’m referencing spying for Katie or Shelly’s social-media hard launch.

“You told me you’d ended things with Shelly,” I said.

“You told me it was over.” I tried to keep my voice cool.

“You never mentioned that you guys still talked.”

“We didn’t!” Marco said.

“I mean, sometimes she’d send me a meme on Instagram or I occasionally sent her one, but that was it.” His tilted his head.

“Why does that matter to you?”

I felt a twinge in my ribs, knowing he was baiting me.

He wanted to circle back to the phone call.

“Because she’s terrible!” I exclaimed, refusing.

“Didn’t we agree on that? Maybe she’s not the worst person in the world, but come on, Marco! You said you didn’t want anything serious with her, yet you invited her to Stone Harbor?”

“It would’ve been rude not to,” he said.

“We have the same circle of friends.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, like Tim, Simon, and Zach think she’s so great…”

Do we love Shelly?

Timothy Hobson-Kirby IV had responded after I’d sent the Princetonians (minus Marco) Natalie’s screenshot.

Do we even like Shelly?

Zach texted.

No , Simon confirmed.

“You know it was a bigger group than that,” Marco said.

“You saw the photos.”

“No, I saw the photo ,” I told him with a bitter taste in my mouth.

“What were you whispering in her ear, pray tell?”

Marco was silent for a moment, then said, “You sound incredibly jealous.”

The corners of my eyes stung, threatening tears.

Marco sighed. “Mads, I thought about you all summer. I dreamt about you and only you.”

A wonderstruck wave went through my veins.

“You did?”

“Yes—god, yes.” He nodded.

“All summer long, but you made it clear you weren’t interested in being more than…” He trailed off to find the right word.

“Well, whatever we were.”

Whatever we were.

Friends really didn’t cover it.

“I spent pretty much every day here,” he continued.

“But you always found a way to bring up Connor—”

“He’s my best friend!” I argued.

“It’s not my fault that most of my anecdotes involve him.”

“And you were going on all these dates.”

“You know, it’s interesting you bring those up,” I said.

“Because while I thought it was a star-aligned coincidence that you appeared out of nowhere, Katie told me otherwise. She said she told you to spy on me.”

Marco raised an eyebrow.

“ Spy on you?” He shook his head.

“Mads, no.”

“Oh, please!” My hands went to my hips.

“The first time I met Davis? For coffee? You were at Crescent Moon.”

“Yeah, because I study there,” he said.

“Religiously.”

But you walked me back to my car afterward , I wanted to say.

“You were also at Davis’s pre-prom dinner at Ember & Ash,” I added.

“Not at the table next to us, but you were there .”

“Again, entirely coincidental,” Marco said.

“I go to school in Princeton, and Carina runs that restaurant—hell, my family owns that restaurant. Of course I eat there!”

“Stop lying!” I shouted.

“I go ice-skating with Chad? You bring your cousins skating. Jacob invites me to the movies? You and Tim ditch Simon to see whatever.” My heart hammered.

“Always the same place, same-ish time. And the only person who knew those details was Katie.” I swallowed hard.

“How do you even know Katie, anyway?”

Marco adjusted his glasses, the ones I loved so much.

“She used to babysit me,” he admitted.

“When Carina started waitressing in high school, Katie babysat me a couple nights a week.”

Hold up, I thought.

Katie? A babysitter?

I couldn’t see it.

“And you never thought to mention that?” I asked.

“Even as a fun fact?”

Marco shrugged.

“I was more saving it for a trivia question.” He smiled a little.

“Plus, I can’t exactly give her a ringing endorsement. She never let me eat junk food.”

My hands balled into fists.

“Get serious.”

“Only if you get serious. Katie—”

“She’s laughing at me,” I said.

“You being Katie’s eyes and ears…” I shook my head.

“She’s laughing at me, and even if they do want to help, so are the other bridesmaids.” I turned away to wipe off some escaped tears.

“ I’m not laughing,” Marco murmured.

“Maybe not,” I said.

“But you don’t trust me. You don’t trust me to make my own decisions.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You’ve made your own decisions with these guys, and they’ve been the right ones!”

“No, I haven’t,” I said, looking him dead in the eye.

“Not all of them have been right.”

Marco tried to take my arm, but I dodged him.

“Mads, wait!” he called when I started back toward the house.

“Go fuck yourself, Marco!” I called back, and then sobbed myself to sleep that night, knowing he wouldn’t have to. He had Shelly.