Page 20 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

It’s late morning, and Tyler and I have been watching the game for over an hour by the time Jude walks in.

“Hey! Where have you been?”

He perches on the arm of the couch beside me. “I didn’t know you were a soccer fan.”

“I’m not. But it’s a World Cup year, so I have to be prepared.”

He looks across me to Tyler and then back again. “For what?”

“For when my cousins come. One of the houses always has either live coverage or highlights on, and we play this game. It’s called Lesser-Known Sibling.

” Jude doesn’t look amused, so I keep explaining.

“You pick out a player who looks like they could be related to a celebrity, and whoever comes up with the best one wins. Show him, Ty.”

Tyler leans forward and points to the TV. “Okay, see this guy here? Number four? That’s Chad Pitt, Brad’s much less famous little brother. And the goalie on that side. Hold on.” He waits until the camera pans over. “Marvin Short. You see it?”

I laugh. Jude does not.

“What’s wrong, Jude?”

“Nothing. Why?” Something is definitely wrong.

“You just don’t seem like yourself, is all.”

He stands. “Tired, I guess.”

“I thought you were coming down to the beach this morning,” Ty chimes in. “The waves were insane.”

“I had an appointment.”

Ty winces. “Oh man. You told me that, and I completely forgot. My bad.”

“It’s fine.” It doesn’t sound fine. Nor do the pointedly silent moments that follow.

“I’m gonna head out.” Ty hands me the remote.

“You can’t leave now. We have to see if Chad scores another one.”

Ty ignores me and stands up.

“You don’t have to go,” Jude grumbles. Why is he in such a sour mood?

The look Ty gives me is supposed to communicate something, I’m sure of it. But I have no idea what’s going on right now.

“I’ll see you guys later,” he says as he slips out the door.

I scoot over to make room for Jude to sit. The game keeps playing, but neither of us is really watching.

I crack. “What’s going on, Jude?”

“Hm?” He pretends to be engrossed in the action on the screen.

“Jude.” I raise my voice the slightest bit. “You’re acting weird.”

His volume doesn’t change. “Because I didn’t show the proper amount of enthusiasm for your made-up game?”

“Because you’re being mean,” I shoot back. “And you aren’t mean.”

He turns his head and looks at me like I’ve just slapped him. “How am I being mean?”

“I don’t know,” I sputter. I’m so confused. “You just came in here in a funk and then kicked Ty out. And—”

“I didn’t kick Ty out.” He’s on his feet now. “And why am I being attacked for coming into my own house and not being peppy enough?”

My cheeks warm, and I feel disoriented. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. Geez, Alex. What do you want from me?”

I forget for a moment that I’m not arguing with Sutton, that this is Jude, and I should probably proceed accordingly.

“Nothing,” I spit back. “I’ll get out of your way.

” I retreat upstairs as quickly as my feet will carry me, the only sounds behind me the muffled voices of soccer commentators and a slamming bedroom door.

I don’t risk resurfacing until a couple hours later when I hear the click of the front lock followed by tires backing out of the driveway.

Walking around the empty house, I feel more like an intruder than a guest. In a situation like this, I’d normally call one of my cousins, but that would require too much explaining at this point.

And I can’t write, because Jude still has my notebook somewhere; it wouldn’t feel right to put my thoughts down anywhere else.

I consider a trip to the ocean. Maybe I’ll run into Tyler and he can give me some insight. But somehow that seems wrong too.

Eventually, I return to my room and pull out my plastic box of art supplies, moving aside the bottles of paint we used on the seashells to get to the stack of construction paper.

I’d write an apology note if I knew what I was apologizing for.

“I’m not sure what I did, but I can’t stand the fact that something is not right between us, and how do I fix it?

” doesn’t exactly have greeting card vibes.

Instead, I find a yellow sheet, cut a slow circle, and punch a hole at the top so I can string it on a piece of ribbon.

On one side, I write “World’s Most Patient Friend.

” Then I flip it over and add “Video Game Champion (for now).” It’s not the traditional Henry Family Olympic medal, but hopefully, the sentiment will count for something.

This may not technically be the longest day of the year, but it’s undeniably been the longest day of my year.

I’ve had plenty of time to pick apart our interaction this morning.

I’ve convinced myself at this point that, while I still don’t understand why, something is very wrong and that I may need to pack my bags just in case.

My mom called a few hours ago, but I knew if I picked up, she would hear all my fear and ask questions I’m not ready to answer. Questions I’m not convinced I could answer even if I wanted to. While I texted her that I’d call later, a message came through from Jude:

Don’t cook tonight. I’ll pick something up after work.

I open the text again now. What does it even mean? He’s bringing food home? Or he’s going to eat while he’s out? He wants to talk this through? Or he doesn’t want to see me, so he’s staying away?

I’ve almost made myself physically sick with worry by the time Jude walks in, carrying a pizza box. I stand from my spot at the kitchen counter and watch him walk across the living room, trying to read his face as he approaches.

“Jude, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out as he sets the box down.

He looks up. “What are you sorry for?”

I open my mouth, close it again. I’ve rehearsed this for hours, yet my mind’s gone completely blank.

“Alex, I owe you an apology. Earlier—” he starts, but I shake my head.

“I shouldn’t have—”

He takes a step closer. “Hey, just listen for a minute, okay?” His words are so soft and kind that I almost cry with relief. I nod.

His hands move to his glasses, then to his pockets, then out again. “Sorry,” he murmurs nervously as he leans against the counter.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” I resist the urge to reach out and squeeze his arm.

“A few years ago.” He breathes. “I started seeing someone.”

Definitely not what I expected. “Oh.”

“Tyler’s mom helped me make the appointment. She thought I might need some guidance working through everything. And she was right.”

Oh. I switch mental tracks again and nod to show him I’m still following.

“I used to go every week, but now it’s usually just once a month or so to check in.

It’s been helpful to process out loud with somebody.

” He sighs and runs a hand over his hair.

“But it’s not always easy. And I think the combination of seeing Gavin and talking to you about high school and then reading your poems was just .

. . a lot. And I usually come home from these appointments and kind of crash for an hour or two; I’m not used to having someone else around. ”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” He playfully widens his eyes. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just something I’m still learning how to do. I was in a funk, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it. And instead of telling you that, I was kind of rude to you. And I very much regret that. Will you forgive me?”

I put my arms behind my back and clasp my hands together to stop myself from trying to hug him. I can tell it’s taking a great amount of courage for him to trust me with this, and I want to handle it with care.

“I was rude to you too. I think sometimes I forget that not everyone deals with things the way I do. And it threw me to see you act differently than I’m used to.

But you are absolutely allowed to be in a bad mood.

I shouldn’t have pushed. I want you to feel free to tell me if you ever need to be alone or just want some space. ”

He shakes his head. “Alex, that’s not what I want at all. Space is all I’ve had for years. I’ve navigated so many things alone, and I’m tired of it. But letting someone else see all the messy stuff is new. And scary.”

“But you’ve seen me fall apart at least a dozen times. And you have my notebook. If that’s not a figurative peeing of my pants at band camp, I don’t know what is.”

Jude’s eyes snap up to mine. “What?”

“I just mean, you can trust me.”

His eyes close. “Could I have been more of a nerd? I still can’t believe I told you that.” He looks at me again. “I’m sure you and your cousins got a good laugh out of that story at least.”

“Of course not!” I put on my best offended face. “That conversation was just between me and you.”

He reaches for one of the drawers on the side of the counter, the one where he keeps his office supplies.

“Speaking of which.” He pulls open the drawer and extracts my book.

“I’ve read this twice already, but I’d like to read it again.

And to see what you add.” He passes it to me. “If you don’t mind.”

I turn the notebook over in my hands then pass it back. “Why don’t we just keep it in the drawer when I’m not using it? That way, you can read my thoughts whenever you want to. And anytime you want to talk . . .”

“I appreciate that.”

I unclasp my hands. “Can I hug you now?”

“Sure,” he laughs.

“Seriously, Jude,” I say as I wrap my arms around his middle, “you’ve given me a safe place to work through so much of my own emotional stuff this summer, in more ways than one. I’d like to do the same thing for you. That’s kind of how friendship works, you know.”

He doesn’t let go. “Thanks, Alex.”

“You can even wipe snot across my sleeve if you want to,” I offer.

He chuckles. “I think I’m good. But our pizza’s getting cold.”

“Ooo.” Pulling back, I watch him scoot the box over and lift the lid. “Pineapple and ham!” I squeal. “The best pizza there is.”

“So I’ve heard.” He smiles.

I lift a slice from the box and place it on one of the paper towels he just tore off. “Jude Alford, I’m about to change your life.”

He slides onto the stool beside me. “I don’t doubt it.”