Page 67 of The Romantic Agenda

“And go,” Fox says.

Long story short, when Joy was six she became obsessed with Naomi Campbell. She told everyone she was going to marry her, because young children say things they don’t understand all the time. Her pastor, however, heard her, condemned her to hell for being gay, and then her dad punched him in the middle of service. Her entire family switched to a more accepting church after that.

“Your dad is badass,” Summer says.

“Yeah, he is,” Joy says proudly. “Someday, I’ll tell you what my mom did.” The petty apple doesn’t fall far from the petty tree.

“I’m going to forfeit. It doesn’t matter what word I get, I don’t have a story better than that,” Malcolm says, grinning.

Fox says, “Me either.”

“So I win? Why am I surprised? Of course I did.”

Summer comes up with another game and they play, following her lead. Once again, it feels like earlier in the day—just four friends on vacation together. The weather around them has that perfect balance of cool air blowing off the lake mixing with heat from the fire. Fireflies drift in the distance between the trees and a chorus of frogs echo one another’s songs. They finish dinner, make dessert, and drink as if they won’t get hungover.

Well, Summer does, anyway.

Eighteen

Malcolm trails Summer as she slides from tipsy to drunk because she asks him to. She also firmly tells Fox to stay away from her because he’s no fun. They swap the backyard for the bar room to sing karaoke—she wants to and has toright that second.

“How are you feeling?” Fox asks Joy.

“Not nearly that sloppy,” she jokes.

Two drinks are hardly enough to send her over the edge. She barely feels enough of a buzz to declare her love for everyone. That used to be her signature. One cocktail too many and everyone within her immediate vicinity needed to know exactly what she loved about them. Their glasses, their shoes, their cool shirts, and their good energy—anything would do.

“I want to try the hammock. Do you know how to use it?” Joy pushes down on the middle of the fabric, unsure if she trusts it.

Fox stands by one of the poles. “Pretty sure you just lay down.”

“If I fall, you have to promise you won’t laugh.”

“Can’t do that,” he says. “After I make sure you’re not hurt and I help you up, I’m most definitely going to laugh.”

“Jerk. Feel free to go back to being grumpy.”

Fox snorts. “Just sit horizontally like it’s a swing. You don’t have to get in it like it’s a bed. Here,” he says, moving to the middle and placing the fabric at his back. It’s large enough to cover from his neck down to his knees. “I’ll hold it steady and you climb on.”

Joy waits for him to get into position—at an angle, legs bent, and feet planted—then stands next to him, leaning backward until she feels cradled.

“Here we go.” He’s taller so her legs lift off the ground before his do. She grabs his arm, gasping as they gently begin to rock back and forth. “So here you are, not on the ground.”

“My hero.” Joy laughs and turns her face to the sky. “Did you major in woodworking? Is that even a major?”

“Where did that come from?”

“My brain. It moves at the speed of light sometimes. In high school, I really leaned into that wholeI’m so random and quirky!thing to get away with it.”

“I can see it,” he says.

“Anyway, I meant to ask you earlier but got distracted when you changed the subject. So, school? You?”

“Fiona did the university thing. I went to trade school for carpentry. I work in construction.”

“Not to brag or anything, but I refinished an entire dining room set.”

“Did you, now?”