Charlie apologized again when he picked me up for my last shift at the Tavern a day later, and I nodded, but that was the last we spoke of what had happened between us.
When I returned to the city, my parents immediately broke the news that they would be putting the cottage up for sale in the fall. I should have seen it coming, paid more attention to the way my parents had been sniping at each other about money. I burst into tears when they explained how our Toronto home needed renovations and, besides, I could always stay with the Floreks. It felt like punishment for what I’d done.
Sam and I had only exchanged emails since the night with Charlie, but he called me as soon as he read my message with the news, saying he was sad but was sure I could spend the next summer at their house.
“I know how upset you must be,” he said. “You won’t have to say goodbye alone. We can pack your things together over Thanksgiving and move a bunch of it to my place. The Creature from the Black Lagoon poster can go in my room.”
Neither of us mentioned his email. And I said nothing of what had happened with Charlie.
What I needed was to talk to Delilah, but she had already shipped out to Kingston. I wanted to confide in her, I wanted her to give me a plan for how to make everything better, but I couldn’t do that via text, and I didn’t want to do it on the phone, to hear her voice but not see her reaction.
I don’t remember much about those first weeks of school. Only that Sam began to write longer emails between our scheduled Sunday calls. Now that Jordie and he were rooming together and he was getting used to the campus and the city, he was feeling more settled. Also, while his workshop wasn’t graded, he had received a glowing review from the supervising professor and an offer to work part-time on his research project. He hadn’t yet bumped into Delilah, but he was keeping his eyes open for a head of red hair.
He explained how lonely he’d been when he first got to school, how he kept his notes short so as not to worry me. He apologized for the drunken state he’d been in when I called him, and told me that when he thought of building a future, it was always a future with me in it. He also apologized for not making that clear. He told me I was his best friend. He told me he missed me. He told me he loved me.
Sam’s classes ended early on Fridays and he wanted to take the train to Toronto to see me on weekends, but I pushed him off, telling him my professor had asked for a twenty-thousand-word short story to be completed in a matter of weeks. It wasn’t a lie, but I also finished the assignment well ahead of time without letting Sam know. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was humming with nervous anticipation. I still hadn’t told Delilah what had happened, but I had talked myself into telling Sam the truth. I would do anything I could to make it right between us, but I couldn’t lie to him.
I drove up Friday, not even stopping to pee, so I could make it to the cottage by the time Sue got back to Barry’s Bay with Sam. My parents had already moved most of our knickknacks out of the cottage and weren’t coming back for the holiday. They left my room for me to take care of. The Realtor would be there the following week to stage the place and start the showings.
I had emailed Sam that I had something important to talk to him about as soon as he got home. That’s funny, I have something I want to talk to you about too, he wrote.
I kept myself busy waiting for him, my stomach in knots and my hands shaking as I untacked the Creature from the Black Lagoon poster from over my bed. I cleared out my desk, flipping through the clothbound notebook Sam had given me, and running my fingers over his slanted inscription on the inside cover, For your next brilliant story, before packing it in a box. I set the wooden box with my initials carved on its lid on top. I knew without having to peek inside that it still contained the embroidery floss I made our bracelets with.
He has to forgive me, I thought to myself, over and over, willing it to be true.
I was just getting started on the nightstand when I heard the back door open. I flew down the stairs and threw myself into Sam’s arms, knocking him backward and against the door, his laugh reverberating through me, our arms tight around each other. He felt bigger than I remembered. He felt solid. And real.
“I missed you, too,” he said into my hair, and I breathed him in, wanting to climb inside his ribs and snuggle up beneath them.
We kissed and hugged, me through tears, and then he led me over to the middle of the room and leaned his forehead against mine.
“Three updates?” I whispered, and his eyes crinkled with a smile.
“One, I love you,” he replied. “Two, I can’t stand the idea of leaving again, of you not coming back to this cottage, without you knowing how much I love you.” He took a shaky breath, then knelt on one knee, taking my hands in his. Three”—he looked up at me, his blue eyes serious and wide and hopeful and scared—“I want you to marry me.”
My heart exploded in a burst of happiness, molten pleasure seeping into my bloodstream. And just as fast, I remembered what I’d done and who I’d done it with, and the color drained from my face.
Sam rushed to go on. “Not today. Or this year. Not until you’re thirty, if that’s what you want. But marry me.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and held out a gold ring with a circle of small diamonds surrounding a center stone. It was beautiful, and it made me feel violently ill.
“My mom gave me this. It was her mom’s ring,” he said. “You’re my best friend, Percy. Please be my family.”
I stood in silent shock for five long seconds, my mind racing. How could I tell him about Charlie now? When he was down on one knee, holding his grandmother’s ring? But how could I accept without telling him? I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not when he thought I was good enough to marry. There was only one option.
I knelt down in front of him, hating myself for what I was about to do. What I had to do.
“Sam,” I said, closing his hand over the ring and biting back tears. “I can’t.” He blinked, then opened his mouth and closed it again, then opened it, but still nothing came out.
“We’re too young. You know that,” I whispered. It was a lie. I wanted to say yes to him and screw you to anyone who questioned us. I wanted Sam forever.
“I know I said that before, but I was wrong,” he replied. “Not many people meet the person they’re meant to be with when they’re thirteen. But we did. You know we did. I want you now. And I want you forever. I think about it all the time. I think about traveling. And getting jobs. And having a family. And you’re always there with me. You have to be there with me,” he said, his voice cracking and his eyes moving over my face for a sign that I’d changed my mind.
“You might not always feel that way, Sam,” I said. “You’ve pushed me away before. You kept the course from me, and then I spent most of the summer wondering why I barely heard from you. And then that email . . . I can’t trust that you’ll love me forever when I don’t even know if you’ll love me next month.” The words tasted like bile, and he jerked his head back like I’d hit him. “I think we should take a break for a while,” I said softly enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear the agony in my voice.
“You don’t really want that, do you?” He croaked out the words, his eyes glassy. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
“Just for a while,” I repeated, holding back tears.
He studied my face like he was missing something. “Swear on it.” He said it as though he was issuing a challenge, as if he didn’t quite believe me.
I hesitated, and then I wrapped my index finger around his bracelet and tugged.
“I swear.”
17
Now
“I slept with Charlie,” I say to Sam, barely registering that he’s just told me he loves me.
He’s silent.