“Gotcha. That makes sense. How was your first day? Did Sam take advantage and order you around all day?”
“Not too much. I was actually out delivering most of the time, so it wasn’t bad.”
“That’s good!” she says brightly.
The line goes quiet, and I still have so much to tell her, but I ask her a question instead.
“Hey—this is kind of random, but did you ever take a picture of me with my camera?”
Paige laughs, and I hope this means the answer is yes. All this would be so much easier if her answer is yes. She would know what was going on with me if the answer is yes.
“I’ve taken lots of pictures of you,” she says.
“I mean with my actual camera.”
“The old one you used to lug around everywhere? Liv, what are you . . . ?”
“Never mind,” I say, and I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I was just going through some old pictures, and there was one I really liked that I thought you might’ve taken.”
“I doubt it. You never let anyone else touch that camera.” I think about it, and she’s right. I didn’t trust anyone with it. Especially not to take pictures of me. “Anyway,” she says, “are you and Matt still gonna hang out tomorrow? He said you guys made plans the other day, but he hadn’t heard back from you.”
“Yeah, I . . . I need to call him back next.”
“You want me to come over and help you get ready again?”
“No—I mean, that’s okay. I’m good.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me, even just for moral support.”
“Thanks.”
“And give me a call after. Let’s hang out.”
“I will.”
“Good. Love you, Liv.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and take a deep breath. Get ready to call Matt next. We haven’t spoken since he dropped me off after the interview, so I’m not sure what to expect. He answers on the first ring too.
“Liv, hi.”
“Hi.”
“How are you?” he asks. “How’d your first day of work go?”
“Fine, it was good.”
“Good.”
There’s a long pause on the line.
“So did you still wanna hang out tomorrow after you get off work?” he asks.
“Yeah, I do. I’m off at three, so maybe pick me up at three thirty?”
“Sure. That sounds good.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he repeats.
We both laugh.
“See you tomorrow, Liv.”
“See you tomorrow.”
I hear him laugh again as I hang up, and I hope this isn’t the way the whole thing goes tomorrow. I think of what he said to Paige, about both of us trying. He still is. And if he’s willing to try for us, then I think I am too, but I need to see him again to know for sure.
I get up to get in the shower, but remember my necklace in my pocket. I don’t want to lose it again, so take it out and set it next to the pictures. And then, for good measure, I repeat the little poem in my mind.
I sit there a moment, phone in my hand. And then I tap the Instagram button and scroll through my own feed for the umpteenth time, looking through all the photos of me and Matt for I don’t know what. A shot that’ll make me excited to see him tomorrow? A picture of us that’ll evoke something familiar in me? I’ve already memorized the first frames that show up, so I keep scrolling, back, and back, looking for anything that might have that kind of effect. Anything that will convince me that we are still right for each other. That I actually should still be trying.
And then I land on something. A photo I hadn’t paid any attention to before. Hadn’t even seen—maybe because it’s one of the only shots not filled with smiling faces. I click on it to get a better look.
This one is just of the sky and a crazy swirl of clouds, lit from beneath by the setting sun. It’s beautiful, a breathtaking moment, and I wonder if this is one of the shots Chloe was talking about, where I was working on capturing light. I examine the fiery horizon, and the dusky ocean, and then something that’s just barely in the frame catches my eye. It looks almost like it could be a mast, and there is a hand resting on it. I look down to see what I wrote about it, but there is no caption. It’s the only one, out of them all, that has no caption.
But looking at it now, there’s that feeling again, that this means something.
TWENTY-TWO
THE NEXT DAY, work goes by in a blur of deliveries that don’t go very well. I make mistakes, get lost, take too long, because I’m not really there. I’m in my mind, still sorting through conversations and stories and pictures and details. I try not to feel frustrated, try to just go with the now, like my dad said, but today it feels like everything I need to know is right there below the surface, beneath some invisible, impenetrable barrier that’s in place for me alone.
After work, I shower and change but don’t have time to put on any makeup or do my hair like Paige did before Matt arrives to pick me up, and his surprise shows on his face when I answer the door.
“Hi,” he says, with an awkward smile. “You ready to go, or did you need more time?”
“I’m ready—unless I need to dress up. Do I need to dress up?”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re perfect just like that.”
We get into his truck, I remember how to work the seat belt, and all of it feels more familiar this time.
“So,” I say, as we drive out of the neighborhood, “where are we headed?” I try to keep my tone light. This is the first of many questions I need to ask him.
He smiles. “You’ll see. It’s kind of a surprise.”
“Okay.”
We’re both quiet as he pulls onto the highway that heads north, out of town, then he glances over at me. “So. How was work?”
“Busy. Crazy. How was yours?”
“It was good.” He smiles. “Finally got this little guy who was terrified of the water to let go of the wall and swim halfway across the pool to me. He was pretty proud, so that was a win.”
“Aw. He’s gonna remember you for that.”
I cringe even as the words come out of my mouth.
Matt glances over at me. “Maybe. I mean, I hope so.”
He drives, and I look out the window, and it’s so quiet I roll mine down, just to have something other than the silence between us because I can’t think of anything to say. At least, nothing that I’m ready to say yet.
“So this place we’re going,” he says finally. “It’s where I took you on our second date. You packed a picnic, and we just sat on the beach and ate and hung out, and I was thinking it would be nice to do that again.” He looks at me. “Does that sound okay? I mean, we can do something else if you want.”
“No,” I say. “That sounds really nice. You should’ve told me, though—I would’ve packed us a picnic again.”
“I took care of it,” he says, and motions to the backseat of the truck.
Sitting there on the seat is a neatly folded blanket and picnic basket.
“You did that?”
“I had a little help,” he says. He looks at me. “Paige.”
“Ah. She’s good with that sort of thing.” I laugh a little. “She probably helped me out with it the first time.”
“Maybe,” he says.
We’re both quiet, and the silence stretches so tight you could burst it with a pin. We both start to say something.
“I’m not really—”