19. Neavh

"Morning, cousin!"

I stroll into the kitchen of David's house, humming as I pop the fridge open and sway my hips from side to side as I crouch down to look for some breakfast.

David grunts a greeting from where he's engrossed in his phone over on the couch.

I pop up with a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of orange juice in the other, still humming as I pour myself a glass and get started on scrambling.

The juice tastes delicious. Life tastes delicious. Everything about this morning is delicious, from the sunlight filtering through the window next to the stove, to the crows cawing up in the trees, to the way I can still feel the sting of Clover's bite on my shoulder where I've covered it up by tossing a sweater on over my pajamas.

My face gets hot as I think back to that moment—and all the moments that came after it.

I keep myself hunched over the pan of bubbling eggs like they're the most interesting thing in the world as I try to wipe the grin off my face.

The grin remains. It's impossible not to grin when I feel like I'm floating. I'm pretty sure my feet haven't touched the floor since I climbed into Clover's truck last night.

Anything can happen.

It's the phrase I can't get out of my head. I thought it for the first time as she was driving me home at almost four in the morning, and it played in my dreams as I slept.

When I showed up here a month ago, I thought the best thing I could hope for was a quiet summer spent staying out of Clover's way. I thought the most that would happen between us were a few steely glares shot my way and maybe a few choice curse words muttered under her breath.

I thought I'd run out of chances. I thought I'd blown the only one I'd ever get to bits. Even when she agreed to let me help her with the yurt, I thought we were just thawing a layer of ice between us. I thought that under the ice, there'd only ever be cold, hard stone formed from all the ashes of the explosion I made when I left.

I was wrong, though. Under the ice, there was still fire. We still burn. We still shine.

I think back to the way Clover wrapped her arms around me and let me curl up on her chest when we finished last night, and my grin turns into a beaming smile.

We still glow.

The whole summer has changed now, like a seismic shift Clover could describe in way more scientific terms than me. The space between us has cracked and crumbled, and now we're careening towards each other full force.

Anything can happen.

I whip my head around when David sighs. I forgot all about him on the couch.

He's still peering at his phone, two creases forming between his eyebrows as he glares at the screen.

"Trouble in paradise?" I quip.

He blinks and looks up. "Huh?"

I nod at the phone and twirl my spatula in the air as I sing-song, "Are you texting Lawwwww-nie?"

He turns his glare on me instead of the phone. I should probably knock off the annoying little cousin routine, but I'm still pumped up on giddiness from the high of last night, and his reactions to this whole Lonnie situation are too funny to resist.

Plus, maybe some of my ‘anything can happen' energy is just what he needs to finally ask her out.

"I am not texting Lonnie."

His somber tone combined with his deadpan glare makes me snort.

"Right," I say before taking a pointed sip of my orange juice. "Well, if you are texting Lonnie, I think today would be a great day to ask if she wants to meet up at the ice cream shack. I just feel it in the air, you know? I think this is your shot."

His expression doesn't lighten. Instead, he sets his phone down on the coffee table with the careful deliberation of someone who's weighing their every word.

When he looks back up at me, there's an eerie blankness to his eyes.

"I'm not texting Lonnie," he repeats. "I'm texting your mom."

The spatula drops from my hand and lands on the floor with a clatter, spraying egg bits all over the bottom of the cupboards.

My spine turns to ice, my throat filled with a lump that makes it impossible to ask him what the hell he's talking about. Blood rushes in my ears, and I grab the edge of the counter for support.

"Neavh, did you not even tell them you left Australia?"

His tone implies he already knows the answer. He gets up and comes to stand at the edge of the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest.

"She sent me a text asking if I'd heard from you lately." His face still has an unnerving blankness to it as he looks me over. "I told her you've taken to sleeping through the morning since you're working at the bar, but that I'd have you message her when you woke up. She had no idea what I was talking about."

I swallow, forcing the lump back down my throat, and whirl around as the scent of burning eggs begins to fill the kitchen.

I yank the pan off the hot burner, but it's too late. My breakfast is ruined.

"We don't talk much."

My voice is low, almost a grumble. I turn back around to face him and cross my arms to mimic his pose.

"Neavh, you at least need to tell them what continent you're on."

I shrug. "Why?"

He tilts his head. "Because they're your parents? And they care about you? Your mom was worried, Neavh. She said they haven't heard from you in months and that you won't answer their calls."

I fight not to roll my eyes. "I change phone numbers a lot. They know that. If they really wanted to get in touch, they'd figure it out."

"Neavh."

The stony wall of disapproval David has been trying to keep up crumbles. His face creases, and he shoves a hand through his hair while he blows out a long breath.

"She really sounded worried. I think you should call her, or at least text her, or something."

I can feel the frustration boiling up inside me, and I know it's only moments away from erupting into anger. I brush past him and stride into the living room, heading all the way over to the window so I can stare out at the soft yellow light filtering through the treetops in the hopes of regaining even a scrap of the magic I felt just moments ago.

Nothing comes. I might as well be staring at a screensaver on a computer. That's how cut off I feel from the scene outside, like just the mention of my family has sucked me straight back to Montreal.

"I'm not going to do that," I say, fighting to keep the bite out of my tone. "She knows I'm fine now, so what would the point be? If I call her, all she's going to do is tell me I'm wasting my life and that I need to come home and get a degree and a career and stop being a disgrace to the family."

I hear David step up behind me, but I keep my gaze pinned to the window.

"She's called you a disgrace to the family?" His voice is soft, but I can hear the shock hiding behind his gentle tone.

"Not in so many words," I admit. "They just… They want me to be something I'm not, David. They want me to be something I can't be. I've tried, okay? I've fucking tried, but I'm just…I'm not him."

The pane of glass in front of me blurs, and my voice sounds like it's coming from far away, so far away I don't even feel like it's me talking as the words continue to pour out of me.

"I'm not enough to…to bring them back. They just sit in that house all day. They go through the motions, but they're gone. They checked out when Charles died, even though I was right there. I was right in front of them the whole time, and it didn't matter how hard I tried in school or how hard I worked around the house or how many things I tried to do for them. The only time they ever seemed to snap out of it was when I did something bad."

I shake my head to clear out the rush of memories that threatens to swallow me whole. I raise one hand and press the pads of my fingers to the window.

The glass is cool and smooth. The glass is solid. Real.

I'm here. I'm not there. I'm here.

After taking a deep breath, I turn around and face David.

"So no, I'm not going to call them when I know damn well that nothing has changed."

He watches me for a moment, pain lining his face, and then opens his mouth like he's about to speak, but I don't want to hear it. I don't want an argument. I just want this conversation to be done.

"I'm the leftover child, okay, David?" I spit out. "That's who I am to them. That's why I left."

That's why I left her too.

The thought creeps into my mind like black sludge threatening to choke my airways.

I left Clover because I couldn't believe I'd ever be good enough for her when I wasn't even good enough to save my own parents.

Suddenly, it's like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the house. My head spins.

If nothing has changed with them, why would anything have changed with Clover?

The voice in my head is scratchy and raw, like claws raking over the surface of my brain.

I press my fingertips to my temples.

"I need some air."

Before David can stop me, I storm past him and flail for my wallet and keys beside the door before sprinting out into the yard.

Like an animal caught in a trap, I whip my head from side to side, everything a panicked blur as I hunt for a way out.

"Neavh, wait!"

The sound of the door slamming echoes through the quiet morning as David runs out after me.

My heart is beating so fast I can feel a vein in my neck pulsing. There's still not enough air. I need to move.

Without processing what I'm doing, I head for the golf cart. I swing myself into the driver's seat, but my shaking hands won't fit the key in the ignition. I curse when it falls from my fingers and onto the floor.

David has caught up with me. Panting, he grabs onto one of the poles supporting the golf cart's roof.

"Neavh, wait," he says as I try and fail to grab hold of the fucking key. "We should talk about this. You can't go around feeling like this for the rest of your life. We can figure it out, okay? I can try talking to them. We can—"

"No."

My fist closes around metal, the edge of the key digging into my palm.

"I don't want to, David. I'm done. They need me to fix something that's broken in them, and clearly, I. Can't. Do. It."

I squeeze the key harder and then gasp at the sharp sting of pain when the serrated edge threatens to slice my palm. Like a twisted parody of a blooming flower, I open my hand to reveal the key and the angry red welts I've pressed into my own skin.

David doesn't seem to notice. He keeps talking as I wait for the sting to subside enough for me to try the ignition again.

"That's not what I meant," he urges. "You don't need to do that, okay? You don't ever need to fix anyone. I just think if we tried to talk about this, then—"

I can't hold it in anymore.

A frustrated scream bursts out of the back of my throat.

David is stunned. He releases his grip on the cart and takes a step back.

My shoulders heave as I suck in a few shuddering breaths.

I don't want to be this person. I don't want to sit here literally screaming at my cousin who's been nothing but kind to me all summer, but if he says one more word about calling my parents, I know I'm going to try flipping this golf cart on its head.

He doesn't get it. He doesn't realize there's no use. Nothing is going to change.

I gave up. I left. I failed.

After a few more breaths, I manage to get the key in the slot, but I hesitate instead of pressing the gas pedal.

It's another few seconds before I can look at David again.

"Just leave it, okay?" I say "Just pretend she never texted you and forget it. Please."

He doesn't agree. Instead, he moves closer and grabs the pole again, trapping me.

"Where are you going?"

Frustration licks at my skin like flames.

"I don't know, okay?" I snap before I can stop myself. "Obviously not very far in a fucking golf cart."

I have to drop my eyes in shame as soon as the words leave my mouth.

He deserves better than this. He might not understand, but he is trying to look out for me.

He might be the only person in my whole family who's able to do that.

"I'm sorry." I force myself to meet his gaze again. "I'm going to go, uh, I don't know, clean stuff at the bar. I just need to get out of here."

He looks at me for a long moment before he nods.

"Okay." He releases his grip and stuffs his hands in his pockets instead as he backs away from the cart. "Be safe, okay?"

I nod back and press my foot to the pedal.

"Okay."

By the time the lunch rush has cleared out, I'm covered in sweat and a variety of food stains. My dramatic exit from David's place this morning didn't give me a chance to grab a hair elastic, so I've got one of Connor's signature bandanas knotted around my head to complete my look.

I use the bottom of my shirt to wipe some of the grease off my face and plop onto one of the bar stools. My feet sing with relief as I take my weight off them for the first time in hours.

"Jesus," I say as Connor walks by holding a tray loaded up with empty pint glasses. "David wasn't kidding when he said this place would pick up in the summer."

Now that it's almost July, the tourists are passing through town in droves every day. The lunch rush is still nothing compared to this place on a Saturday night, but I'll be walking out of here today with a nice stack of tips.

I've been so busy I haven't had much of a chance to breathe, never mind think, which is exactly the kind of shift I needed after this morning.

"It's boomin'!" Connor says, bobbing his head to the rock music on the speakers.

We both flinch at the squeak of the front door opening.

"Aw, shit," Connor mutters. "Looks like your five second break is done. Good luck, soldier."

He heads off to the kitchen, and I hop to my feet to greet the straggler.

"Hey there! Can I get you a—"

The wind gets knocked right out of me when the customer turns from pulling the door shut and I get my first look at her face.

"Hey!"

Clover beams at me, and I feel like I'm staring straight into the sun. Everything else gets wiped away as she brushes her gleaming copper hair over her shoulder and walks over to me, the blue mini lights behind the bar casting a faint glow on her cheeks.

"I tried texting you, but you weren't answering. I forgot you'd be working."

She hovers, shifting her weight from foot to foot when all I do is continue to stare at her. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.

What are you supposed to say when someone knocks the entire orbit of your world off-kilter with nothing but the word ‘hey' and a smile?

I can't stop thinking about the way she made me burst into a million pieces last night and then held me in the dark as she pressed them all back together like stardust forming a new planet.

As I look at her gorgeous face, I realize this summer has now been split into two halves: before last night, and after.

There's no going back to how we were.

"I feel kind of silly." She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and glances down at the floor. "I should have just waited for you to answer, but I'm on a late lunch break, and I wanted to see you, and before I knew it, I was in the truck. I was heading to David's place, but then I saw your sweet ride in the parking lot."

She chuckles and tries to sound breezy, but I can hear the nerves edging her voice.

I really need to at least say something.

"You're pretty," I blurt.

Clover's eyes go wide. "O-oh?"

My face flames. I reach to shove my hair behind my ears out of habit before I realize it's already held back by the bandana. My arm drops awkwardly to my side.

"Uh, sorry. I don't know why I said that."

A beat of silence passes, and my cheeks get even hotter.

"I mean, wait. I do know why I said that. I said it because you are pretty. I just mean that was maybe an inside thought?" I babble. "I mean, not that I don't think I should say you're pretty. You definitely deserve to hear you're pretty. I just—"

"Neavh."

She cuts me off with a soft smile and then leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek, so fast I almost can't believe it's happened.

Her cheeks go pink, and she glances around the bar to make sure the handful of customers left are still engrossed by their food, but she doesn't stop smiling.

"Thanks." She nods her chin at me. "You look cute in that bandana, which is not something I've ever said to anyone before."

We both chuckle. I gesture at the closest bar stool and ask if I can get her anything.

She shakes her head. "I can't stay long. I just wanted to pop in and follow up on my text."

"Oh, shit. Your text." I start patting my pockets down and then remember my phone is in the back room. I'm about to dash away when I notice Clover is laughing at me.

"Neavh, I'm right here. I can just tell you what it said."

I pause mid-step. "Oh. Right."

She laughs again, and a very creepy part of me wishes I could record the sound. Even when she's laughing at me, she has one of the cutest laughs in the world.

"I wanted to know if you and any of the staff here would be interested in coming to a Three Rivers staff party next week. It'll be low-key." She pauses and then shakes her head. "Well, as low-key as you could expect a Three Rivers staff party to be. We're doing the usual: bonfire, marshmallows, bad guitar covers, and a huge tub of beer. It's on Monday, since that's usually the least busy night at the campground."

I short-circuit all over again.

She wants me to come to a party. Granted, she did just invite the entire staff of the bar too, but she asked me.

She wants me at her home, with her coworkers and her family. She wants to spend time with me. She wants me around.

"Of course!" I shout, my voice way too loud for the bar. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Great!" she says.

We smile at each other like idiots for a few more seconds before she glances over her shoulder out the window and sighs.

"I should probably get back to work now."

"Oh. Right." I put all my concentration into sounding casual. "Of course. Me too."

"You'll text me?" she asks, the nervousness back in her tone.

I bob my head and give up on playing it cool as I say, "There is nothing I would like to do more than text you."

She giggles, and then, in another flash of movement I can barely process before it's over, she gives me a peck on my other cheek before spinning around and marching out of the bar.

I raise my fingertips to my cheek and watch as her truck pulls out of the parking lot a few seconds later.

It's only when she's out of sight that I remember this morning at all.

You really think you're not going to fuck this up again?

That grating, rusty voice speaks up before I can even try to smother it into silence.

You really think you could be enough for that girl?

I hunt for a tray to stack up a load of glasses from a recently vacated table, willing the menial task to dull my mind into submission, but the voice won't shut up.

She deserves the world. You can barely even give her a summer. Did you really think this would work out okay?

I search for a comeback, for a reason that's not fair, but the truth is there is no reason.

There is no answer.

The truth is the voice is making sense.