Chapter Twenty-One

Today

My head throbs. My mouth is dry and cottony, hurting down in my throat, and I feel sick. When did a night of drinking equal daytime torture?

I open my eyes to find the left side of my body propped up on a wall of pillows. Tucker lays on the other side of them, boxers peeking out his low-slung sweatpants, always so ethereal-looking when he sleeps except for that wide-open mouth. I zone in on a water bottle.

Crawling over Tucker's bare chest, I snatch it from the bedside table. It hurts to open my eyes. He groans as I press into his stomach. I drink the whole bottle in one motion.

"Ow," Tucker complains.

I toss the bottle on the ground and roll back to my spot. "You are supposed to be on the couch," I groan, rubbing my eyes.

"You demanded that I sleep here."

I consider that. It's most likely true.

"Well, why is there a brick wall of pillows?"

"I had to make a barrier," he says. "You kept clawing at my penis."

" Sure ," I grumble, but he might be right. Small snippets of last night wander back into my conscious mind. I definitely wanted him. "What time is it?" I ask.

He picks up his phone. "10:00."

"Do you think anyone else is awake?"

"I think everyone is awake. You and I are the only ones who ever sleep this late." He turns his head. He breathes a laugh. "How does a thirty-year-old hangover feel?"

"Like an anvil dropped on my head."

My ears ring. My teeth feel rubbery. The comforter is pushed back off his body, tucked up tight to mine. I'm cold, he's hot.

Some things never change.

Tucker pushes up on his elbows. "You need a banana."

"You wouldn't let me have your banana."

"Potassium, you creep," he laughs. "For your hangover." He puts his back against the headboard. A shirt slides over his head. "And drink water with your seven cups of coffee."

"I need caffeine to put up with you."

"Well, good thing we're not talking to each other anymore, right?" He catches my eye. "When does that start?"

I snap, "You're the one who wants to pretend like we're friends and everything is fine and that you didn't grab a handful of ass last night."

"You liked it." He blinks. "Hey…what do you think of Jen?"

I stretch my body. "She's nice. That's a hell of a ring he gave her."

"I know."

I wonder, "Did he tell you that he was going to propose?"

"Yeah."

"Did he tell you about the orchestra and the cooking lessons and the tandem bike riding?"

He answers, "I think he rides a unicycle, and she sits on his shoulders, but I can't be sure." He catches my train of thought. "That bothers you, huh? That he's doing things with her that don't feel like him ."

"No." I ponder this. "I'm just realizing how honest he and I actually are with each other."

We do these vacations together and catch up on the phone, but Johnny and I stay pretty surface level. That's probably our friendship now. I think about St. Patrick's Day and beach vacations and that RV trip Wyatt wanted to take to the Grand Canyon. Jen with her delicate hands and sun dresses and giant diamond, the secret life between she and my best friend that I'm not privy to. Then, I think about Tucker and the woman laughing at his side while the four of them take couple walks together.

My chest hurts.

I sit up, tucking my hair back to see him properly. "Is that weird for you? Meeting the girl you'll have to spend best friend trips with for the rest of your life?"

He scratches his jaw. "I haven't really thought about it. How about for you?"

"Johnny and I haven't been best friends for a while. Not like you two."

"He says you guys talk every week."

"He didn't even tell me he was proposing to her," I say. "And I'm not even mad that he didn't. By now it's kind of like he's a comfortable voice. We're just familiar, that's all." I add, "Maybe that'll be different when I meet someone." I gauge his reaction, noting a slight shift in his legs. "Then Jen and I can be friends."

"What makes you think she wants to be your friend?"

"She's nice. I'm nice."

Tucker scoffs, "Tell that to my testicles." He focuses on the pillows between us. "Ella, can I ask you something without it being…wrong?"

The look he's giving me hurts. I feel like the question will hurt. It'll be one of those things that tests boundaries. I don't respond, but Tucker asks anyway.

"You said yesterday that I was your best friend." His eyelids droop, heaviness in his gaze. "Did you mean that?"

My stomach tightens. "Yes." That's the truth.

"When did you figure that out?" he asks.

"I don't know," I wince. "I think when I put you beside Johnny. When I thought of who I would call if I needed something. Or who would show up even when I didn't call."

Tucker's hand lands on our barrier. I wouldn't take a body language analyst to decipher this movement. He's bringing himself closer to me. By the distracted look on his face, he doesn't realize he's doing it.

We weren't going to talk anymore.

I wasn't going to be angry anymore.

He wanted neutrality. Gesturing like he wants to touch me does not belong in any of those categories.

"Is that how you define a best friend?" he asks.

I say, "Yeah, I guess so. It's the friend you like the best, trust the most. At some point, you became that for me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he urges.

I stiffen. There he goes again, the blame back on me. I say, "Would it have made a difference?"

If you told me I was your friend, I would have called you sometime.

Tucker shakes his head. "My mom said you lost your memory -"

"I lost some memories from just before the accident, Tucker, I didn't forget a lifetime." I exhale with surprise. "I haven't forgotten how I felt."

He frowns at that. Maybe he's wondering how I feel.

Sitting on this bed, his protective layer between us, is not the time to discuss how I felt. Then, or now. If I went there, his hand might make its way across no-man's-land and I'd gladly accept him because we have peace treaties to discuss, battles left unfinished. I can't hate him on my side of the bed. If he touches me again, I'll forget to be mad.

Tucker doesn't respond. I don't give him the time.

I roll off the bed, stumbling on dizzied feet. In the bathroom, I assess my pale skin and dark eye circles, the purple on my lips from the wine. I grab soap bottles from my toiletry bag and turn on the hot water in the shower. Tucker will have gone out into the kitchen by now, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, hangover-free. He won't have anything embarrassing to hide from. He can stew in his thoughts about friendship, that's a decent punishment.

I step under the water and wonder if I last night's events should have happened. We kissed, I know that, and I couldn't have avoided it. It would have drawn more attention if I didn't kiss him. Friends engaging in a silly game of Spin the Bottle wouldn't make a fuss. I kissed Ritchie. He kissed Serena.

But when Tucker took my face and pulled it into his, I saw stars. The kind of euphoria you get when you win the lottery or when I'm having a particularly good dance day. When my muscles are warm and my balance is on point and I turn more than four rotations in a pirouette. Spinning on an axis. The feeling that the universe beyond me could crumble and I'd still remain, turning infinitely, both in and out of control.

In that state, I could have done or said something else. Something I shouldn't say.

From the moment I woke from the coma, throughout the first few months of my recovery, I had the most gut-wrenching series of thoughts. They concerned partners, love, future, Tucker. I felt it, even when he didn't show up, and I pushed it back because he didn't show up.

I notice the spot on the floor where he brushed my teeth last night and I made a series of nonsense statements.

I hope I didn't tell him how I really felt.

Tipping my head to the water, feeling the heat sting my skin, I notice a blur behind me.

"Tucker!" I screech.

Oh my God, what is happening? I've summoned him into the bathroom from thought alone.

On the other side of the glass shower door, he stands in front of the toilet, wide-eyed and grimacing. "I'm sorry! I forgot this bathroom didn't have a shower curtain."

"Get out!" I cross my arms over my chest.

"I can't just stop peeing midstream."

I turn to face the wall. "You could at least look away."

"I am."

"No, you're not!"

"Calm down, Ella." I listen to him at the sink. "I'm not looking at you." He turns the water off. "If I wanted to see you naked, all I would have to do is remember ."

When he's out of the bathroom, I realize I have made a mistake.

There's no tiptoeing around our intimacies when the strings are left untied. I wouldn't have clawed at his penis last night if we didn't kiss. He wouldn't have had to barricade himself into safety. I wouldn't feel hot knowing he could imagine my naked body whenever he wanted.

Please, please, don't let me have told him.

Out of the shower, I change into a simple midi dress, popping Tucker's sweatshirt over it as I walk out of the door.

"That smell," I comment.

Callie and Wyatt sit at the kitchen table on their phones. Serena slides the coffee pot out. "Tucker made you afternoon coffee."

"How did you know I like Benny's Coffee?" I take the cup she offers.

"I didn't bring this, Tucker brought it."

"He doesn't drink coffee. And this is my favorite roast. It's from home."

She says, "I don't know what to tell you." She slides a plate. "He also made you breakfast. He called it -"

"Waffles a la Ella." Two frozen waffles with chocolate chips in the middle, chunks of butter on top, drizzled with maple syrup. Banana on the side.

Callie chimes in, "He gave me a very specific grocery list of foods to get for you."

"Why?" I take my breakfast and coffee and sit at the table. "Why is he packing my favorite coffee and making me food?"

"He's just doing what he does best," Serena replies. "Taking care of you. He knows you wouldn't ask for anything specific but it's your birthday, you should have the most perfect vacation."

Gestures like this are what cast Tucker in the role he claims not to own. How could he not see that caring for me this way would make me adore him?

I search for him, seeing movement in the pool.

Tucker loved being in the water. He was on the community swim team for a little while in middle school and then he had to choose between it and baseball. He liked to swim, even when we went to the pool or the beach, at some point he always drifted off on his own. I would watch him. I wondered if he liked to be alone in it. I could almost see the allure.

The front door opens. Ritchie comes in sweaty, pulling headphones down to his neck.

" Afternoon , Ella," he teases. "Gosh, it's hot in Florida." He places his hand on the back of my chair and asks Serena about the day's plan.

Serena points to my food. "You - eat up. Johnny and Jen went for a walk, when they come back, we're going to Islamorada to walk around, get some drinks and get some lunch. We can sit on the beach, but it's probably a little too cold to get in the water."

"When did he start swimming again?" I ask.

Wyatt looks up. He pushes back his straggly hair, wiggling his nose ring. "Huh?"

"Tucker."

"Oh."

Callie breathes, "I didn't notice the conversation swing back to him."

Ritchie says, "Hey, Ella, I'd love to hear about your plans for San Francisco. I went out to visit Johnny this year and fell in love with it."

"Sure." I shovel a wedge of chocolate-covered waffles in my mouth. "Does he ever mention me?"

Wyatt says, "No more than he discusses that time we saw a Chupacabra. I swear we did, Ritchie, you know we did! That was no feral cat."

Distantly, Serena muses, "She's not listening. Let's see how long this lasts."

I don't know what she's referring to. I continue, "I have to come up in conversation sometime ."

"Hey, Ella," Wyatt starts, "We're thinking of taking a trip to Neptune next summer."

"Okay." I watch long arms power through the water, watch Tucker sit up and shake out his hair. So many stalker girls came around the pool when we were in middle school, spying on him swimming, texting each other and showing up in hoards.

Wyatt says, "You're going to need your snowsuit. It's really cold out there in space."

"Okay." I take another bite of my waffle. Tucker climbs out of the pool. "Shit," I say when I spill coffee on my plate.

Callie snorts a laugh while Serena takes my plate and brushes my wet hair. Serena laughs, "You poor, horny, beautiful woman. Go dry your hair."

"Horny?"

"Oh, she's with us now."

I stand as Tucker enters the kitchen with a towel. I walk toward the bedroom at the same time that he walks toward the bedroom. I realize we're shoulder to shoulder, he's making a break for the bathroom.

"Tucker!" I push myself in the room. "I have to blow dry my hair."

"And I have to wash my balls."

"Then do it outside with a hose like all the other dogs!"

He crosses his arms. "There are outlets in the bedroom."

I hold out my blow dryer like a weapon. "What will you give me?"

His face breaks into a smile. He leans down toward my face. "Ella, I am taking a shower, right here, right now. So, unless you want to see my tat, take your tits and go."

Tit for tat .

I said that to him the night that I -

"Elijah!" I scurry out just as he turns around, flashing me an eyeful of ass, free of tan lines, just like he said it would be.

I dry my hair and five minutes later he comes out, griping a towel on his hip, saying, "I'm done."

He changes while I brush up my eyebrows and put on sunscreen. I slip earrings in and dig in my toiletry bag. Tucker stands behind me in his loose half-buttoned shirt and pants, his hair wet and slick, jaw sharp, eyes on me.

"That necklace," he notices.

I clasp it around my neck. "Yeah? I always wear it this time of year."

"You said I never gave you anything for your birthday."

"You gave this to me, but Lori picked it out." I touch the tiny silver charm with my birthdate stamped on it. My sixteenth birthday present. "Didn't she?"

Tucker could move, but he doesn't. He stands behind me when he has plenty of room elsewhere to zip his pants and check his teeth. "Did Gavin get you anything?"

"No."

"Did Jake? Steve?" He eyes me through the mirror. "I went to the jewelry store. I told them what to put on it. I paid for it with lawnmowing money. I even fucking wrapped it."

I face him. "I just assumed…did I even say thank you?"

"I think you said, ‘Thanks Tuck,' and then gave my mom a hug."

His knuckles graze my chest, he holds the pendant for a second. While his thumb runs over the numbers, I whisper, "Thank you. Why did you choose my birthday?"

He drops it. "Because it's our birthday," he answers.

Lemon cake, sparkling grape juice, party hats. New Year's Eve in my house with the television on and everyone shouts, "Happy Birthday Eli and Ella!" instead of wishing Happy New Year. He likes chocolate cake so we used to have two cakes, but he conceded for our thirteenth that he didn't care. He was happy with whatever I wanted. Every year since I was eighteen, I wondered if he would kiss me at midnight. He never did. I wondered if he wanted to.

Tucker backs up. "Come on, Serena's calling for us. You'll probably be too hot in that sweatshirt."

We climb into the rental car and Tucker takes the keys from Johnny. He says, "I'm not drinking, so I'll drive." Serena puts the directions on her phone and sits passenger.

Tucker calls out, "Someone cage Ella in the back so she doesn't do something to distract me while I'm driving."

Moving behind the driver's seat, I lick my pinky finger and stick it in his ear. "Like this?" He flinches and I move into the far back with Wyatt and Callie.

Wyatt sighs. "I love having a designated driver. Dude, are you sure you don't want to come up to Charlotte with us, drive us around? I pay a crap ton in Ubers."

"I live in a city with open container laws," Tucker answers. "You're free to come to me, man."

Jen asks, "You don't drink alcohol at all when you go out?"

"Not if I'm driving," Tucker answers.

"Oh, because Ella was hit by a drunk driver?"

He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. "It's just not responsible."

As he drives off, I whisper to Callie, "Is that true?"

"Yeah," she says. "Won't have a drop. Not even one light beer."

Serena guides Tucker to a restaurant for lunch, where we sit on a deck outside, right by the water. It's a beautiful day, the overhead fans spin, and Tucker heads to the bathroom while we're seated. I tell the waitress, "He'll have a Dr. Pepper."

When he returns and sits opposite me, he remarks, "Who knew to order me this?"

"You're not the only one who pays attention to people," I reply.

He narrows his eyes, settling into his seat. His legs stretch, his pants scratching my shins. "Okay, know-it-all. Five bucks says I know what you're going to order to eat."

"Such a wimpy bet, but whatever. Deal." I offer him my hand. "And same."

"Whisper your answer to Jen." And he tells Ritchie what I'm going to order.

I peruse the menu. I want to pick something out of character just to annoy him, but when the waitress comes, I tell her, "I'll have the chicken sandwich with sweet potato fries."

Ritchie whistles. "Down to the last detail."

I hold a hand to Tucker's smirk and continue, " He will have the fish of the day and a side salad with ranch." He bites his lips. "Am I right or am I right?"

Tucker nods to the waitress. He crosses his arms and leans forward. "I guess that's a tie."

"I don't tie ."

"You just did."

"Then so did you. Does it feel like kissing your sister?"

He lowers his voice. "My mom told me to treat you like a sister, but whenever I kissed you it sure as hell felt like a win."

And his eyes on me feel like an electric shock. I work hard to pry myself from the current.

"Think of a number one through ten," I demand, forcing myself to neutrality.

Tucker sits back and laughs. "That's not a measure of how much I know you. But, guessing how much you weigh -"

"Talk about my weight and I will drown you right here, right now."

He smiles. "Fine. A number one through ten. Got it. My Ella senses are tingling. We're on the same wavelength."

"When it starts itching, you should see a doctor." I steady my eyes on his. He's deadly serious except for the twitch in his left cheek. "You're thinking of…the number 4."

He clicks his teeth. "So close, Beautiful. The answer was 3.5."

"That's not a whole number!"

"You never said whole numbers!" Off our plate of appetizers, he tosses a tater tot at me.

On my left, Jen straightens up. "What are Ella tingles?" The minute she says it, I watch the discomfit flood her face. She's remembering my confession - graphic things - and thinks Ella tingles might be sexual, something she does not want to hear about.

Tucker flashes his brilliant smile. "Coming in hot with the questions, Jen, I'm liking you more and more."

"He's just being stupid," I explain.

"I'm really, really not."

"He has this disorder where he's completely obsessed with me." He kicks me under the table. I kick him back. I tell her, "He thinks he knows everything about me, but he doesn't know anything ."

"This girl right here -" he points at me, "- as wild as she is, will not ride a roller coaster."

"They're unsafe . Everybody knows that."

"She won't get on elevators if they're made of glass."

"I'm afraid of Willy Wonka-ing!"

"She had to wear layered shirts and pants under all of her clothes growing up because she'd have panic attacks about the stupidest things and start stripping her clothes off."

I ball up my napkin and throw it at his face. "I'm not good with my emotion words."

His eyes rest on mine. Soft. "And she doesn't like to fly. So, she needs the armrest pulled up."

I dart my eyes between his.

I peel back histories - this flight and the one to Yellowstone - considering that he sat beside me yesterday on purpose. Did he tell Johnny specifically to order that seat? He knew I was mad at him, but he also knew I needed a body to ground into.

Serena sips her Pina colada and says, "I think that should be a love language. Knowing things about someone. Surely that gets people going. Having a partner who intimately knows what they're going to say or do and who pays attention. I'm adding that to the list."

Tucker looks out at the water.

I think about armrests.

Ritchie puts his beer down. "My marriage counselor brought this up. Explain it again."

"I'd love to." Serena loves to instruct. She holds up her fingers. "There are five love languages: acts of service, physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts. This is how you give and receive love. Jen, you and Johnny should know each other's."

Callie says, "Mine is quality time."

"That's why she wouldn't stay home," Serena teases. "Personally, I like to receive love through words of affirmation. I want to hear that Callie loves me, all the time."

"Gifts, too," Callie grumbles.

"Yes - I love gifts!"

Jen squishes up her face. She won't look at Johnny for some reason. "I don't think I know mine."

Serena points at Tucker. "Well, this one is a classic case. Tucker's love languages are easy to call."

"How so?" he challenges.

She points at me. "Physical touch. You express love through that. You can't keep your hands off of her. And acts of service. You love doing stuff for Ella."

"All of his friends," I add quickly.

"Ella needs a lot of attention."

"Hey! I don't need a lot of attention."

"Fine. Ella likes attention." She pins me down with her eyes, amusement in the corner of her mouth. "She shows love through quality time. Like how you were always coming to Tucker's baseball games or going with him to the store so he could be around you. There was one time in college when she had a date, do you remember that, Ell? You canceled a date because you said, I haven't seen Tucker in a few weeks, I had to come down to Clemson ."

I shift in my seat. Tucker's very still. She's onto something with her analysis.

We haven't even had our food yet, but Serena catches our waitress and asks for another cocktail. "Let's go around the table and share the stories of our first time ."

Ritchie laughs and Wyatt goes, "Damn, Serena! I didn't know we signed up for a therapy session."

"We are in public." Callie flashes her eyes. "These people do not want to be assaulted by the story of Wyatt's threesome."

"It's fun!" Serena defends. "It's like a bonding conversation. I'll go first: My first time was with a man on a beach." She points to the ocean and grimaces. "Not a fun experience. Sand is not fun in dark places."

Johnny says, "Y'all have heard mine. Sarah Reilly, prom night."

"Gross," I mutter, staring at my beer.

"Ella!" Serena calls down to me. "What about you?"

I breathe through the bumpy rhythm of my heart. Don't look at him. If I look at him, they will all know.

"Um, I don't want to talk about it," I say.

"That's fine." Her voice goes dreamy, "But was it nice? Or was it like everyone else's? An embarrassing and painful rite of passage."

Tucker draws lines through the condensation on his glass. His hands move so slowly, so gently, just like they did that night. I'll never forget it. My voice comes out heavy, "Nice." My eyes twitch to his and back down. "It was really nice."

"What about you, Tuck?"

He answers, "I barely remember the first time. But I remember the best time."

I feel his eyes.