Chapter Twenty-Nine

twenty-nine

Hillary

The day of the dance has arrived, and like every other year, I'm going stag. Solo. Without a date. Jessie apologized when she told me Luke asked her to go with him—but I would've been upset if she hadn't said yes. It makes me happy to see her so happy.

Which I'm trying to remember as I put the finishing touches on my outfit. At least I'll look good when I walk into the dining hall on my own.

We had surprisingly good luck on our shopping trip to Walmart. Jessie agreed to let me pick out her dress if I let her choose mine, and it made the whole excursion more fun. Like we were making up for all the years of best friend memories we missed out on.

For Jessie, I picked an emerald green asymmetrical dress that's long and flowy in back, but short in the front to show off her killer legs. She's going to wear her hair down in beach waves, and we found a floral headband to complete the look.

For me, Jessie picked out a maxi swing dress with a bold pattern of blue and bright pink flowers. It's so low-cut I had to buy a set of stickers that supposedly act like a bra. But the dress looks good. I look good.

Eat your heart out, Benjamin Cooper.

One more application of lipstick, and I'm as ready as I'm going to get. I come into the hallway at the same time as Dot—who's wearing a long black dress that looks like it may have walked out of the Sound of Music box in the costume closet. She looks uncomfortable, but pretty.

"Dot!"

"Not a word, Goldberg," she says, pulling at the high neck. "Yvonne wanted me to wear a dress."

"The things we do for love." My voice cracks on the word "love," which is ridiculous. I don't love Cooper. I mean, I loved spending time with him. I loved talking with him, and seeing how passionate he was about cooking, bringing flavors and textures together in creative ways. I loved falling asleep with my head on his chest and waking up in a tangle of sheets, his arm draped around me.

Most of all, I loved the version of myself I was around him.

"Shall we?" I ask Dot, grateful that I won't have to walk into the dining hall alone after all.

"Wish I could," Dot says, heading down the Lodge stairs. "Gotta pick up my date in Cabin Six. She wanted to get ready with her friends."

I force a smile as Dot walks away, a skip in her step despite the dress.

—

A group of women from Cabin Eight arrive at the dining hall at the same time I do, and I'm able to walk in behind them. So close you might even think we all belong together.

Inside, the room looks incredible. Twinkly lights have been strung from the ceiling. Couples and groups of friends pose for pictures under a balloon arch; there's a fully stocked bar and, just beyond, a long table with an impressive buffet. I spot Jack Valentine loading his plate while Mary follows behind, looking but not taking anything. I hate them for being here, for not being their parents, for starting this whole chain of events.

Although, if they hadn't put the camp up for sale, I wouldn't be here, either.

Brushing that thought out of my mind, I scan the room and find Jessie, looking gorgeous in green. She's talking to the DJ, a former camper from St. Paul who owns an entertainment company. Jessie requested a playlist that spans every decade of camper we have in attendance—an impressive range from the 1960s to today. We invited any camper who'd attended a previous session and anyone who made a pledge to the co-op to come back for the dance.

Jessie was shocked by how many people bought tickets—but if I've learned one thing this summer, it's Don't underestimate camp people .

I'm about to approach Jessie when Luke saunters up beside her, a glass of spiked bug juice in each hand. He leans close and whispers something that makes her laugh. She's beaming. I don't want to interrupt their moment, so I check out the buffet instead, grateful Jack and Mary have already moved through the line.

Cooper really outdid himself. I fill my plate: baked ziti, salad, chicken Fran?aise, shrimp scampi, roasted vegetables, and a tofu dish. I spot an empty high-top table in the back where I can eat quickly, just like I did in the early days of camp.

Every bite is more delicious than the one before it, and I hope Cooper made enough that there'll be leftovers tomorrow.

Not that I'll be invited to partake in them.

It's been almost a week since the disastrous dinner with the Valentines, and Cooper and I have barely exchanged a dozen words since. He's kept to himself, hiding away in the kitchen or his room. This, from the man who went on and on about how nothing is more important than honesty. We agreed at the beginning of our fling that it could end at any time, whenever one of us wanted out. So there's no reason for him to leave me in limbo. It's cruel.

As if my thoughts summoned him, the kitchen door swings open and Cooper walks out, wearing an apron that looks like a tuxedo. My breath catches; he's still very deserving of the "hottest chef in Boston" title. For a second, I almost forget how much his sudden and unexplained distance has hurt me.

Cooper's eyes meet mine, and I stop breathing, waiting to see what he does next. If he smiles, I'll smile back. If he looks away, I'll—

I'm not sure what I'll do. I'm mad at him, I miss him, and I hate that he's the one I want to talk to about how frustrated I am with him.

He's still staring at me, his expression blank. I'm about to turn, to be the one to walk away, when his lips curve ever so slightly, growing into a warm smile.

I start breathing again and match his smile with one of my own.

We stand there, smiling at each other from a distance, until Cooper walks toward me and says, "Hi."

"Hey."

"Listen…"

"Everybody to the dance floor!" the DJ shouts, so loud I have to stop myself from covering my ears. "It's time for the Electric Slide!"

Campers rush past us, swarming the dance floor and lining up in rows to grapevine to the left, then the right.

"Did you want to dance?" Cooper asks.

I shake my head. Even if I did, I wouldn't want to interrupt this conversation.

"Me neither," Cooper says, although I can't tell from his tone of voice if he means it.

We stand, side by side, close enough to touch, yet a whole world apart. Once the dancing campers have made a full rotation and are starting on the next one, Cooper says, "Do you want to go look at the stars with me?"

Goose bumps run up and down my arms. That's what he asked the summer we were fourteen.

"You can ask Jessie to join us if you want," he says, sheepishly.

"She's busy." I look up to see Jessie attempting to teach Mr. Billy the Electric Slide. Almost everyone is on the dance floor—even the Valentines. "But I could go."

Cooper looks relieved, and I warn my heart not to get its hopes up.

"Are you done with this?" he asks, motioning toward my plate.

I am, so he hands it off to a member of his staff, then returns to my side. My fingers reflexively reach for his until I remember what's happened between us and curl my hand into a fist.

Four or five campers are coming in from the patio as we're heading out, and I choke on the remnants of their nicotine cloud. So much for getting fresh air.

"You look beautiful tonight," Cooper says, when we're alone. Mission accomplished . "I haven't seen your hair like that before."

I bring a hand up to my hair, running my fingers through the smooth strands. I straightened it because I wanted to look good. And because, growing up, I felt like my curls were synonymous with messy. Unkempt. My dad was always telling me to brush my hair, to pull it back. So I learned to tame it, getting keratin treatments and buying expensive flat irons. For so many years, even my hair has been checking items off someone else's list.

If I could go back, I would have worn it in curls tonight.

We're quiet for an uncomfortable moment, until I tilt my head back and look up, letting out a sad laugh.

"Can't really see the stars from here," I say, straining to see beyond the canopy of trees.

"It was just an excuse to get you alone," Cooper says. The butterflies in my stomach flutter, but I can't tell if it's friendly or ominous. "But we should be able to see them over there."

I follow Cooper to the far side of the patio, where we lean against the railing. Sure enough, the stars are shining above, twinkling like they're putting on a show just for us. It's crazy to think this is the same sky I stared up at all those months ago in Chicago. It's so much more vivid out here. More alive. Kind of like me.

"I've been wanting to talk to you," Cooper says.

"I've been right here," I say, my voice sharp with emotion. The sting of his rejection is suddenly as fresh as ever.

"I know," he says. "I'm sorry. It wasn't you, it was—"

"Oh, please. Don't say it was you."

Cooper takes a step back, surprised at the bite in my voice.

Now that we're here, face-to-face, all the sadness and confusion I've been feeling bubbles into anger. Last week was crushing. It felt like I'd failed Jessie, betrayed the memories of my mom and Nathaniel and Lola, and let down all the future campers who won't know the magic of Camp Chickawah. And without Cooper, I had no one to talk to, to help me process everything.

"I really needed you this past week," I tell him. "And you disappeared."

"I know," he says, his voice small. "I'm sorry."

I think back to what Jessie said, about how Cooper's reaction didn't seem like him. Has he been going through something, too? If I was being the kind of friend to him that I needed, I would have pushed through his withdrawal and asked him about it. Instead, I retreated, using my sore feelings like a shield, protecting me from more hurt.

"I'm sorry, too. I should—"

"No," Cooper says, stopping me. "You don't have anything to apologize for. It really was me. Seeing that jerk down on one knee, it just…"

His voice fades. The emotion in his beautiful gray eyes is palpable. Maybe he's fallen for me, too.

But then he looks away, and I know there's more to the story. Something tells me I should sit for this, so I take a seat on top of the picnic table.

"What happened?" I ask.

Cooper blows out a long breath and sits next to me. The few inches between us are buzzing with energy, and I hope that whatever he's about to say brings us closer together instead of pushing us further apart.

"I told you about my reputation back home," he says. "At first, I leaned into it. I loved being wanted by all those beautiful women. It was thrilling; no strings, just sex. But eventually, the physical connection wasn't enough. The highs weren't worth the lows that came afterward. And then I met Julia."

"Did you propose to her?" I ask, desperate to get to the point.

"No," Cooper says. "Someone else did."

I'm relieved, even though I have no right to be. Especially because it's clear this Julia woman hurt him. I reach for his hand, lacing his fingers with mine. It's the first time we've touched in days, and it's such a relief to feel the familiar roughness of his palms, his thick fingers. I feel steadier, just touching him, and I think he does, too—his shoulders relax a little.

After a moment, he continues. "I met her out at an industry night, and we instantly hit it off. She had this way of calling me on my shit, and there was something magnetic about her personality. She would draw me in, then push me away, like it was a game. I couldn't get enough. She traveled a lot for work, and I was busy, but we'd hook up whenever we could. Pretty quick I realized that I didn't want to see anyone but her. I was ready to build a life with someone. And I thought she could be the one."

Cooper pauses, and I start rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand. I know this isn't easy for him to talk about.

"One night, I was in the kitchen at work and I spotted her walking toward the bathroom. I wasn't supposed to be at the restaurant that night, and I thought she was in New York for work. As soon as things slowed down a bit, I went out to the dining room to surprise her. Except I was the one who got a surprise." His voice is shaky; the wound is still fresh. "I got out there just in time to see her boyfriend become her fiancé. Apparently, I was her ‘fling before the ring.'?"

"Ouch," I say. Cooper grimaces.

"It gets worse. Julia saw me standing in the middle of the restaurant, frozen in place. I was waiting for her to tell me it was a joke, that I was misreading the situation. But she looked away. Kissed her fiancé, left me standing there like an idiot. I managed to hold it in until I went back to the kitchen, then I kind of exploded. Two waitresses I'd hooked up with caught wind of the situation and apparently wanted to get in on my downfall. It got ugly. I ended up getting an entire batch of lobster bisque thrown in my face. Luckily, it was still room temperature."

Cooper takes his hand from mine and removes his Red Sox hat. He runs his fingers through his hair before replacing the hat. "Not my finest moment," he says.

That must've been awful. I don't know what to tell him, so I just say his name. Then:

"Did you lose your job over it?" I ask, remembering how he was a last-minute addition to the summer staff.

"Not exactly. Atlas, my boss, is a good guy. He told me this was rock bottom, which meant the only way to go was up. But I had to be ready to make a change. This summer is supposed to be a sabbatical. A break. I have to let him know soon if I'll be coming back in September."

September. A hollow pit opens in my stomach at the thought of this summer ending, of Cooper going back to Boston, me going back to Chicago, Jessie going…I don't know where she'll go.

"Anyway, seeing Aaron and you, it brought all of that back."

The hurt in his voice makes my own heart ache. His reaction makes sense now—Julia didn't just break Cooper's heart, she made him think less of himself, that he wasn't good enough to be more than a fling. I feel a twinge of envy toward this woman who made Cooper want to commit—not that I expect that from him, of course not; my head knows that. Unfortunately, my heart hasn't gotten the message.

"But why did you doubt me? You knew I broke up with Aaron," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "I mean, I understand why seeing that would remind you of how much you lost with Julia—"

"No," Cooper says, turning toward me. There's an urgency in his gray eyes I've never seen before. "It made me think that for the second time in my life, I was about to lose a woman I care about. A woman I could see a future with."

I stare at him, digesting his words. "Cooper, I…I don't know what to say—"

"You don't have to say anything." He breaks eye contact, looking down at his hands. "You've been honest with me from the beginning about what you wanted this summer. I'm the one who got confused. And I don't want to keep being the same guy who confuses good sex with love."

Again, I'm speechless. I had no idea he felt this way, and I want to be brave enough to tell him I'm on the way to loving him, too. That I could also see a future with him—except I can't. I can't see my own future, let alone one with someone else. Everything feels too unsteady and unknown. For the first time in my life, I don't have a plan, and it terrifies me.

Silence settles between us. I want to say something that will make him feel better, but I can't tell him what I want until I know myself.

"Thank you for telling me," I say, then nudge him with my shoulder. " Finally. You were the one who added the honesty rule, remember?"

His face softens, like he's relieved at my reaction, relieved to change the subject. "Yeah. Sorry."

I turn to face him, still holding his hand. "So, honestly, what do you want to do right now?"

I'm not sure what I'm hoping for—part of me wouldn't mind if he hauled me back to the Lodge and had his way with me. But even though I've missed that, what I've missed most is just being with him. Talking, laughing, connecting. I want to soak that up as much as possible before it has to end.

"Honestly?" He meets my eyes. "I'd really like to dance with you."

A smile blossoms on my face, and I stand. "You're in luck. There are only two people in the world who can get me onto a dance floor, and you happen to be one of them. Unless they're playing Chumbawamba. Then I'm out."

"Deal."

Cooper slips his arm around my waist as we walk into the dining hall. The song from Dirty Dancing , "(I've Had) the Time of My Life," starts to play, and he takes me in his arms. As we sway to the beat, he sings along, so softly that only I can hear. The lyrics reflect our story. I have had the time of my life, and I owe it all to him.

And to Jessie, who looks deliriously happy dancing with Luke.

"Come on, babe!"

I turn to see Zoey running toward Zac, attempting the big lift from the end of the movie. They pull it off: Zac catches Zoey in his arms and she slides down his body, planting a kiss on his lips as her feet hit the floor.

When I look back to make sure Jessie is seeing this, I notice her and Luke walking hand in hand toward the DJ booth. It must be time for her speech—she's been working on what to say all week. Luke gives her hand a squeeze and steps to the side while she takes the microphone.

The final notes of the song fade, which Jessie takes as her cue.

"Good evening, Camp Chickawah!" she says into the mic. "As your camp director, it is my honor and privilege to say a few words tonight, at this, the final dance of our final summer." She pauses, clearing the emotion from her throat. "I'm so glad our special guests, Jack and Mary Valentine, could be here with us."

There's a smattering of unenthusiastic applause—everyone knows they're the reason this summer is the last. Still, the little twerp stands taller, raising his hand in a wave. At least his sister has the decency not to call any more attention to herself.

"But I'd also like to thank each and every one of you." Jessie pauses to scan the room. Her sad smile gets brighter when she sees me leaning against Cooper, his arms wrapped around my shoulders. "Camp Chickawah has been in the Valentine family for over a hundred years—but it's also been a part of my family, and a part of yours."

The crowd applauds, and Jessie smiles as she waits for the noise to die down. "Lola used to say that moments end, but memories last a lifetime, and I know that none of us will ever forget this place."

The room is silent now, everyone watching her.

"But Camp Chickawah is more than this property," she continues. "It isn't the lake or the cabins or the campfire. It isn't the activities, the Color Wars and canoe races and hikes. It isn't the food or the pranks or the songs we love to sing."

Her voice catches, and she pauses, looking down, composing herself. I can hear sniffles from people in the audience, and I see two former campers near me wiping their eyes.

Jessie looks back up, and her voice rings out, clear and strong.

"Camp is the children who came here to grow and develop, the counselors and staff who worked here over the years. It's the friendships we've built and the memories we've made." She smiles warily and says, "Camp isn't just a place. It's us."

The words envelop me like a hug. I've been so focused on saving the actual land that I haven't thought about the intangible aspects. So much of who I am is because of my experiences here as a child, and even though I buried those parts of myself for years, I never lost them.

Now I make a promise to myself that I won't lose them again. I'm trembling a little; Cooper tightens his grip on my shoulder and I lean back into him, appreciating his sturdiness.

"But tonight isn't a funeral," Jessie says. "It's a party. Nathaniel and Lola would want us to make the most of every single second we have left here. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for coming, for your support and love. We might not be able to say ‘See you next summer,' but I hope you'll all remember this: you can take the people out of the camp, but you can't take the camp out of the people!"

The room erupts in applause, and there isn't a dry eye in the house. The DJ has an upbeat song ready, and soon campers are dancing and singing along to P!nk's "Raise Your Glass."

Amidst the swarm of moving bodies, I lose sight of Jessie. When I finally find her in the crowd, Jack Valentine is walking straight toward her.

"Crap," I say and point toward them.

I don't have to say anything else; Cooper swoops into action. We both know the last thing Jessie needs right now is small talk with Jack Valentine.

"Need you in the kitchen, boss," Cooper says.

He takes Jessie's hand and leads her off. In the kitchen, Cooper's staff is cleaning up from the buffet and getting the dessert trays ready, so we head to a prep area in the back corner.

"Bless you," Jessie says, taking a seat on a stool. "I don't think I could have faked being nice to that man for one more second."

"You shouldn't have to!" I say, taking a cream cheese brownie from the tray Cooper sets in front of us. "Want to hide out in here for the rest of the night?"

Jessie laughs. "Wish I could. But I should probably get back out there."

"Give yourself a minute," Cooper says. "Have some dessert, come back in a song or two."

He gives me a kiss on the head before heading off to rejoin the party.

"These are really good," I tell Jessie, holding up a second brownie.

"Mm-hmm," she says, biting into one. "So, want to tell me what's going on with you two?"

"Not really," I say, because I still don't know. It should be simple—Cooper wants a future with me, and I want one with him—but I can't stop thinking that this whole summer has been an escape from reality, that my real life is going to come crashing down on me once I go home.

But I'm not the only one who had a summer fling.

"Want to tell me what's going on with you and Luke?"

"Not really," she parrots, and we both laugh.

"You were great up there, by the way," I tell her. "I don't think I could have done it."

For a moment, I think she's going to brush that off and say It's fine , like she always does, but instead her smile falters and tears fill her eyes. "It was really, really hard."

I shake my head, so impressed with how my brave, beautiful friend has managed to smile through what I imagine is one of the hardest nights of her life. I'm glad I can provide respite, a time for her to stop pretending, just like she's done for me.

I don't know how I made it through a decade without her.

"What you said about friendship…" I pause, scrambling to find the words. We've cleared the air about our past, but we haven't talked about what our friendship looks like without the trappings of camp. "With the summer ending—"

"Hilly Bean," Jessie says, giving me a look filled with love and history and deep knowing. "Camp may be over, but our friendship won't be. Not again. Not ever."

"Promise?" I say, my voice wavering.

"Promise."

"Good, because I had a crazy idea. I don't know if you have plans for after camp, but I was wondering if you'd want to stay with me for a while in Chicago? I have a guest room, and I'd love to spend time with you. I know you aren't much of a city girl, but we have beautiful parks, and the lake, and—"

"I'd love to," Jessie says, interrupting my blabbering. "Thank you so much."

We hug, holding each other and crying amidst the chaos of the kitchen. Then the door swings open, and Jessie perks up at the familiar notes of that damn Chumbawamba song. I will never understand how any best friend of mine can like that earworm.

"Come on," she says, grabbing my hand.

I sigh, say, "Only for you," and follow her back out to the dance floor, where we join hundreds of campers from their thirties to their seventies, all having the time of their lives.

For the last time.