Anything but Ordinary(63)
He settled on a page. “Want to learn about cicadas?” he asked Bryce.
She watched his face as he read, fascinated with this version of Carter just barely out of his teenage years, deciding to spend a summer day at the bedside of a girl he didn’t know, might never know.
“Cicadas are one of the longest-living insects. You may know them from the buzzing sound coming from certain trees as they emerge each summer. That sound is their legs rubbing together, communicating with each other after they have spent the winter underground.”
Each word coming out of Carter’s mouth was one Bryce knew better than the last. She began to speak along with him as he read.
“‘Some cicadas can live up to seventeen years underground, slowly growing from babies to adults. They read the temperature of the ground in cycles to know when the years have passed. When it’s time, they emerge from their holes to mate as beautiful, fully winged adults.…’”
Bryce was in the backyard again now, the heat of her head morphing with the fading heat of the September afternoon, quoting the article to Carter, tears pricking her eyes.
“‘Once their purpose is fulfilled, they die, leaving the earth as quickly as they came.’”
Carter looked tired, brushing her cheek with his hand. Then he wrapped his arms around her like he would never let go.
ryce was painting by numbers with her mother. Well, her mother wasn’t painting by numbers; she was painting freehand from a photo of a Swedish winter landscape she found in National Geographic. She swirled blue and white to make an icy gray, and used tinges of purple for the shadows. That’s why her mother was so good with color, Bryce knew. She remembered her trying to get Sydney and Bryce to paint pictures when they were kids. But Sydney was more interested in perfecting her version of “America, the Beautiful,” and all Bryce wanted to do was run around catching bugs.
Bryce had spotted an art supplies store in a little nook near the Vanderbilt campus, and asked Carter to stop the car for a second. She had no idea where to begin buying paints, so she chose the most colorful box. And then, thinking about how angry she got when she wasn’t good at things like art, Bryce threw in a couple of paint-by-numbers kits to boot.
Her mother had gotten home from an appointment to find tempera paints, paper, and Bryce at the dining room table, filling in a picture of a basket of kittens.
“Want to join me?” Bryce had asked.
Her mother had burst into nervous laughter. “I haven’t painted in…God knows…” But she picked up a paintbrush lovingly.
“At least you’re good at keeping inside the lines,” her mother joked later, leaning over from her Swedish mountains.
“Yeah, if you want a lesson from me in kittens, just ask,” Bryce said with a smirk.
Her mom chuckled.
Bryce glanced at the National Geographic photo again. Pure white snow coated a tall, imposing mountain range. The Alps. Gabby and Greg had seen them in person.
Gabby.
With a last flourish on one of the kitten tails, Bryce whipped out her phone. She would see her friend one more time, she hoped. Bryce dug her teeth into her lip and typed, Coffee?
It took a little while, but finally, the answer was yes.
Bryce was glad the café had a wall full of windows. It was a shame not to be outdoors on such a beautiful autumn day. Having only a thin pane between her and the orange leaves and cool breeze was the next best thing. Bryce had arrived early to get some iced tea and a scone, and to read. Thanks to Carter’s extended study hours, she was now halfway through The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. But she was having a hard time keeping her heart with Huck and the circus this morning.
People rushed in and out of the café, grabbing coffee and loading themselves into cars strapped with canoes and inner tubes. It was a beautiful Saturday, and everyone was scrambling to soak up the air they’d missed, holed up in their cubicles.
The door chimed. Bryce sat up in her chair. Gabby stepped inside. She had cut her hair, and her brown eyes looked brighter now, her cheekbones sharper, without a dark curtain or a winding braid. She looked around.
“Over here,” Bryce called from the window. She shoved away the little shivers of nervousness she felt when she saw her friend. There wasn’t enough time left to be scared or worried. Gabby would forgive her, or she wouldn’t, but either way, Bryce would tell her how she felt. She could at least do that.
When Gabby spotted Bryce, her lips turned up in a smile. She wore a cardigan over her long linen tank, and jeans paired with ballet flats. When she slipped into the seat across from Bryce, she looked happy. Her face was full. Her cheeks had color.
Gabby set her hands in front of her, folded. She looked at Bryce, waiting.
“You look great,” Bryce said, putting her own hands around her glass of iced tea, glancing at the crescent lemon that drifted around the edges. “I like your hair.”
“Thank you,” Gabby said.
Bryce took a breath. “I called you here because I wanted you to know that I’m so sorry. The sorriest I’ve ever been in my whole life,” Bryce added slowly. “I also wanted to say you were right about me being confused. I know it’s no excuse, but…I was so confused. I was mixed up about the past and the present.” Bryce stopped, staring into Gabby’s eyes, which seemed to be looking through her. She swallowed. “I should have just told you how I felt. About the whole thing. About how hard it was to see you two together. I know it was still so wrong. I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough.”