Beautiful Graves(93)

“Let’s not. Normal is so boring,” I reply.

He hands me one of the glasses. It’s a white wine. It smells fruity and oaky. I try the whole swirling and sniffing it thing but start cackling halfway through. So does Joe. Our eyes meet.

“Normal is boring,” he muses. “You’re right. Let’s never be pretentious old fucks.”

I nod. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Are we sure about getting drunk together?” I ask, taking a seat in front of the small table for two. I’m only joking. If this week has proved anything, it is that he doesn’t have a lick of interest in me. Which is fine. Great. I don’t want him to. Every time Joe and I reunite, the world around us shatters. And if he is not an option anymore . . . well, at least I won’t hate myself quite as much for not acting on my feelings toward him.

He is still standing up. He is looking around the room, like there’s something he wants to show me but doesn’t know how to broach the subject.

“Ever?” he asks.

“That’s my name.”

“I finished the book.”

“You . . . what?”

He crouches down to my eye level. His eyes are twinkling.

“It’s done. I wrote The End. I even used a different font, to be fancy and shit.”

“Not Times New Roman, I hope,” I say, which is a dumb thing to say, but also so us. Dom never would have gotten it. But Joe does.

He grins. “Cambria.”

I shoot up and fling my arms over him, squeaking. Wine sloshes over his shirt. We both ignore it. This is the best news. This book has been in the making for seven years. He finished it in a few short weeks. I cannot even begin to imagine what he must feel like. Even if it doesn’t get published. Even if it sits on his shelf to collect dust. He still did it.

But then I know exactly what it feels like. Because I designed Mom’s gravestone. I have finally created.

Joe pats my lower back, in a that’s-enough gesture. I disconnect from him, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Touching wasn’t a part of the deal. Not since he came here to San Francisco.

“It’s just a first draft.” His hands linger around my waist, but he doesn’t hold me. “I’ll have to spend the next few weeks polishing it.”

“Doesn’t matter. Now you have something to polish. I’m really proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I know he means it, and it makes the occasion so much sweeter.

We both take a seat in front of the table again. Joe ordered us burgers and fries. My Forever Food. That’s the crazy thing about us. I don’t have to tell him what I like. He knows, because we love the same things. The same music, the same food, the same books. Maybe it makes sense that we keep finding our way toward one another. We’re practically the same person.

“Have you decided whether you’re going to stay here or come back to Salem?” He takes a juicy bite of his burger.

“No.” I shift in my seat uncomfortably. “But the more I think about it, the more I realize maybe it’s best if I stay here. I don’t really have much going on there, and even if I move back to Massachusetts, it would be to go to college, which won’t be in Salem.”

“You have Nora,” Joe points out, stabbing his french fry in an ocean of ketchup and mayo. “And you have me.”

I smile sadly. “No offense, but I’m not moving across the country to hear about your random hookups and your day loading and unloading crates at the docks.”

“Don’t act like you can stay away from all those dock stories. And I’ll keep my hookups to myself,” he retorts, offering me a naughty smile. “I’ll behave.”

“Behaving is not in your nature—you said so yourself.” I shake my head. “Besides, that would only make me feel more pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” He frowns. “Why?”

Because I’m in love with you, but I’m too scared to be with you. Too scared to even tell you. This is the same thing as when I was eighteen all over again. Only now I’ve lost so much; I can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to lose you too.

I push my food aside. I shouldn’t be here. This understanding slams into me all at once. I shouldn’t be keeping in touch with Joe. I’m in love with him, and we can’t be together.

I stand up. “This was a mistake.”

“What?” He pushes up to his feet, knocking his chair down behind him. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Joe. I can’t pretend that I’m your friend. It hurts too much. I like you.” I love you. “And I know we can’t be together. I respect that. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s right for us. To be a couple after everything that went down. But I know if I keep in touch, it’s going to keep hurting, and I will never get over you. I will never move on. I will never have a husband, and children, and a white picket fence, and an ever after. Right now, you hold my happiness in your hand. I have to turn my back on this happiness and find another.”

I start making my way to the door, whirling midway to grab my backpack. I need to be out of here. I can’t breathe. Joe grabs my wrist, tugging me back. I whip my head around. “Let me go.”