Every Summer After(52)

Sam stands behind me on the landing, and his closeness makes the back of my neck prick.

“Is this a time machine?”

“Something like that.” He moves around me and crouches beside a large cardboard box in the corner of the room. “I’m not sure if you’ll think this is awesome or if you’ll think I’m nuts.”

“Can’t it be both?” I ask and kneel down beside him.

“It’s definitely both,” he agrees. He lifts the corner of the lid and then pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “I think I bought these for you.” He untucks the four flaps over the top of the box and holds them open so I can see inside. I look back up at Sam.

“Are these all . . .”

“Yep,” he says before I finish my question.

“There must be dozens.”

“Ninety-three, to be precise.” I begin pulling out the DVDs. There’s Carrie and The Shining and Aliens. The Japanese and American versions of The Ring. The Evil Dead. Misery. Poltergeist. Scream. Creature from the Black Lagoon. The Silence of the Lambs. A Nightmare on Elm Street. Leprechaun. Alien. Land of the Dead. It. The Changeling.

“And you’ve never watched them?”

“Told you you’d think I was crazy.” That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that maybe Sam missed me as much as I missed him.

“I think I rubbed off on you, Sam Florek.”

“You have no idea,” he replies.

“I think I do.” I hold up the first and second Halloween movies and smile. He chuckles and rubs his forehead.

“It’s your turn to pick,” he announces.

“You want to watch one?” Somehow I didn’t see that coming.

“Yeah, I thought we could.” Sam narrows his eyes.

“Like right now?” This almost feels more intimate than what happened in the boat earlier.

“That’s the idea,” he says, then adds, “I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”

“Do you even have something to watch these things on?” He points at the PlayStation. I screw my mouth up. Looks like we’re watching a movie.

“Do you have popcorn?”

Sam smiles. “Of course.”

“Okay. You go make some, and I’ll choose a movie.” I give the order with confidence, but really I just need a minute alone, away from Sam. Because I feel like I’ve been scraped over a cheese grater.

Once Sam heads upstairs, I take my phone out of my back pocket. There’s a missed call from Chantal and several texts wanting to know how my run-in with Sam went. I cringe and shove the phone back in my pocket and then riffle through the DVD box.

I can do this, I think. I can be friends with Sam. I don’t know how to do that anymore, but I am determined not to leave here on Monday and never see him again. Even if it means dealing with him being in a relationship with someone else. Even if it means planning his fucking wedding.

I’m standing in front of the TV holding the movie behind my back when Sam returns to the basement, a large bowl of popcorn in one hand and two more beers in the other.

“Want to guess which one I picked?” Sam puts the bowl and drinks on the coffee table and faces me with his hands on his hips. His eyes scan my face and then a grin touches his mouth.

“Nuh-uh,” I say before he speaks.

“The Evil Dead.”

“Are you kidding me?” I wave the DVD in the air. “How did you do that?”

Sam stalks around the coffee table to me, and I hold the movie above my head, like I’m playing keep-away. He reaches around me to take the movie from my hand, brushing his chest against mine in the process. He pulls the DVD, and my arm along with it, down to our sides, his fingers overlapping mine. We are a few inches apart. Everything goes blurry except for the details of Sam’s face. I can see the darker specks of blue that encircle his irises and the purplish rings under his eyes. I glance down at his mouth and stop on the crease that parts his bottom lip. Friends. Friends. Friends.

“Old habits, right?” Sam asks, and it sounds like velvet.

“Huh?” I blink up at him.

“The movie—you want to watch it for old times’ sake.”

“Right,” I say and let go of the DVD.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” he asks. “That you don’t want to know about Taylor and me? I can respect that, if it’s not something you want to talk about. Charlie has other opinions, but . . .” He drifts off. “Percy?” I have my eyes closed, bracing myself for impact. I can hear him announcing that they’re getting engaged so clearly in my mind, it seems like a foregone conclusion.

“You can tell me,” I say, looking up at him. “We can talk about it . . . about her.” His shoulders seem to relax a little, and he motions for me to go sit on the couch. He pops the DVD in, lowers the light, and sits down on the couch, placing the popcorn between us. We’re in our old positions, curled up at either end of the couch.

“So we’ve been seeing each other for a little over two years,” he says.

“Two and a half years,” I correct for some goddamn unknown reason, and even in the dim light I can see the corner of his mouth flit upward a little.

“Right. But the thing is we haven’t been together that whole time. We were actually broken up for, like, six months of it. And I felt like it was done. I knew that it was done, but Taylor has this way of talking you into something. It’s probably why she’s a great lawyer. Anyway, we got back together about a month ago, but it wasn’t working. It hasn’t been working.” He pauses, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to think what happened earlier in the boat . . .” He stops himself and starts again. “What I’m trying to say is that we’re not together.”