June, Reimagined (15)

“You took a bus?” Matt asked. “Public transportation scares you.”

“That’s because some ex-cop terrorist might hook a bomb to the bus.”

“You’re deflecting again,” Matt said. “And you got a job? What does that even mean? When are you coming home?”

“Think of it like . . . I’m studying abroad.”

“But you’re not, June. Does Stratford even know about this?”

She let her silence answer his question. Matt had grown more and more tense, and June braced herself for the onslaught she knew she deserved for her recklessness.

“It’s OK.” Matt about-faced. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Remember the time you jumped the railroad tracks at full speed and you popped two tires on your dad’s car?”

“How could I forget? I was grounded for a month.”

“Or the time you smoked weed with those strangers at the Phish concert? Or the time you used your mom’s cleaning bleach to dye the front of your hair, to look like that chick from My So-Called Life, and you burned your scalp?”

“Rayanne,” June said. “Of course, I remember. What’s your point, Matty?”

“You’re rash, June. You jump before you think. I should have seen this coming. Your brother just died of some bizarre, undetected heart condition. The whole situation makes life feel so fucking unpredictable. Makes sense you did something impulsive. It’s what you do. At least you didn’t shave your head.”

“You don’t think I’d look good bald?”

“I think you’d look beautiful, but you’d regret it immediately. You’d make me buy you a million wigs. Remember how paranoid you were at the Phish concert? Barely ten minutes after you smoked, you were sure the weed was laced with something. You made me hold your hand all night and tell you if things were real or not.”

June had been so afraid at the Phish concert. It was the closest she’d come to a panic attack. She sat on the couch, the cushion so thin she felt the coils. “You’re saying I’m going to regret this.”

“I’m just saying I wish I was there to fix things if it goes sideways,” Matt said. “And June . . .”

“What?”

“You’re not going to die like Josh. That was a freak accident.”

“I know.” June bit the inside of her cheek and refused to cry again.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you picked Scotland. I would have thought you’d go someplace flashier, like France.”

“As it turns out, flying to France is more expensive than flying to Scotland. Apparently, people like visiting there no matter the season.” A pregnant pause followed. June would have done almost anything to take away Matt’s pain. “How about we go to Paris together, Matty? You and me. I promise.”

“Only if you promise you won’t complain when I drag you to all the museums.”

“Then you can’t complain when I drag you into every cheesy tourist stop and make you buy souvenir spoons and snow globes.”

“Don’t forget the key chains and coffee mugs,” he said.

“And berets,” June added.

“No. I draw the line at ridiculous hats.”

“Come on! You have to. And scarves. I love you in a scarf.”

“My neck is very sensitive to the cold.”

“Whatever. You wear it because the ladies love it. I bet men in Paris wear scarves.”

“If they want to get laid, they do.”

“Can we eat snails, too?”

“No,” Matt said. “I’m not eating snails.”

“You’re already wearing a beret. What’s a few snails?”

“Fine, I’ll eat snails,” Matt conceded, too quickly. June knew he was still worried. “But I draw the line at dressing like a mime. And you can’t complain when we go into bookstores.”

“No one complains in Paris, because they’re in Paris,” June said, hugging her arms tightly around herself as if she could mimic the intimacy of Matt holding her, there in the capacious living room. “Just because you’re not here doesn’t mean you’re not with me, Matty. You’re always with me.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just different.”

“Maybe different will be good for us.”

“I like us the way we’ve always been.”

They sat in silence for a time, neither willing to end the conversation.

June eventually said, “I better go, Matty, before I use up all the minutes on my calling card.”

“Wait. First, confession time . . . I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Meet you in Paris?”

“Meet you in Paris,” June said.

After she hung up, she felt no more relieved than when the call had started. Now she missed Matt more than ever. And yet going home and seeing him would only make her lies worse. Over the past few years, June had justified her actions, but when she examined them closely and honestly, it was clear she didn’t deserve Matt’s compassion and friendship. Because June was a liar.

She stood quickly, went up to her room, and changed into wind pants, a T-shirt, her windbreaker, and sneakers. She needed to get out. She pushed open the front door of the inn and left, determined to run until she was numb.