Love Songs & Other Lies(38)

CAM


“Truth,” she says.

We’re sitting on an oversized chair in one of the house’s three living rooms, playing a two-person game of Truth or Dare. Vee is draped across my lap with her legs dangling off the side of the oversized chair she calls a Snuggler. “Because you’re forced to sit really, really close to someone,” she says. “Or to sit on them, in this case.” Her cheeks are red like she’s been standing in the cold, and all of her words are becoming soft, one sliding into the next.

She lays her head against my chest while I think about what to ask her. Despite all of the time we’ve spent together, something about being with her still feels so finite. I want to make the most of every minute, each opportunity to know more.

She drums her fingers on my leg. “Any day now.”

“Tell me something no one else knows.”

“Counter offer.” She thrusts her hand up in front of her, holding up one finger and tapping it in the air. “I’ll show you something no one else has seen.” She pushes herself up, using my chest to propel her, and holds her hand behind her as she begins to walk away from me without a pause. I grab it quickly, following behind. She doesn’t turn as she talks to me, she just yells loudly over the crowd. “As long as you’re up for a walk!”

*

“When I was really little, like maybe six or seven, my parents would walk me down to the water with one of them holding each of my hands.” Vee’s staring down at her feet as they sink into the silt along the edge of the water. Her toes wiggle under the surface. She looks peaceful.

Definitely a little drunk.

“We’d make footprints in the sand.” Her head turns, just barely, to face me, her eyebrows raised. “You know what they say about footprints in the sand?”

“My gram has an embroidered pillow that says one set of footprints means God was carrying you.”

She smiles, but looks confused. I can’t help but laugh.

“If you let the water wash your footprints away, they’ll be transported to the other side of the lake.” She says this like it’s a fact. “That’s what my mom would always say, at least … It’s not on a pillow, or anything official like that, though.” She bites her lip, trying not to smile.

And now she’s sitting down.

Right in the water, where she stood just seconds ago, Vee is lying back in the surf, letting the water rush up her calves, lapping at her knees and up to her shoulders. With her arms stretched out at her sides, she looks like she’s making a snow angel in the wet sand.

Maybe she’s drunker than I thought.

“Did you eat anything before I picked you up, Vee?”

She’s giggling as the waves pull at her, soaking her clothes. I don’t know what to do, so I just sit down in the dry sand behind her, making sure Lake Michigan doesn’t decide to rush up and drown her. Or wash her away, like her footprints. It doesn’t feel real being here with her. It feels like it’s a memory already—like one of those moments you know you’ll be looking back on, before it’s even over. I pull out my phone and take a picture of her, lit only by the night sky. She looks like a ghost. Her eyes are closed, every piece of her washed out into shades of gray by the moonlight. It’s quiet. The light whistling of the wind and the waves clawing at the shore are the only noise. We’re too far from the boardwalk to hear the familiar sound of the guitars and drums that usually keep us company.

“I used to come out here when my parents were fighting. Before they sold the house.” She stretches an arm over her head and points behind me, to where houses are set back into the dunes, crowded by trees. “We used to live in that little green one. It was my Grandma Miller’s house, before I was born.” There’s a long pause. “Anyways, I’d just lie here and wish the water would wash me away. That it would take me somewhere. Anywhere but here. I couldn’t stand the idea of being here.”

“Because you thought they’d get divorced.”

“No.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I worried they’d stay together. That things would never feel normal again if they tried to put the pieces back together. A new version of them seemed like it would be better than a broken, poorly pieced-together one.” She closes her eyes and turns away from me before she continues. “They’re not together anymore. They won’t admit it, but I know it. Dad lives in Chicago, and when he does come home, my mom isn’t even around. And he thinks I don’t notice, because he gets up so early, but he sleeps on the couch. None of his clothes are even in the house. I used to think things were perfect, but maybe it was always a lie.” She’s rambling, one softly spoken word slurring into the next. “Still, I was horrible to wish for it. I am horrible.” She shakes her head, tears running down her cheeks.

“You’re not horrible.” I lean forward and cover her hand with mine, the cold sand rough between our skin. I stand and pull her to her feet. Her soaked-through clothes hang heavy. Her eyes are glossy and distant, like she isn’t actually seeing me, even with her eyes fixed on mine. She looks at me under hooded lids as I hold her face in my palms. The warmth of her tear-stained skin seeps into my cold hands.

I want to kiss her.

Dammit. This is probably one of the most inappropriate times in all of history to want to kiss someone, but I want to. I guess I’m an asshole. Because all I can think about is pressing my lips against hers until she stops looking so sad and broken and barely held together. I want to, but even with her clothes clinging to her skin under the moonlight—her body so close I can feel the warmth—I know I shouldn’t.