The Lies About Truth(49)

“You know that salvage yard near Ferry Park? Metal Pete’s. Well, sometimes we go out there and sneak under the back fence. There’s this old RV and . . .”

I let Trent fill in the rest of the details.

“Nice,” he said after a pause. “But not as nice as this field. I mean, look at that azalea. Metal Pete doesn’t have those, does he?”

They were odd things to compare. Trent rolled his head toward me. His eyes were the same color as the sky.

He said, “Sometimes I wonder . . .”

“About?”

“Everything.”

“Take one of your pictures and describe it to me,” I said.

The skin around his closed eyes wrinkled like an old man’s.

“Well, I think about graduation, and what I’ll do with my life, and who I’ll do it with, and if I believe in God, because I think I do. Nothing feels accidental. I think about how deliberate everything in the universe is when I see the ocean and know it’s the moon that moves it around, or when I watch a crab digging a hole or a shark nosing through the water, or a jet leaving contrails, or even those azaleas over there. We’re in the middle of nowhere, but they’re beautiful. I want to be like that.”

I tapped out a little rhythm against his thigh, letting the way he lingered on the word beautiful tickle my ears.

“You wish you were beautiful?” I asked, slightly teasing him.

He tapped his chest. “In here, Sadie May. I want beauty.”

Trent was so serious, I nearly cried. “You have beauty.”

My smile didn’t inspire him.

“Doesn’t seem that way. Life’s more like that damn bird of yours. We stuff it full of moments we hope matter, but we can’t tell until later if they do.” He stopped and covered his face with his hands. “I wanted to watch the sky today, but now that we’re out here and we’re talking, I kind of want to tell you something.”

“So tell me,” I said. His knuckles were almost white with tension. I tugged his fingers apart until I could see one eye. “Hey, why are you so keyed up? It’s just me, and we’re lying here in a field on a perfect day. We rode a motorcycle so fast I practically pissed myself. I declare it to be a day of revealing secrets.”

His face relaxed momentarily, but then the familiar wrinkles formed around his eyes.

“Here’s a secret. I want to matter. I want to be known. I want to be myself. I want you to write this day on a piece of paper and put it inside Big. And one day, when you open him, you’ll read about me and think, ‘God, that day with Trent was one of my favorite days ever.’”

Caution crept into my voice. “Trent, what’s going on? You sound worried about us.”

“Just let me get this out, okay?” he pleaded. “I figured out it’s possible to fall in love with two people at the same time. I figured out . . . it’s very inconvenient.”

My eyes wide open, I stared at my best friend. At his chin, and his forehead and cowlick, and long blond eyelashes: all the little details and pores and skin that made Trent who he was.

What was he saying? That he loved Gina? And me, too?

I loved Gray. No doubt. His was the only name I’d ever doodled on a folder. The only last name I’ve ever tried on as my own. Sadie Garrison. But . . . Trent was Trent, my Trent, and I loved him, too. I’d never asked what type of love it was, because it had always been so damn platonic.

I allowed myself to question it now.

I imagined a future where Trent opened the door to a coffee shop and bought me a vanilla latte with two shots of espresso, wondering whether it was in bad taste to ask Gray Garrison to be his best man at our wedding.

My imagination was so terrifying that I wanted to kill the thought before it took root. Tension filled Trent’s face. This conversation was about to go to an uncomfortable place.

Trent pulled me toward him. “Sadie.” He was so close, his breath landed on my lips, smelling like ChapStick and spearmint gum.

I was frozen in thought.

I thought about Gray. About ruining everything we’d built.

I thought about spearmint and how I love to taste it on my tongue.

I thought about that vanilla latte.

I thought about Gray again and how he hated coffee.

I thought about his sweet face and how it would leak hot tears if he found out I cheated on him with his best friend.

I thought about how this moment didn’t have an exit strategy. How it was lose-lose. I would regret it if I kissed Trent, and I might regret it if I didn’t.

“We can’t,” I whispered.

“Oh God,” he said, face red, realizing my conclusion. “I didn’t mean . . . I’m not saying I’m in love with you.”

“Oh! I just thought from—”

“No, oh, no, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He laughed nervously. “It’s not you. It’s Chris.”

“Chris who?”

Trent unpacked a smile I’d never seen before. “Callahan,” he whispered.

Hot Chris Callahan who worked at the kiteboard shop. Sexy Chris Callahan with a five-o’clock shadow, leather pants, and the motorcycle we rode here on. Kind Chris Callahan who winked at Trent.

“Oh. Wow. Okay, then,” I said. “Well, huh.”

“Do you hate me?”