Begin Again(70)

“I like being the Squire. It’s what I want to do. The broadcast element of it—it’s not really my thing.”

For a moment I expect some kind of shift beneath us, like the lake is going to spontaneously whirlpool and swallow me whole. Some kind of punishment for disrespecting my mom’s legacy, when it’s been closer to me than it’s ever been.

But I’m startled to realize it’s the truth. What I do as the Squire is meaningful because it’s mine, because it’s connecting me to people in a way I’ve shied away from for years. But now that I’ve been in the thick of The Knights’ Watch for so long, now that I can see past my fear and the whole enigma of her legacy, I can appreciate it for what it is: something my mom accomplished. Something I don’t need to prove myself worthy of, now that I’m finding my way back to goals of my own.

“Well, you know each of the Knights has their own ‘thing.’” Milo tilts his head at me, like he’s inviting me to consider something. “Advice giving could be yours. You can make the rules as you go. I mean, we’ve technically been pirate radio since the nineties. I say ‘fuck’ enough times in the first ten minutes of each show to make the people who assign movie ratings cry. Who’s gonna stop you?”

I laugh, even as I set aside the idea to mull over later. The trouble is that it’s hard to picture it right now. Hard to picture anything right now, with so many factors up in the air. “I guess that’s true,” I say.

Milo nods, accepting that as the only answer I can give for now. “Well, if I do leave, at least go easy on my replacement,” he says, the mirth in those clover eyes distinct even in the fog. “Unless they’re wildly more attractive than I am, in which case, feel free to bully them.”

I mime splashing him from the lake.

“So you’re still trying to decide?” I ask.

“More like putting it off,” says Milo. I’m too cold to give him a hard time, but he ends up beating me to the punch anyway. “I know, I know. But procrastinating on major life decisions is a Flynn family varsity sport.”

“That and actually knowing how to maneuver one of these neon death traps,” I say, referencing the kayaks under us.

Milo lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, let’s figure that out before we turn into Popsicles. Here. I’m gonna pull up ahead. Try to mirror my oar strokes.”

He cuts through the water with the kind of grace that has me watching the cut of his shoulders, the smooth, steady way they propel him forward. I shake my head, turning to my own clunky oar.

“Your extremely tall-person, long-armed oar strokes?” I say before he gets too far ahead.

He lets his kayak glide for a moment so I can catch up. “I’ll keep it at Polly Pocket arm speed.”

“I resent that!” I call after him.

“Good. Use it as your motivation not to freeze to death.”

Shay and Valeria have long since left us behind, going on a thorough and controlled loop around the perimeter of the lake. Milo and I are aimless in comparison, mostly just trying to keep our kayaks from bonking each other’s as he helps me figure out my strokes. At some point we make it to the dead center of the lake, where everything’s so hushed and still it feels like we’ve slipped into some other world.

We both stop unconsciously, breathing it in.

I turn to meet Milo’s eyes, but his are already on mine, waiting with this small, conspiratorial smile. For once, I don’t feel the need to say anything, to fill a silence or worry about setting another person at ease. We just sit in the quiet of it. Soak everything in.

Eventually a bird flies low in the fog, surprising us both. I laugh and Milo startles and we both look over at the dock, where Shay and Valeria are drawing near.

“Cool Ranch Doritos,” I mutter, trying to jerk the kayak around. “I lost track of them.”

“Slow down there, sailor,” says Milo. “It’s not like they’re going to leave without us.”

“But I had one job and it was to try to fix this thing.”

“Why’s it your job?” Milo asks, rerouting his kayak to follow me as I tear into the water.

His voice is careful, the way it was when we first talked about my “fix-it thing” all those weeks ago. You know you don’t owe anyone your help, right? he’d said. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

And the words hit home. Enough that it feels like half a lifetime has passed since he said them, because I’ve considered them in everything I’ve taken on since. But this time feels different.

“Because—because I’m the one who might have blown it,” I confess. “I think Valeria was the one who called in the other day. About being hung up on an ex?”

“That caller who sounded like they swallowed a bug?”

Sheesh, can’t these stupid oars go any faster?

“I think she was trying to disguise her voice. And anyway, if it’s true, then I totally put her off Shay by pushing long distance with some other guy, and like—maybe that wasn’t the right call! Maybe I was just saying that because of my own stuff, you know?”

“Maybe you should slow down.”

“And if I’d known that it was Valeria, no way in heck would I have pushed for the other guy, because he’s a dishrag who left her in the middle of nowhere and made her cry a whole bunch of times, so—”