“Yes,” I said, carefully standing up, but still somehow managing to lose my balance and catching myself on the table. “Really . . . great.”
Frank looked at me, levelly. “Keys,” he said, holding out his hand for them.
“Have you had anything?” I asked, even as I was digging in my purse for them.
“Just a month’s worth of sugar,” he said, glancing at the remains of the cake. “Nothing to drink, only water.” I handed Frank my keys, very relieved I hadn’t had to call Dawn or my parents or a taxi—the possibilities I’d been running through in my head, none of which I’d particularly liked. “I’ll meet you by your car,” he said. “Collins and I are just going to clean this up.”
Collins turned to him, looking surprised. “We are? I mean, I am?” He sighed and gestured to the picnic table with the remains of the cake and empty red cups scattered on the ground. “But I organized all this!”
“I’ll help,” I said, bending down to get a cup, but losing my balance halfway and having to brace myself on the picnic table.
“Car,” Frank said, placing his hands on my shoulders and turning me in the direction of the parking lot. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“This is going to take five minutes?” Collins grumbled as he bent down to pick up a cup.
“I’ll see you there,” I said, somehow not even feeling embarrassed that this was happening. I knew I would probably feel it in the morning—along with a splitting headache—but for the moment, I was just vaguely relieved that things were working out.
I focused on making my way back to the car, wondering why I never normally had to concentrate this hard on walking, since it was actually very challenging. It wasn’t until I reached the Volvo that I realized I couldn’t get in—I’d given Frank the keys. So I carefully pushed myself up to sit on the trunk, feet resting on my back bumper. I leaned back to look up at the stars, amazed at how they were taking over the whole sky. “Emily?” I sat up more cautiously than usual to see Gideon standing by the driver’s side of an SUV parked a car away from me. He must have unlocked the car, because the interior lights flared on, suddenly very bright against the darkness. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said, pronouncing the word carefully enough that I might have undercut my intention. “I mean, I’m not driving or anything,” I assured him. “But it’s being handled.”
“Do you need a ride?” he asked, his brow furrowed, and I could see why he was confused—when someone is sitting on the trunk of a parked car, it would seem to indicate they’re having some transportation issues.
“No,” I said, shaking my head once to each side—things started to get a little spinny if I did more than that. “My—Frank is driving me.”
“Frank,” Gideon said, shaking his head as he looked down at the keys in his hands. “You sure didn’t waste any time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, but not in the sarcastic way people generally asked it—I honestly didn’t know what he meant. A moment later, though, I caught up and felt my jaw drop. “No, no,” I said. “No. We’re not—he has a girlfriend. A really serious one. And I was supposed to pick her up this afternoon, but . . .” I trailed off when I realized Gideon probably didn’t need to hear about the details of my day. “Where’s Sam?” I asked. Not that I wanted to see him, but seeing Gideon twice without Sam’s presence was just surprising.
He gestured back to the Orchard. “He wanted to stay a little longer.” He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Where’s Sloane?”
I shrugged, feeling how loose my shoulders were. “She . . . left,” I said. “At the beginning of the summer.”
“Where?” Gideon asked, and the force of that simple word—and the fact that I still didn’t have an answer—hit me hard.
“I don’t know,” I said, hating that I had to, that I didn’t have any other answers. “But I’m working on it.”
Gideon just shook his head, looking down at his keys. “The two of you,” he said. “You just leave people behind, no explanations, don’t care if—”
“Wait,” I said, getting down from the car. “I don’t—” Gideon ran his hand over his close-cropped hair, and it was then that I saw something peeking out of his T-shirt sleeve. It was something I never would have done if I hadn’t had two beers on an empty stomach. But without thinking it through, I was crossing to him and pushing up his shirtsleeve to see what I knew would be there.
It was the last Sharpie tattoo I’d given him, the night everything had fallen apart with the four of us. And though I’d given it to him in May, months ago, it looked freshly done, the waves still endlessly cresting. And since Gideon didn’t smell terrible, he’d obviously been bathing, which meant . . .
I looked up at him, and he took a step away, but not before I saw where I’d signed my name just to the side of his tricep—Emily xoxo. He’d been coloring it in ever since—those lines I’d drawn without any real thought to them, just to kill some time. It felt like someone had just punched me, and I felt dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the beer.
He slowly rolled his sleeve down, and I finally let myself see it—the pain I’d caused him, the damage I’d left behind. “Gideon,” I started. “I’m sorry—” But he was already turning away from me.
“Sure,” he said, his voice flat and sarcastic.
“I am,” I said, taking an unsteady step closer to him, resting my hand on the hood of his car. I wished that I was more sober for this, because getting my thoughts in line was a struggle, but I knew I had to at least try. “Listen. I shouldn’t have ended things like that.” As soon as I said it, I realized that I probably also shouldn’t have been dating him in the first place, but wasn’t sure that would be helpful to say. “I never meant to hurt you. Really.” I searched his face, trying to see if this had gotten through, these words I should have said months ago.
Gideon looked at me for just a moment before shaking his head, pulling open his door, and getting in his car. “See you,” he said, not looking at me. Then he pulled out of the Orchard, his lights briefly lighting up the old faded sign, with its ever-hopeful, twinned cherries.