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“Great, honey. Your father and I are heading out on the boat soon. But it’s nice to hear from you!”
Not thirty seconds into the conversation and she’s already letting me know she has to go soon. Classic Mom. No matter that my dad doesn’t give a shit about being on time for anything, and they’re both retired and loaded. So tomorrow will also likely involve spending the day on their sailboat, floating in the perfect Florida waters.
“I won’t keep you,” I say, in that same easy voice. I imagine a joint hanging from my mouth, a cap backwards on my head.
“Okay,” she says.
There’s a long awkward pause, in which I imagine myself taking a long puff of that joint and cracking open a beer.
“I called because I’m stranded,” I say.
“What? Carter, what does that mean?” My mom at least has the decency to sound surprised.
“Jamie’s bachelor party included a hike on a small island, and during a storm I got stuck here. With Angela, Cat’s friend.”
“Why were their girls at this bachelor party?” my mom asks, as if that is somehow the most important thing going on here, and it’s still 1955.
“Because Jamie and Cat are best friends,” I explain, even though she must already know this. Jamie and I have been friends since we were in middle school, and she’s definitely met Cat multiple times.
“Oh that’s right,” she says. “So you’re stuck? How is that possible?”
“There was a storm. A pretty bad one, with ice and rain. We stayed in a cabin in the woods for a few nights.”
I explain the rest of it to her, and when I get to the part about how we haven’t found someone with a boat to take us back to Harborview yet, all she manages to say is, “At least the island is probably charming! Your father and I almost bought a vacation place on one of these islands but thought it was a bit run down.”
Nothing about how Angela and I almost had to weather a Maine ice and rain storm outside. Nothing about how thankful she is that I knew a place we could see it out in. Not a word about how she hopes we make it back soon. Nothing, even, about what an inconvenience this must be causing for both of us.
I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened to Angela and me if Hal’s cabin wasn’t close. If we hadn’t reached it before the wind and rain picked up. If the temperature had dropped and we’d still been outside.
All of that is lost on my mom, though.
“It seems like you have it handled so well, honey,” she says.
My heart feels brittle all of a sudden, like the smallest blow could crack it right down the center.
“Thanks. I do,” I say, because what else is there?
I do have it handled. And I wouldn’t have it any other way—not with Angela here with me. Not with her depending on me to figure out how to get us home. But for once, I’d like my mom to offer to help. Even if I don’t need it. Her and dad are swimming in cash. They could charter a damn helicopter to come get us if we needed them to.
I tell my mom that I love her and then we hang up.
I stand on the edge of the cliff and look out into the distance at the sea. The water is still choppy and rough and I don’t see any boats out there. But the sky is blue, and birds are dancing in and out of the waves, diving for fish. I grab my binoculars from where they’re strapped to my chest and set them over my eyes, determined to stop thinking about my parents.
For some reason, though, my knee aches, right where Angela bandaged it. And I can’t help but remember the soft press of her hands.
19
ANGELA
When Carter gets backto the apartment two hours later, I’m up from my unsuccessful nap and watching TV. I tried looking for a charter company that was open, but the closest one I found was operating out of Massachusetts, and after I called ten places just to check and got nowhere, I gave up.
“Did you sleep well?” Carter asks, as he takes his coat off and sets his things down on the kitchen counter. He pours water into the electric kettle and starts to boil it, and sets out two mugs for tea. He goes to hang his coat over the back of the door.
It feels achingly domestic—us in this apartment, me on the bed, him in the kitchen, our things spread out across the room, claiming it for our own already, even for just a short while.
The wanting hits me like a train barreling down the tracks.
I want this. I want it so badly I can barely breathe through the feeling. Us, together. Him, coming home after a long day, asking me how my day was, how I am, how was work. It’s so mundane. But it’s exactly what I used to imagine could be between us. Back then, I imagined a few years of college where we’d be long distance, and then graduation, and finally, the home we’d make together. Our first apartment was going to be a one bed in Portland by the docks.
