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“But you didn’t come,” I say, the realization hitting me.
“So? Sex isn’t a score card. I’m sure you’ll make me see stars later,” he tells me.
“You’re just happy you won the bet,” I grumble.
“No, that’s not it at all,” he says, and pulls me in closer.
That evening we drive to Watchman’s Dock, which is in the next town over, and as promised, I buy him surf and turf. But Carter is too kind to let me pay for the whole thing, and he buysme pasta with clams and dessert. We eat while watching the sunset, and spend the rest of the evening cuddled up together on the beach with a blanket.
When we get back to his house, we go straight to bed, but I just can’t seem to sleep. My mind is going at a million miles a minute, thinking about everything that’s happening between us.
“What is it?” Carter asks from beside me in bed, sensing somehow that I’m agitated.
“I’m just thinking about everything,” I say. “I can’t wait for the rest of the summer.”
“Me too,” he says.
We keep talking, and eventually, I stop feeling anxious and start feeling relaxed and happy. He doesn’t know how much it means to me, to have him stay up with me like this. Normally when I’m tossing and turning, unable to sleep because of anxiety and insomnia, I’m all alone.
It feels nice to have Carter here with me. And when he falls asleep first an hour later, I don’t mind one bit.
Two days later,Carter calls me while I’m in the middle of dinner with my moms. My heart leaps, but I don’t pick up because my mama gives me dagger eyes, just daring me to do it. She’s never approved of phones at the table.
After we’re done eating, I call him back.
“Hey Carter,” I say.
“Hey Angel,” he says. My insides flip at that nickname—one he only started calling me a few days ago.
“Why’d you call?” Something has me nervous—wary, even. We’ve never talked on the phone before, preferring to communicate over text to make plans.
He takes a deep breath that is audible over the line. “I got an internship for the summer,” he says. “A really cool one. I’ll be working with a team studying colonies of shore birds up and down the Northeast.”
“That’s incredible!” I say, and I mean it. Carter has been telling me all week how excited he is to finish his degree in two more years and start grad school, where he can hopefully get to work doing what he loves: wildlife conservation. “How’d you manage to get one?”
“One of my professors from school emailed me about it and told me to contact the team if I was interested. They said they’re happy to have me. But I leave on a boat tomorrow. I’m packing right now.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s still good though. We can keep in touch until you’re back.”
“That’s the thing. I’ll be gone until I have to go back to school.”
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I thought we’d have the summer together, but I guess not.
“We’ll keep in touch,” I say.
“And Thanksgiving isn’t far away,” he reassures me. “We’ll both be home then.”
My heart swells at that—that he thinks we’ll be together until Thanksgiving. We chat for a few more minutes, and he tells me about the trip and the stops they’ll be making, but soon he has to hang up to finish packing. I don’t ask him if he has time to see me tonight, because it’s clear that he doesn’t, and he doesn’t offer to.
The next day, I text him good luck. He doesn’t respond right away, but that’s okay. I’m sure he’s busy or that they have spotty service out on the water.
A few days later, he finally texts me back, and I’m relieved, even though it’s just a single, solitary, “Hey.”
That’s the last time I hear from him for the rest of the summer.
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ANGELA
