Just for the Summer (Part of Your World, #3)

by Abby Jimenez

“All right. Don’t wait up. I’m probably going to his place after.” I arched an eyebrow. “What?” she said. “This nomad life isn’t exactly conducive to relationships and I’m getting sick of DJing my own party.”

“Well, then I went to Target for nail polish remover—” “And you went to Starbucks.” “Yes, I went to Starbucks. I had to, it was right there.” “The absolute chokehold that Starbucks has on us.

“You know how when something bad happens to someone you love, and you wish you could take it from them instead?” “Yeah.” “What if the universe listened? What if you or your mom or the kids were supposed to die in a car crash and your dad said ‘Take me instead’—and the universe did. And nobody remembers the way it was supposed to be because that’s the deal. You never get to know that he’s a hero. The fates are reversed and the tribute takes the thing he asked for to save someone he loves. If you think of it that way, instead of being sad that he’s gone, be happy that he got what he wanted. And that somebody loved you enough to take your place.”

“Uh, she threatened my life, actually. Told me if I hurt you, she’d kill me. Said they’d never find my body.” He looked back at the pontoon for a second and then back to me. “I kinda believe her.” “Ugh. I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. The good news is, I’m not going to hurt you, so I get to live.”

“Did you really threaten to kill him?” “It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”

If you can choose anger or empathy, always choose empathy.

“What happens when water gets into a crack and it freezes?” “It expands,” I said. “Makes the crack bigger.” “Unhealed trauma is a crack. And all the little hard things that trickle into it that would have rolled off someone else, settle. Then when life gets cold, that crack gets bigger, longer, deeper. It makes new breaks. You don’t know how broken she was or what she was trying to do to fill those cracks. Being broken is not an excuse for bad behavior, you still have to make good choices and do the right thing. But it can be the reason. And sometimes understanding the reason can be what helps you heal.”

“You two smell like you showered in Patrón,” I said. I dug in my center console for a water bottle. “Drink some water.” “Water?” Leigh said. “That stuff that killed everyone on the Titanic?”

This wasn’t like anything I’d ever known. I wanted him to hold me after. To wake up with me in the morning and eat cereal in my bed while we watched TV. I wanted to see his pajamas on Christmas morning and find out what he looked like with birthday candles lighting his face and snow in his hair.

I felt like I could stay in this moment forever. Like it was timeless because of how absolutely perfect it was. And yet there was nothing perfect about it. Not in the traditional sense. We were in pajamas. We weren’t on a date, standing under the moon. We were next to a sink full of dirty dishes and a crusty waffle iron. There wasn’t music playing or candlelight or rose petals. But it was perfect. I wouldn’t have changed a single thing about it.

“Sometimes I feel like the seasons could come and go and come and go, a hundred years could pass, a thousand, the ground could collapse under us, this house could crumble and go back to the earth, and we would still be standing here frozen in time, because every second I’m with you is eternal. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“You are not what happened to you. You are what you do next.”

“Yeah. I did. And I’m really sorry if my leaving hurt you. The last thing I wanted was for you to feel abandoned. I know what that’s like.” “I didn’t feel abandoned,” she said, looking me in the eye. “’Cause I knew if I ever called you, you’d come.”

The best kind of love doesn’t happen on moonlit walks and romantic vacations. It happens in between the folds of everyday life. It’s not grand gestures that show how you feel, it’s all the little secret things you do to make her life better that you never tell her about. Taking the end piece of the bread at breakfast so she can have the last middle piece for her sandwich when you pack her lunch. Making sure her car always has gas so she never has to stop at the pump. Telling her you’re not cold and to take your jacket when you are in fact, very, very cold. It’s watching TV on a rainy Sunday while you’re doing laundry and turning her light off when she’s fallen asleep reading. Sharing pizza crusts and laughing about something the kids did and taking care of each other when you’re sick. It isn’t glamorous, it isn’t all butterflies and stars in your eyes. It’s real. This is the kind of love that forever is made of. Because if it’s this good when life is draining and mundane and hard, think of how wonderful it will be when the love songs are playing and the moon is out.