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We’d been roommates for a year, and friends for a year before that, but you never really know someone until you meet their family. And I couldn’t wait to meet Bridget’s. She was the most confident, most capable, most bighearted person I knew, and I wanted to see where she came from.
But things change, Bridget. Shorelines and airports, especially. It’s not all bad. It just is.”
Everything that’s worth having is some trouble. —L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea
“If there’s one thing I can teach you, Lucy,” Stacy said as I sobbed into my wine, “it’s to live your life fully, to live it for yourself and no one else. I know how much you love this place, but I have to do what’s right for me, just as you have to do what’s right for you.”
I’d never unload like that in front of my own parents. I felt at home with the Clarks. They didn’t care about a bit of sand trampled in the house. They spoke over one another. They teased. They asked a lot of questions, and Bridget’s mom told you if she thought your answer was horse shit. Literally. “That sounds like horse shit to me,” was one of her catchphrases.
She looked like part of the island—someone born of soil and sea and wind. So beautiful, my best friend.
“Someone distracted me,” he said, tapping his knife on the mark. I lifted my gaze to his. “It was worth it.” “She must have been cute,” Bridget quipped from behind me. He smiled at me. “The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”
“You,” he says. “You feel like you were made for me.”
