Every Summer After

by Carley Fortune

all I want to do is dive off the end of my dock. There’s just one problem: It’s not my dock anymore.

I would have been thankful for any friend that summer, but finding Sam was like winning the friendship lottery.

We stand staring at each other silently, and then he takes three giant strides toward me and wraps his arms around me so tight it’s like his large body is a cocoon around mine. He smells like sun and soap and something new that I don’t recognize. When he speaks, his voice is a deep rasp that I want to drown in. “You came home.” I squeeze my eyes shut. I came home.

He grinned. “I pay attention to a lot of things about you, Percy Fraser.”

I think that maybe sometimes you worry too much about what other people think.”

“What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter what other people think about you, because if they don’t like you, they’re clearly morons.” He was so close I could make out the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. “But you’re not other people,” I whispered. His eyes flicked down to my mouth, and I leaned a tiny bit closer. “I do care what you think.” “Sometimes I think no one gets me the way you do,” he said, the pink of his cheeks deepening to scarlet. “Do you ever get that feeling?”

And, Percy,” she continued, “it takes a lot of dedication to do what you did today—not to mention winning that writing prize of yours. I’m as proud as if you were my own daughter.”

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he says, and it sounds like coarse sandpaper.

just before I drifted off, I heard Sam whisper, “I’d rather kiss you, too.”

I don’t know how to do relationships, and I don’t want to screw it up with you. I want to be everything, Percy. When we’re ready.”

“I think you’re pretty great, too,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much.”

“I loved you,” he whispers. “I know,” I say. Hurt eyes move across my face. “You broke my heart.” “I know that, too.”

You’re my best friend. My favorite person.”

“One day, you won’t be able to get rid of me. I promise.”

I hope he fights harder this time,” he said, starting the engine. “Or someone else will.”

“I don’t take things for granted anymore. I don’t take people for granted. And I know time is not infinite.”

“You drive me crazy, you know that? You always have.”

“And I never laughed with anyone like I laughed with you. I’ve never been friends with anyone like I was with you.”

“I’ve tried to forget about you for more than ten years, but I don’t want to try anymore.”

“Twelve years ago, you asked me to marry you,” I whisper. Breathe. “I remember,” he says with a sad smile. “And I pushed you away.” “Yeah,” he rasps. “I remember that, too.”

“I love you,” he whispers. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

Three”—he looked up at me, his blue eyes serious and wide and hopeful and scared—“I want you to marry me.”

“You’re my best friend, Percy. Please be my family.”

I want you now. And I want you forever.

“I was here to come back to. Every holiday. Every summer. I was here.”

“You’re good enough,” she says again. “What if he doesn’t think so?” “Then you come home, P. And I’ll tell you why he’s wrong.”

“She told me to call you,” he says, serious again. I stop breathing. “Before she died. She said he’d need you after.” I hug him again. “Thank you,” I whisper.

The way I felt about you was always so clear to me—even when we were young I knew you and I were meant for each other.

Two halves of a whole. I loved you so much that the word ‘love’ didn’t seem big enough for how I felt.

Betrayals don’t cancel each other out. They just hurt more.”

I love you. I don’t think I ever stopped.

“I fell in love with you when I was thirteen, and I never stopped. You’re it for me.”

“You can forgive me?” I whisper. “I forgave you years ago, Percy.”

“I have something for you,” he says. He shifts and reaches for something in his pocket. I look down when I feel him fiddling with something at my hand. It’s not as bright as it once was, the orange and pink have faded and the white has turned gray, and it’s too big for me. But there it is, after all these years, Sam’s friendship bracelet tied around my wrist.

“I think messing it up is part of the deal,” he replies, giving my waist a little squeeze. “But I think we might be better at cleaning it up the next time.”

And later tonight, when everyone has left and it’s just Sam and me in our pj’s in the basement, there will be popcorn and a movie playing in the background and a ring in an old wooden box with my initials carved on top. It will be made from twisted threads of embroidery floss that match the faded bracelet on my wrist. And I will get down on one knee and ask Sam Florek to be with me. To be my family. Forever.