โHer hair has grown a lot since August, well past her shoulders. It looks darker and glossier than back in the summer, after the sun bleached her tips and the seawater frizzed them. Perhaps it should surprise me, but it doesnโt.โ
Thank you, Instagram stalking. โWhy . . . What are you doing here?โ
She rolls on the bed, then props herself up on her elbows. โSabrina texted me.โ
โSabrina?โ
She nods. โYea tall? Blond? Pubescent?ย Aggressivelyย sullen?โ โI know who Sabrinaโ โ I shake my head. โSheย textedย you?โ
โI made the mistake of giving her my number before leaving New Jersey. During the week of all those rides? I blame you for it.โ
โYouโve been corresponding with my fifteen- year- old sister?โ
โNo. Iโve been leaving your fifteen- year- old sister on read when she sent TikToks of people dancing, about which I care nothing, or TikToks about roller derby, about which I care, astonishingly, even less. But a couple of weeks ago she texted me about you. So I replied.โ
Iโm slowly recovering from the near stroke. Easton is here. On my side of the bed, without even taking off her shoes. We havenโt talked in ages. Millennia.
Itโs possible that Iโm annoyed.
I cross my arms over my chest. โShouldnโt you be in Colorado?โ โShouldnโt, shmouldnโt.โ
My eyes narrow. Maybeย annoyedย is not the right word. โIโm surprised you were able to pry yourself away from college, since you love it so much.โ I sound so acid, I nearly wince.
Her head tilts. โI donโt remember ever saying anything like that.โ โYou didnโt need to say it.โ
โYou read my mind?โ
โI read yourย Instagram.โ
โAh, yes.โ She nods sagely. โI do bare my heart and confess my deepest pains to Instagram.โ
I lower my eyes, feeling like an idiot of the pettiest kind.
โI mean,โ she adds with a shrug, โI do see where youโre coming from.
Itโs not like I didnโt think the exact same.โ
โReally?โ I lift my eyebrow back to sour. โI havenโt updated my Instagram since I saw that giant leopard moth three years ago.โ
โYou havenโt. But one doesnโt need social media to keep up on the whereabouts of the great Mallory Greenleaf. Not whenย Jezebelย has an entire article about your wardrobe.โ
โNo, they donโt.โ I exhale.ย Shit. โDo they?โ
โThey have, like, four. Anyway.โ She rolls some more and sits on the edge of the mattress. โThereโs something exquisitely humbling about finding out that your best friend ofย manyย years is dating someone, for the first time, and didnโt bother telling youโ โ
โIโm not datingโ โ
โโ or that she neglected to mention that she won the Philly Open, that she was selected for the Challengers, that she is now buddies with the best player in the world, that she is going to be his opponent for the World Championshipโ should I go on?โ
I donโt answer. I just look at her as she stands and steps in front of me. A dozen little puzzle pieces are working overtime to click together inside my head.
โYou know . . .โ She scratches her temple. Her brown eyes are serious and beautiful. โWhen you started texting less and less, I thought you were over me. You had this super- cool fellowship, an objectively hot boyfriend,
prize money, and you areโ Jesus, Mal, youโreย famous, itโs soย weird.ย And I figured I was just being . . . phased out. I was being outgrown.โ
โIโ โ
โBut then.โ She lifts her finger. โThen Sabrina texted me about how much of a miserable mope youโve been, and I remembered something very important.โ
I swallow. โWhat is that?โ โThat you are an idiot.โ
I flinch.
โHereโs the deal,โ she continues. โYouโve always been like this, and I donโt know how I could have forgotten. Even before your dad did what he did, you didnโt want to be a burden. Didnโt want toย impose. You were always theย leave โem before they leave youย kind of person. And normally I would have realized sooner what you were doing, but I was a bit in my head, too.โ She wets her lips. โCollege is . . . not easy. And not that fun, sometimes. And itโs pretty lonely. And I gained six pounds. Now my bra chafes.โ
โOuch.โ
โItโs okay, Iโve ordered new ones. The point is, I was too busy to realize that you were just trying to anticipate my move with that chess brain of yours.โ She pauses. I watch her slip her shoes off with her toes. โI think that when I left, you were scared that Iโd get over you. So you decided to get over me sooner.โ
โI didnโtโ โ
โMaybe not consciously, butโ โ
โI mean, I didnโtย decideย it,โ I say, voice thick. My last vestige of irritation is washed away by something dangerously close to tears. โI just thought that you . . .โ
Easton sighs. Pats me on the shoulder, once. Then moves back to the bed, sprawling again on top of the covers. Still on my side, but at least this time sheโs barefoot. I have no idea what to do, so I opt for whatโs natural: take off my own shoes, step around the mattress, and settle on the free side. We both turn on our pillows, facing each other, and this could have been us
during a sleepover eight, five, three, two years ago. Any number of times, in any number of places.
โSo.โ I clear my throat. โYouโre going out with that really hot girl?โ โKim-ly?โ
โYeah.โ
โMal, Iโm soย goneย for her. Sheโs so cute. Out of my league.โ
I nod. โYeah, a bit.โ She punches me on the arm, and we both laugh in what feels like not just amusement but also relief. And then I blurt out: โWill you stay for the championship?โ
โDude. You think I came to Italy for a heart-to-heart and now Iโm turning around?โ
โYou have school.โ โIโll be fine.โ
โI canโt ask you to take off two weeks for me.โ โThatโs fine. Since Iโm offering.โ
I close my eyes, feeling my chest swell. โI love you. And Iโm sorry. And I missed you.โ Iโm tearing up again. Itโs like crying once tore down what used to be a very architectonically sound dam: in the past month Iโve sobbed while watchingย My Girl, after Darcyโs teacher told me that my sister is gifted, when Sabrina won her derby meet. Iโm a crier now. Maybe I always was.
โI missed you, too.โ
โEaston, I . . .โ I sniffle. โIโm never going to win this stupid championship.โ
โMaybe not. But it doesnโt matter. Youโre doing the thing you always wanted the most, surrounded by people you love, while sharing a room with yours trulyโ who, by the way, recently redeveloped sleep terrors. Lucky you.โ She twines her fingers with mine, like she used to when we were little. โMal. Youย alreadyย won.โ
We fall asleep like that: my hand in hers, and our hair tangled together across the pillows.
I SPEND THE NEXT MORNING BEING A TOURIST WITH EASTON,ย and it feels like
taking our friendship for a joyride.
It starts a little rocky: we ask the concierge directions for the Trevi Fountain and are met with a scandalized look and the revelation that itโs actually in Rome, some five hundred kilometers south. But it moves up when we manage to make our way to Piazza San Marco, get pecked by a horde of pigeons, end up furiously scrubbing bird shit from our clothes.
After the second person asks me for an autograph, we buy two pairs of cheap, heart- shaped sunglasses and spend fortyfive minutes browsing for a murrina for Kim-ly. We ask the shop owner, โWhatโs most suited for someone whose favorite singersongwriter is Taylor Swift and whose favorite director is Ari Aster?โ and are left to our own devices when he pretends not to understand English. We eat three breakfasts. โLike the Hobbits,โ we keep saying, sinking our teeth into baci di dama and bignes and frittelle. Itโs not really that funny of a joke, but just being together again is intoxicating, and we giggle over it for two whole bridges.
Look at us.
Who would have thought. Not me.
Weโre attempting a selfie on the Ponte di Rialto when Kim-ly texts a simpleย Hey, howโs Italy?
The bridge is packed with tourists trying to get a good view, but we
spend twenty minutes taking space on the banister, formulating the perfect response.
โDonโt sendย thatโ add that you miss her,โ I insist, trying to steal Eastonโs phone.
โToo clingy.โ
โShe sent you aย heart.โ
โAย greenย heart, which meansย nothing.โ
โOh my God.โ I laugh. โYouโre an idiot. I love it.โ
โShut up.โ Her cheeks are rosy, not just from the cold. โBy the way, when are we talking about Sawyer?โ
โNever.โ I glance away, taking in once again the pretty houses packed together and the stunning view of the Gran Canal.
โHa.โ
โThereโs nothing to talk about.โ
โI doubt it.โ Her elbow pushes against mine. โWhere are you guys?โ
โNowhere.โ Sheโs looking at me expectantly. And Iโm trying to be more open and forthcoming about my needs and feelings, so I say, โWe havenโt spoken since the Koch thing. I found out that heโd been paying for my fellowship. We had a huge fight over it, and that was it.โ
โAnd heโs okay? With it being it?โ โNolan is . . .โ I stop.
This is the first time. The first time Iโve said his name out loud since our argument. The first time Iโve allowed myself to acknowledge him and the novel, oddly shaped hole heโs left in my chest. Itโs like picking at a scab. Digging a wound open, finally admitting that it was never patched up.
โI think we both said some things that we regretted.โ I swallow. โThings that we knew would hurt.โ I swallow again. โMostly me.โ
โThatโs what happens when you fight with someone who gets you.โ
I close my eyes. The reminder of how much Nolan gets me is like a punch in the stomach. โI accused him of orchestrating Bob firing me.โ
Easton snorts. โWhat?โ
โIt just seemed like suspicious timing.โ
She bursts into laughter. And laughter. And more laughter. A group of French tourists gives her suspicious looks, but she sobers up when she notices my glare. โDude, I was there when it all went down. Iโm pretty sure thatโs not what happened. Bob had beenย gaggingย to fire you ever since your uncle left. You were cramping his upselling lifestyle and were utterly replaceable.โ
I glance away, irritated. And then I admit something for the first timeโ out loud and to myself. โI know.โ
โYou know?โ
โI do. But I still have the right to be mad that he didnโt tell me about the fellowship.โ
โOkay, but itโs not the same at all. I mean, getting you fired from your job is taking something away from you. The fellowship is giving you something. The two are not even comparable, andโ โ
โIย know,โ I repeat through gritted teeth. I did not missย thisย about Easton. The way she reads my mind. Iโm just thankful she and Nolan donโt know each other and never will. โThe worst of it is . . . when I accused him, he didnโt even bother denying it. He just said . . .โ I swallow.
โWhat did he say?โ
โThat heย wishedย he had.โ I sigh. โThat I needed to be shaken out of my life.โ
She nods. The horn of a ferry punches the lingering quiet between us. โWell, you know how I feel about agreeing with white guys with trust funds, but . . . I might have to give him a brownie point here.โ
โGod.โ I groan and lower my head between my forearms. โThe things I
saidย to him. About him. About his family. I just . . . I was soย mad, Easton.โ โWho were you mad at, Mal? Nolan? Your dad? Life? Yourself? All of
the above?โ
I donโt want to face the answer to that. So I just lay my head on her shoulder, let her pet my hair, and for the first time in weeks I remember how much I liked him, even when I didnโt. The way I laughed and felt unsettlingly, tantalizingly seen. The thrill of watching him play, and my trembling heart as I watched him sleep. The odd relief in acknowledging thatย withย him was exactly where I cared to be. And then the anger I felt for allowing myself to do that.
For the first time in weeks I can admit it:
I wish I had the prospect of exchanging more than gambits with him. I have no idea how to sit across from him for twelve games.
I will have to shake his hand tomorrow, before the first game even starts, and my fingers itch from wanting it so desperately. He must be close, on this island, and I feel it in my bones, his presence. I feel him in my stomach.
โEaston. I think I messed up,โ I say.
โYeah.โ She nods. โBut I think that, maybe because of what happened with your dad, you tend to believe that when people mess up, thatโs it. They donโt get a second chance. And sometimes thatโs true, but other times . . .โ She shrugs. โIโm here. Your family is here. Nolan . . .โ She doesnโt continue.
So I sigh. And she sighs, too. And for a long time we just listen to the seagulls, watch the boats paint white stripes in the canal, and pretend thereโs nowhere we need to be in about one hour.