the first one • j. hughes

19

"Trevor, please," I beg.

He ignores me, keeping his eyes closed. "I'm trying to relax here."

"Aren't you bored of sitting in the sun by yourself?"

"Kenny, just 'cause you can't stand being alone doesn't mean everyone can't."

"That is so rich coming from you," I say. "You have to get your twenty thousand words a day in somehow don't you?"

"Being alone with you wouldn't help me with that either. We'd cancel each other out. Like... multiplying a negative and a positive to put it into terms you get."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Negative and a negative, man. You mean multiplying a negative and a negative."

"Sure," he says. I go to argue about the fact that I practically think in math and numbers but he waves me off.

There goes Plan B. Plan A was hanging out with Luke. He had plans already and said, and I quote, "I guess you could come if you want." Then I went to bother Quinn. Sleeping. Technically Zegs was Plan C.

Just my luck, Plan D comes in from the garage door right as I get into the kitchen. Jack does the little 'sup nod thing while emptying his pockets onto the counter. Wallet, keys, AirPods.

"Wanna go do something?" I ask.

Back into his pockets go his AirPods, keys, and wallet. "Let's do it."

* * * * *

"Great outfit, by the way," Jack jokes. I'm wearing one of my dad's old Brown t-shirts that has a giant hole right by the collar with a pair of bright orange shorts that for the most part don't even make much of an appearance.

The radio's playing the same country station it was when I got the truck. It's law not to touch the dial when it's on in the same way it was law to follow the strike system when I had my Jeep. Even if it goes out of service and all that fills the tiny cab is static. One time, Luke and I drove so far it started playing a gospel station and we still didn't change it.

"How much longer we driving for?"

I answer immediately, "One point seven miles."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him frown and pick something up from the space of the bench seat in between us. My phone, most likely. Which doesn't have Maps pulled up.

"You're crazy," he laughs.

"Don't call me that," I snap unintentionally. "It'd do you good to learn how to navigate places without your phone. Would have kept you from getting lost the other day."

"That was on purpose."

"Okay, bud."

We don't talk until I've parked the truck in the dirt driveway and hopped out. I let Jack lead the way up the rickety wooden stairs. He holds the door open and the bell above it rings. The same station from the truck plays from the back. The aisles are small between the most anxiety-inducing shelves and tables stacked with various antiques and other objects. It's beautiful.

"I'm in the dining room!" A Southern voice calls. Miss Lacy laughs when she turns around from wiping down a table and sees us in the doorway. "Your mama was in here the other week getting a wedding present, Georgia Girl. I thought it was for you for a second."

Jack and I exchange a smile at that. Y'know, married for pretty much thirteen years, greatest wedding of 2010, and all that jazz.

"She wishes," I joke. Sort of.

"Lovey, there was a summer your daddy brought you around and you were obsessed with hearing about only my daughter's wedding from a few months before," Miss Lacy says. "I'm sure you wish too."

Hearing about weddings and Dad is a lot. I feel gross for a moment. Luckily, Jack picks the silence right up. "Got any sweet tea ready?"

"Mhm, sure do. Some fresh angel food cake too if y'all want some." She doesn't even wait for any answer before disappearing into the back.

We take a seat. The same table as usual. The same table we would sit at with Dad. There isn't even a third chair anymore. Like somebody finally decided to buy one of them because they knew he wouldn't be using it anymore. Oh, fuck. This was a bad idea.

"You okay?" Jack asks.

All I can do is nod. It's as good as a lie as I can manage. I'm not okay. There's exactly a week until Holly and Brosie get married. Dad isn't here. He's not going to be there. On a more selfish note, whenever I get married he won't be there either. It fucking blows.

Jack reaches over the table and puts his hand on mine. "Prez."

"Luke couldn't sleep last night and kept blowing up my phone with dumb TikToks," I say. It's the truth, to be clear. But I put my phone on do not disturb after the second one.

"Sure," he says.

"What do you—"

Miss Lacy is putting two jars of sweet tea in front of us. We both say, "Thank you, ma'am." I have to bite back a laugh. Jack using ma'am always throws me off a bit. I don't know why.

"Did you guys ever hear the story of Jason bringing your dad—" She points at Jack. "—here drunk out of their minds after their freshman year in college?"

Jack's jaw drops. "No! You've been holding that one in all these years? Are you kidding?"

"I'm old," she says with a shrug. A cop-out because she only ever seems to get sharper and sharper. She's heading for the kitchen again. "Give me a break."

"You can't leave me here like that," Jack calls after her. No real anger anywhere near him.

"I'm getting Kenny some cake!" She calls right back, making my longest friend glare at me.

"She's never going to tell that story," I say after a long sip of the liquid gold in front of me.

"Reminds me of how you won't tell me what's wrong today," he shoots back. My glare makes him put his hands up in mock surrender. "I let it slide after tennis. Doesn't mean I have to today."

I shrug. "Learn how to mindread and you'll get your answer. Other than that, it'll be when pigs fly."

"Wonder if Miss Lacy will let me go out to the barn to try that second option."

Jack might be my worst enemy. One second, I'm miserable and thinking about the whole dead dad thing in the worst possible way. The next, I'm laughing and it's like nothing has changed in the entire world. We're two kids sharing emotions, drinking the best sweet tea to ever exist and Dad might as well be in the kitchen getting scolded by Miss Lacy because he's not supposed to be back there.

"I miss him," I whisper. There's another reason Jack might be my worst enemy. Words tumble out much faster with him than anyone else. I can usually get a lot more stall time. With Jack, the words always come tumbling out on their own.

He squeezes my hand. I'd forgotten he was even holding it. "Me too. You never have to keep that in, y'know? That's like, the dumbest thing to keep in."

"Sorry not all of us are an open book," I say.

"You're not an open book at all." Another squeeze. "I just like to think I have the keys to the five locks you keep on you."

"Yeah, yeah."

He laughs softly. It reminds me of Quinn's. "I'll keep you missing your dad a secret. Our little secret."

I don't respond, opting to drink more of my tea. If my mouth stays busy, the real secret I'm locking in won't jump out. Since he has that sixth key to my heart. Does that make sense? I don't know. I didn't start that metaphor.

Basic gist is: I'm in deep. I don't like rejection. I can't tell if Jack has a secret too. If we're sharing a very specific feeling at the same time for once. He's doing a lot of joke flirting. I can't handle it. I need to keep the words in. I talk a lot. They could tumble out.

This is so not a relaxing, sweet tea-sipping summer.