The morning we leave is serene. We strip the bed and bundle up sheets. We put out garbage and check every drawer we've used. We pack up the car with leftover food and our bags, sleepy headed and love high. As we leave, I turn around and blow a kiss at the cabin. Monty laughs, then pulls me into him to plant his mouth on mine. Then he throws me over his shoulder and loads me into the passenger seat.
Monty purposely drives slower on the way back. We make more stops along the way, sometimes to check out some thrift shop that looks too janky to pass up, sometimes just to smoke. Once, though we'd already done it one last time in the cabin bed, we pull off the highway to fuck in the abandoned parking lot of a strip mall. It's cramped and sweaty and glorious, and while gripping me tight Monty says over and over how much he loves me.
Our hands stay intertwined the rest of the way back.
"I'm depressed," Monty says upon entering my neighborhood a few hours later. "I don't want vacation to be over."
"Me neither," I admit, taking in the familiar houses with new vigor. For once, I'm not critical of the scrappiness of my hometown, the boring repeated structures on each street. The sun shines here just a little brighter, and the normalness is a comfort.
We haven't talked about it—me going back to Savannah next week, him staying here. We haven't discussed the boundaries of our relationship, or what the future holds. We've been avoiding it, as if the circumstances are plague-like.
But he's thinking about it now, I can sense it. His jaw tenses, his fingers clamp around mine, squeezing too hard. He clears his throat multiple times and checks he rearview mirror nervously, though no one is behind us.
"When are you leaving again?" he asks, rolling to a stop at an intersection. Kids ride by on bikes and skateboards, likely on their way to the pool to soak up the last of summer. Local schools would be back in session tomorrow, and the promise of a brand new year and soon to be changing weather can be felt in the air.
"Check in to the dorms starts Thursday. The moms are driving me up on Friday, so we can have one last weekend all together." I bite my lip, feeling nervous for the first time since the start of our trip. "Maybe you could come, if you want."
His thick eyebrows rise. "You want me to come with?"
"Sure," I say, biting my thumbnail. "Besides, I'm not sure how long I can go without you."
He sighs deliciously, his head falling against the head rest. "Me neither. I don't know how we're gonna ..." he trails off, but he doesn't have to finish for me to know what he's going to say.
"Let's talk about it later," I say as we turn onto my street. A massive storm cloud drifts in front of the sun, drenching the sidewalks in shade.
Both the mom's cars are parked in the driveway, mom's in a rare Sunday off of work. But they're not the only ones at my house. CJ is sitting on my doorsteps, a strip of sunburn along his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He looks up as the Bronco parks at the curb, and from here, I can see the red of his bloodshot eyes.
"Fuck," I say under my breath as he wipes a hand under his nose and gets up. "Maybe you should go, Mont."
"No way," Monty says, unbuckling his seatbelt, anger flaring in his expression. "If he's got a problem, he can say something to my face." He's out the car before I can say anything else, the door slamming shut behind him.
Overhead, thunder rumbles, one of those summer storms that comes out of nowhere. I get out and watch CJ's face harden as Monty rounds the car.
"What are you doing here?" Monty demands, standing a few inches shorter than CJ is.
YOU ARE READING
Summer of Us
Romantikus*COMPLETED. HIGHEST RANK: #8 in guybestfriend (10/6/19). Upon returning home from college for summer break, Ava finds that her hometown has changed just as much as she has. The popular boy next door is suddenly bearable, her family has learned to li...
