Page 23 of The Getaway List
I stand, too, wincing. “The thing is Tom gets a lot of people asking about his mom, so when you did I just sort of—took over ‘Tom Whitz’ duties for the morning,” I admit. Luca’s eyes widen like saucers, so I add quickly, “It was silly. I didn’t even know I was staying in the city so I wasn’t thinking. But the name thing was the only part of the bit, everything else was just us.”
I’m bracing myself for a well-deserved telling off, but after a moment of processing Luca throws his head back, his laugh so easy and bright that it sounds like its own kind of sunshine.
“You’re not mad?” I ask carefully.
“Why would I be?” he asks. “I totally deserved it. And besides, it makes for a good story, and I’m in embarrassingly short supply of those.”
“You live in New York,” says Tom. “That can’t be true.”
Luca slings his backpack forward, tugging at the apron string. “All I’ve ever done is go to school and work for my parents. There are doorknobs less boring than I am.”
“Well, shit,” I say. “That’s bleak.”
I mean for the words to come out funny and candid, but what they really do is fall flat. What they really do is remind me of what I can’t quite say, only because it feels like there are simply too many emotions wrestling in me right now to go there. That I relate to that feeling more than Luca could possibly know.
Luca glances down at his sneakers, but Tom and I look back at each other. For a split second I’m all too aware of what we almost did all over again, but then something in his eyes goes soft, something I’m feeling in the precise same shade as he is. Tom nods and I nod back.
“Well,” says Tom, speaking on both of our behalves. “Riley just decided to stay for the summer for various misadventures. So if you’re looking for more story inspiration, you’re welcome to join us on them.”
Luca’s grin splits wide enough to crack the foundation of this entire cramped island. “Yeah?” he says. “I mean—I don’t want to intrude on anything—seriously, I’m sure you guys have plenty of friends—”
“A few,” I say, Tom’s calm easing off on me. “And I’ve got a feeling you’ll like them as much as they’ll like you.”
Luca’s face goes entirely red under his freckles. He stammers out a goodbye to us both because he’s late for work, and when he starts jogging away from us I pull out my phone, opening a text thread that includes me, Tom, Luca, Mariella, and Jesse.
Okay okay. New York wins. I’m staying for the summer. Any takers for the Getaway List?
I show it to Tom before I send it, just to make sure he’s all right with the idea. As much as I enjoy the company of all our friends, mutual and semimutual, this isn’t for my sake so much as it is for his. But I’ll pretend it’s for mine if it means that Tom gets closer with all of them this summer; if it means I’ll be leaving him here with a large enough safety net of people who will feel just as much love for him as I do.
That part won’t be hard. Tom is a person who is impossibly easy to love.
“Perfect,” says Tom from over my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I ask, just to be sure.
Tom nods. I try not to notice that I’m breathing in that distinct floral, earthy Tom smell more strongly than I ever have. “We were going to do most of the things on this list as a group anyway. So now they’ll really count.”
I nod back vigorously, wishing I’d thought that up myself. Thing is, it’s a miracle I’m thinking any logical thoughts right now because there’s still a warm tingle in my lips where Tom’s almost were, still a strange current pulsing just under my skin. The one that’s saying, Hey dumbass. It turns out your mom was right and you’re at least a little bit attracted to your best friend after all.
Or maybe I already suspected. Maybe I was just hoping it wasn’t true. But even if that’s the case, the whole almost-kissing thing was strategic. Like how else would humans know fire was hot if they didn’t get close to the flame first? And yes, maybe I can’t depend on my caveman ancestors for a decent metaphor here because it turns out I might like Tom’s particular burn, but the point still stands that knowledge is power. And now that I know there’s some flickering potential between me and Tom, I can do my best to avoid it for the sake of what really matters: spending this summer going on the kinds of adventures that will settle us back into our old friendship, that will help us figure out what comes next in our lives.
Tom waves a hand in front of my face. When I blink out of the tailspin of my thoughts and meet his eyes, he loses the teasing look in his and says, “You all right?”
I clear my throat. I have to salvage this. A metaphorical fire extinguisher, if you will.
“So what’s the opposite of shipping a couple?” I ask, taking a step back from him.
Tom’s eyes flit across the cement, noting the distance. “Drowning them?” he supplies just the same.
I try to keep my tone light even though the words feel sticky in my mouth. “The universe really chucked the idea of us right into a river then. Seems like we’re safe from Crate & Barrel’s wiles.”
My brain scrambles for a moment because it occurs to me that Tom might ask something to clarify. Like whether I mean it because Luca interrupted us, or because I didn’t feel anything about the near kiss at all.
But Tom just lets out a long breath and nudges at a patch of grass in the courtyard. “Seems like it,” he says.
Whatever just deflated in his chest almost feels like it’s deflating in me, too. I should be relieved that he’s agreeing. The last thing we need is another complication in this already prolifically complicated summer. But as that wisp of a potential complication floats off I can’t help but wonder what might have been on the other side of it, if only for a moment.
Tom and I hover in an awkward silence and I’m not sure who’s going to fill it, but in the end we’re both spared. Both of our phones start buzzing in our pockets at once.
