Page 31 of The Getaway List
“No wonder there were so many Tides of Times scenes in Manhattan,” says Tom. “From here it feels like it goes forever.”
“‘Take me to the realms of possibility,’” I say, teasing. It’s the mantra the characters would say to awaken the time stone before it took them off to another adventure—half the time where they wanted to go, and half the time where the stone decided they needed to be instead.
“‘Take me back to the home where I’m known,’” says Tom, echoing the phrase they’d use to return.
He nudges his knee into mine, only he doesn’t move it away. I feel the gentle pressure of it spread like warmth all over my body. Then he leans in so close that his voice is right next to my ear when he says, “You know, I always thought you’d be a right ass cheek tattoo kind of girl.”
I let out a sharp and happy laugh. When I turn toward him his eyes are gleaming with that familiar Tom mischief, the kind that sneaks up on me when I’m not expecting it.
“Even after all these years of quiet you still know me best of all, huh?” I say affectionately.
Only Tom’s expression wavers at that, his eyes dropping to our laps before rising to meet mine again. There’s an apology in them. One he’s already given and one I don’t need.
I reach out a hand with every intention of putting it on top of his when we’re interrupted by the group of kids shrieking happily and running from Luca, who is apparently “it.” He comes bounding up just behind them, wheezing slightly, and says, “This is fun! Almost like being good at sports!”
Mariella strides up the rock to meet us then, calling out to Luca, “Didn’t you say you had work at four?”
“I’ll just have to tell my family I’m very busy being a jock now!” he calls back.
“Hold up a sec,” says Mariella.
Luca blinks like he thinks she meant to call for someone else, but abruptly halts when she gets close.
“I can’t stop long,” he says. “I’m ‘it.’”
Mariella bites her lip like she’s biting down a smile. “You are, aren’t you?” she says, and then reaches up to adjust the sweatband on his head so it’s sitting against his curls just so. Luca’s face flushes all the way up to the edge of those curls and Mariella really does smirk then, seemingly satisfied with her handiwork.
“Go get ’em, ace.”
Eventually we dislodge Luca from his new group of tiny friends and start making our way back to the entrance of the park, Mariella showing us a few highlights from her camera roll on the way. We’re all of us sweaty and worn out and pleased with ourselves when we part ways by the subway station, marking the goodbye with a sloppy group hug. In that instant I’m overwhelmed by the hope of it all, by the way it feels like this summer is stretching out in front of me as far as that skyline. Like I’m standing on the edge of the best part of my life, and won’t have to be alone enjoying the view.
The trouble is that view only stretches as far as August. A week ago I wanted nothing more than for time to pass faster, and now all I want is for it to stand still. I squeeze my new friends a little tighter as if to hold them there, making an enemy of time all over again, now that it’s something I want to keep.
Chapter Nine
Once we’re showered and scrubbed up for the night, Tom and I do the only thing two people can logically do after taking a three-years-belated Tides of Time walking tour, which is binge-watch half the first season of the show together in our pajamas. Tom swaps out his contacts for his glasses while I do a full-on face mask that I got from the drugstore downstairs, amusing myself by wondering what sort of hell my mom thinks we’re raising right now when we are, in fact, giving the oldest married couples in New York a run for their money.
We pause at the sixth episode for a snack break. I come back from the kitchen with a dip concoction of salsa, guacamole, shredded cheese, and sour cream, because the same way Tom likes to stuff as many things into desserts as possible, he does that with savory food, too.
“You’re a culinary genius,” he praises me.
“I’m a girl who knows how to open a jar and tip it over,” I correct him.
I settle next to him on the couch and there’s something about being wiped out and squeaky clean and still brimming from the joy of the day that I can’t help myself from blurting, “I think a lot sometimes about how lucky I am that you made me read that book. So many good things in my life came from it.”
Tom is suddenly looking far too emotional for someone who has a precariously loaded chip several inches from his mouth. “I’m the one who’s lucky you read it,” he says.
“What made you read it in the first place?” I ask. Back when he was first indoctrinating me into his nerdery, the series wasn’t remotely as popular as it is now.
Tom shrugs, but he sets the chip down on the edge of the dip bowl, considering. “There were so many people on the cover. I always liked that,” he says. “Every adventure they ever went on, they stuck together. And even when things got rough they found their way back to each other. I loved all the time travel and space bending, but I think a lot of it was just—I loved that they were all friends first, explorers second.”
Friends. It used to be a simple word, but time sure has a way of complicating it. Because there’s some warm cavern in my heart where that word has always lived, but it’s almost like there’s too much room in it now. Enough for it to ache like it wants more. Like it wants more of Tom, specifically.
I press it back down into myself, because right now the feeling overwhelming me is gratitude. Both that I was able to grow up with a group of friends like that, and that we’re building another one now.
I press my socked foot into his calf. “That makes sense. That’s always been your whole thing, bringing people together.”
Tom lets out a breathy laugh, eyes skimming the television screen. “I don’t know about that.”
