Page 47 of A Bittersweet Summer

When Ellis and Griffin arrived, making themselves comfortable in the living room and digging into the platter of snacks I’d laid out, the nerves started forming.

By the time Noah and Lennon showed up, I was in a full-blown panic.

So now, I’ve taken to hiding in the bathroom and pondering the exact right way to make Gus melt seamlessly into this little family I’ve made for myself.

Deep down, I feel the need to explain—and explain some more. It’s as if I need to protect August from all the prodding and questions and pity he’s experienced through his entire life.

My therapist would probably say I’m working too hard to orchestrate a perfect environment where nobody feels uncomfortable, and everyone’s happy all the time.

It was a topic I dug into with her after Chad.

I shut off the sink, drying my hands on the towel hanging next to me before checking my phone. Wes had sent me one message about his big plans for this housewarming party. Apparently, he has something fun planned, and we should all meet him at the trail head by the barn, ready to get muddy.

“Five-thirty,” I whisper, reminding myself of the time we are supposed to meet.

To double my nerves, I can’t help but think about the bonfire at Lennon’s last week.

Wes and I have reverted to our normal dynamic (him grunting responses while trying not to grin as I prattle on), but I can’t pretend like I wasn’t fully aware of every single sensation and place we touched when I sat on his lap by the fire.

He’s so hot and cold—so difficult to read that half the time, I’m certain I’m not doing it right. I’m frustrated by it—devastatingly so—but I’m also too scared to bring it up. What happens if I start asking questions likewhat are weand I’m forced to confront the fact that Wes has just been… kind.

The doubt eats at me, knowing how horribly I misread my past relationship.

At this point, I’ll need a flashing, neon sign where my boss declares his unequivocal attraction to me.

I tuck my phone away in the pair of old jeans I selected and shove down any worry. The old gray t-shirt hangs loosely over my torso, and I snatch the sweatshirt from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, pulling it over my head and preparing myself for Gus’s arrival.

The handle to the bathroom door in the house looks as if it’s made of crystal—one of those old doorknobs you find at an antique store. At the thought, I’m reminded that this home really did belong to Wes’s grandmother. It feels intimate—living in the home that was part of his family and his life.

There are stories etched into every corner of this house, written in the knicks across the front door and the nail hole right above where my bed now sits. What kind of photo hung there? A wedding photo? A photo of the farm.

I find myself yearning for a place with history—a place wheremystory is written. The story that I wrote, and not one that was written for me.

When I exit to the hallway, Gus’s laughter rings out in the living room. It’s joined by a number of other voices.

As I round the corner, I see everyone lounging around my living room. August sits on my couch with a woman tucked beneath his arm.

“You’re here,” I say, smiling in greeting.

Gus moves to stand, wiping his hands on the loose jeans he wears. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says before plucking an apple slice from the tray. “It’s a housewarming party, so I made myself at home and immediately started eating your snacks.”

“Nothing new there,” I respond, my eyes flicking to the girl now standing at his side.

Her sleek, black hair hangs loose around her shoulders, brown eyes bright and framed by the explosion of freckles over almost every inch of her skin.

“This is Megan,” Gus introduces. “My girlfriend.”

When his arm wraps around her again, something warms within me. It’s a reminder of the life Gus has built. Standing there, looking at my baby brother looking so grown, I can’t help but confront all of those fears I had in the bathroom.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” I say, pulling Megan in for a hug.

When I pull away, we fall into playful conversation, everyone charmed by my brother’s dark humor. Megan fits right in with him—so much so, I can’t see why I was so worried about inviting August into this space.

He’s certainly not the same little brother I grew up with in childhood. He commands a room—his joy contagious in a way I hadn’t seen before.

A small slice of guilt cuts through me at the thought that I didn’t trust him—that despite it all, I still somehow failed to let Gus be Gus. His condition is not an asterisk in need of a footnote. In fact, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

“Gus has told me so much about you,” Megan starts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I can’t help but think about the fact that she might be nervous meeting her boyfriend’s sister—nervous meetingme.