Page 91 of A Summer of Stars

“It’s a river, not the Atlantic! And I have a boating license, you idiot!”

“Maybe in America!” he corrected.

I stepped into the boat and waited.

His tongue rolled under his cheek before succumbing.

“Sit down, the boat is moving!” I announced.

“Sitting!” he confirmed, taking a seat beside me in the tiny boat.

I turned the key, and the engine sparked to life, gurgling in the river. Pushing us forward, we rode under the small footbridge. I kept a light hand on the wheel as we idled down the narrow pathway, tall French homes watching from above.

“How did you end up with a boating license?” he asked.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Promise.”

“I dated a guy once in high school who had a boat. His family owned this cute pontoon with a brown canopy. His friends would ride it every weekend, and come back to school on Mondays, bragging about who got to park and drive it across the coast. After a few months, I asked him if I could drive it, and he said no.”

“He said no?” His brows rose.

“Yup. So I went and got a boating license.” I smiled.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re serious.”

“Oh,I’m serious. I wanted to prove him wrong.”

“What happened when you told him?”

“He was dumbfounded. I thought he’d laugh and take me out the next day. But he was fumbling for his words and had this look of total annoyance. It didn’t help that he was with his friends either.” I leaned back into the seat. “Iknewhe was going to say no again. But I didn’t even care at that point, it was just how he made me feel when he had said it. I just stood there and let him call me a kid. I never spoke to him again after that.”

I looked over at Kieran and found him listening still, so I continued.

“When I got home, there was a little gold boat charm waiting on my windowsill. It looked like one of the trinkets my mom and I used to buy. We used to collect these little knickknacks from the tourist shops down the street. She’d usually search for charms to add to her jewelry,” I explained. “To this day I don’t know if it was my dad or my brother who put it there. But it’s on her bracelet now.” I lifted my wrist and let the bracelet dangle. “It’s the only charm I ever added.”

It glimmered under the overhanging streetlights. My heart felt heavy behind my rib cage. I wanted to plunge my hand under the bone and hold it up myself to lessen the weight.

I turned to Kieran, trying to collect myself. He stared at my wrist before his gaze crossed my face.

He looked serious. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve never driven a boat?”

A smile cracked the earnestness of my cheeks, and a slew of giggles erupted. I fell forward, almost whacking my head on the steering wheel, clutching my torso, and causing—

“My ice cream!” I shouted. But watching the cone float upside down in the river only made me laugh more. Kieran beside me was no better. He was standing up, clutching his knees and bracing for air in between laughs, watching the ice cream swim away.

He opened his mouth. “How”—gasp—“did you”—gasp—“manage”—a prolongedgasp—“to droptwoice creams?!”

“Sir, you’re supposed to be seated!” I ordered, trying to maintain my boat duties.

But I couldn’t keep it together. I covered my mouth to hush my laughter as he took his seat beside me, his breath quieting. I followed his movements, leaning into the cushion, catching my breath. Our chests rose and dipped for a few moments in the silence of the rolling river before he spoke up.

“How much do you remember of her—your mom?”

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. If I did, the tears would have been beckoned by the protectiveness in his eyes.

“Not enough,” I exhaled. “I remember the red nail polish she wore because it reminded her of the wine stain that lived on her wedding dress. I remember her favorite pair of flats and the shade of lipstick she wore on date nights with my dad. I remember the tortoisepattern of her hair clips and the smell of bread that stuck to all her clothes. But I can’t remember the sound of her laugh or the way it felt to have her fingers comb through my hair. I can try to remember everything she said, but I can’t remember the way it sounded. Which is the most foolish thing, because she spoke with such grit and fearlessness, so why can’t I remember it?” I asked myself.