Page 75 of That Summer Feeling

For all the ways I’d looked at her, I’d never stop seeing something new.

“I used to spend a lot of time imagining my future,” I told her. “I’d make up little scenarios with people as soon as I met them. What would we eat for lunch on a rainy day? If we went to Disneyland together, what ride would we go on first? That kind of thing. I loved to do it. It made me believe that I could one day have so much more than I did. And then I got married for real. I lived out all my scenarios. Ethan and I used tomake quesadillas on rainy days. We had Disneyland season passes, and we always started on Indiana Jones. It all looked lovely in the scrapbook of my mind. But the moments between didn’t fill me. That’s where the real love lives. And I never paid enough attention to that. I was too busy chasing milestones that didn’t matter.”

I swore I heard the hermit thrush sing again, a surprising underscore to the words of my heart. Words I used to fear speaking. Too intense. Too romantic. Too much.

“When I’m with you, I don’t ever want to imagine any moment other than the one we’re in,” I continued. My voice did not waver, despite my nerves. My certainty was greater than my fear. “It’s the weirdest thing. You’re the first person who has ever made me appreciate the present for what it is. You remind me to be here, in the now. To imagine anything outside of it always feels wrong, because I never want to miss what’s right in front of me. I don’t need my imagination or a vision toknowthat you’re my future.”

She looked at me with such love. Such hope. It was a mirror into my own feelings.

“No matter what happens after we leave here tomorrow, you have moved into my heart and taken up permanent residence,” I told her. “That’s never going to change. So I don’t know what we’re going to do about it, but I do know we will figure it out.”

I kissed her again. Right there at the dinner table. In front of all our friends and family. Because I wanted her to know how much I meant it.

“We’ll find a future together,” I said.

35

The firepit glowed an impressive, resilient orange, sparking embers into the night sky, reaching heights that would have scared me if I let them. Off to the side, blankets and s’mores awaited us, as well as stacks of blank paper and markers.

“It’s tradition for us to finish out a week of camp with a bonfire,” Tim explained.

“You’ve probably gotten a sense for how much tradition means to us,” Tommy added. “When we came up the mountains to spend time at Camp Carl Cove, we found a new kind of family here. And in that family, we got to live by rules that valued our feelings and hearts. Traditions built around finding our courage. And traditions built around letting go.”

“The bonfire is a place for community,” Tim continued. “It’s a place where people gather to tell stories and share food. But it’s also a place for things to burn. So in the grand tradition of these sacred grounds, we ask that you join us in writing downeverything you’d like to leave behind. Feelings, memories, bad habits. Whatever you want. Tonight, we burn them together. So when we head back down the mountain tomorrow, we’re only carrying the things we need.”

My heart continued to expand with all the love I’d found here. Camp Carl Cove had truly provided me with more than I had known I needed. But there was so much I wanted to leave behind too, and Tommy was right. This place was safe. I could abandon things here, and the camp would take care of it.

Dara and I got the papers together, meeting in front of the fire with permanent markers and, for once, matching expressions. She had tears in her eyes as she pulled me in for a hug.

“I love you,” she told me.

“Are you drunk?” I checked.

She laughed as she held me. “No, you weirdo. I’m just sad. You’re leaving me.”

“Dara,” I said, fully adrift in the tidal wave of my tears. “I’m not leaving. I’m giving you back your space. I’ve been intruding on your life for a full year. Thank you for putting up with me as long as you have, but we both know it’s well past time for me to go.”

She let go of me to hold her bracelet up to the light. “I’ve been thinking more about these. When we made them, we wanted to find a place where we were loved. But we’ve always had that in each other. Remember the speech I gave at your wedding?” she asked, and I nodded. “I didn’t really say much about Ethan. I always liked him. He’s hard to dislike. But I see how happy you are with Stevie. She’s such a big personality.She forces me to have an opinion about her. And my opinion is that she’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a very long time. I’ve never seen you with someone who made all the best parts of you shine even brighter.”

“Fuck,” I whispered, laughing at how much she was making me cry. “I love you too.”

“Good,” she said. “Don’t go forgetting it.”

That night was different. As some nights just are. An extra crackle in the air. A brighter shine to the stars. And Dara and I took the pieces of paper, and we both wrote down what it was that we no longer needed.

I didn’t need to judge my own actions so harshly, or think that I owed everyone in the world the most complete version of my kindness in order to be worthy of good things. I did not need my fear. Maybe of heights. I could keep it a little bit. I didn’t need my fear of control. Letting go was the best part. All good things had happened to me when I stopped trying to make them the most perfect version of a moment. I did not need any last shred of belief that there was any sort of rule book for life that I had to follow.

Messy was good. Messy could stay.

And romance could stay. I could have my big heart and my dramatic ideas. I could dress like a kid and still be an adult. I could be young in my heart no matter my age.

When Dara and I finished our papers, we folded them into paper airplanes and we threw them into the flames. Dara’s landed dead center. Mine curved unexpectedly, catching the edge of the fire and bursting into burning fragments. I couldsee my own handwriting as the paper got seared. The wordfeargot swallowed by fire until it no longer existed.

Dara and I pressed our heart-promise bracelets together. “That night we made these,” I said, “what made you want to do it?”

“I wanted you to know you had power,” she told me. “I don’t know. You always used to cry so much.”

I was crying then, and she knew it, which made both of us laugh.