The festival is filling the wharf even though the main celebration is across the harbor. People crowd around the old picnic tables, their jackets smelling of salt and wood smoke. Dockworkers in rubber boots weave between the boats and the sheds, and the food stands have lines down the dock.
We collect our baskets and wait for a place near the band. When a bench finally opens, Rhys slides in beside me and rests his hand on my thigh beneath the table. I cover it with mine. I want to remember how his hand feels there after this week is over.
We eat Dungeness crab piled into toasted rolls, fries, onion rings, fried haddock, corn, and salads no one seems eager to touch. The blueberry lemonade comes in red plastic cups.
“I’m going to ask the bar if they’ll put vodka in this,” Jules says, starting to stand.
“Maybe wait a minute,” Livia says, smiling as if she knows something.
I look at Dane. He only lifts his shoulders and presses his lips together.
Jules sits back down, suspicion and delight warring on her face.
Rhys’s mouth brushes my ear. It takes a moment to catch his words through the scattered memories still moving around in my head. “Think she’s having mushrooms delivered?”
I turn. Our noses nearly touch, and the globe lights above us reflect in his eyes. “Either that, or we’re headed for a zero-gravity chamber.”
His hand edges higher as he leans close. I angle my head to hear him, but he kisses the skin beneath my ear instead. The softness of it sends a shiver through me.
Livia stands, folding her napkin. “Who’s ready for what comes next?”
“Space camp,” I say. “Let’s go.”
• • •
We follow the waterfront street toward the narrow bridge. The festival music carries from the far side of the harbor, mixing with the dockside band until it sounds as if the two shores are answering each other.
Livia leads us across the footbridge. A slow song gives way to something bright and familiar from the wharf speakers.
“Where are we going?” Bianca asks.
“To check off a goal I’ve had for years,” Livia calls back, walking faster.
The night feels full of possibility. Maybe Rhys and I are part of that. Our hands meet, and he draws me against his side. Once, he stops us by the rail for a kiss while the others keep going. Each small touch makes it harder to believe we have only this one day.
“Keep moving,” Dane calls.
Rhys brushes his lips against mine again. “There’ll be time later.”
Not enough, I think. How do I make a lifetime’s worth of room for all this love in a single day, then let him go because he needs to be free of it? Because he deserves a life that doesn’t ask him to wait for me?
I make myself nod and catch up with the others.
The harbor rests between the docks and the rise of town. We climb past dark shop windows and little gardens spilling over their fences. The fudge shop and the popcorn place are closed for the evening; they’ll open again over the weekend.
We pass the Warm Cup and turn onto Easy Lane. I recognize the name from the wedding-weekend itinerary: Livia had put a surprise on the schedule for each of us tomorrow morning, and mine was listed at 123 Easy Lane. I remember thinking the name sounded like a joke someone had stopped halfway through.
At the end of the block, Livia turns onto another street. The Hound & Thistle hotel and pub is still lit, as is a storefront with dark trim and pale letters across the window: TEMPEST TATTOO.
Livia turns to us, arms spread wide. “Well? What do you think?”
“Livia!” Jules rushes toward her. “You’re getting a tattoo?”
“Close. We’re getting tattoos.”
No one answers. Dane’s smile is tight. Rhys’s fingers twitch against mine. Jules’s gaze darts to Bianca, and her grin fades at Bianca’s stunned expression.
“We’ve talked about it forever,” Livia says. “This is the right time. Our last trip to the cottage, ten years of friendship. We’d have something that connects us, wherever we end up.”
I feel anxious. My pulse quickens.
I can live with the thought that I might always love Rhys. Making that feeling permanent on my skin is something else. Before I can find a way to say so, Bianca speaks.
“I don’t think so, Livia,” Bianca says.
Livia looks genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think we should get matching tattoos tonight,” Bianca says. “And looking around, I’m not sure anyone else wants to, either.”
Jules touches Bianca’s arm, and they share a quick look.
Livia laughs once, uncertain. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to,” Bianca says. “And I’m not sure anyone else does, either.”
I try to soften it. “It’s not that we don’t care. It’s just a lot to decide all at once.”
“We’ve been talking about this for ten years,” Livia says.
“And we never picked a design,” Rhys adds.
“Who cares what it looks like? It’s about the bond,” Livia says.
“Maybe we choose something tonight,” I say. “Then everyone can sit with it before we make it permanent—”
“I already paid a deposit,” Livia says. “I got the shop to stay open.”
Bianca rubs the space between her eyebrows. “Livia, you should have asked us before you arranged all this. You can’t assume we’ll go along with whatever you want.”
Livia’s face tightens. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“She just means this is a big, permanent decision,” I say. “We all need a little time before we commit.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Bianca says calmly. “I meant what I said. You can’t decide how things should be between all of us and then bulldoze us into it.”
“She’s not bulldozing anyone,” Dane says, stepping closer to Livia. “She’s doing all this for you. The whole trip was for you.”
“If it’s for us,” Bianca says, “then you’ll respect my decision not to do something I’m uncomfortable with.”
“You have, like, nineteen tattoos,” Livia says. “What’s so uncomfortable about this one?”
“Can we please drop this?” Bianca says, looking away.
“Sure,” Livia says. “I’ll drop it. I’ll drop the fact that one of my best friends keeps canceling plans and another can barely text me back, and my dad’s selling the only place that’s ever felt like home to me, and no one except me seems to care that we’re growing apart.”
She turns toward the way we came.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say, and follow Livia.
“Livia, wait.” I reach for her wrist. She keeps walking, so I hurry to stay beside her.
“We all care about our friendship,” I say. “It’s just—”
“Sudden?” She turns around. Her eyes are wet.
I feel a pang of worry. I don’t understand why this hurts her so much, but it does. Livia never cries.
Now tears run down her face, and I want to fix it, to make her understand this isn’t a rejection of her.
With the choice suddenly in front of me, I can’t find another way to say it.
“It’s not about our friendship,” I say.
“Of course it is,” Livia says. “You’ve checked out, and Bianca doesn’t want to spend any real—”
“It’s about Rhys.”
She stops. Her dark eyes shine, her hair frizzed by the damp air.
“I can’t get a matching tattoo with him. We’re not together anymore.”
Her voice breaks. “But I thought you two were working things out.”
I stare at her, trying to understand. “What?”
“This week,” she says. “You seemed like you were back together.”
Back together?
How could Livia think we were back together if she didn’t know we’d broken up?
Unless she did know.