“Smile,” Tabitha sang. Her shutter clicked. She seemed to agree with whatever she saw on the digital screen. “And to answer your question, every person involved in an effort like this is the story. Your experiences and memories, your dreams and beliefs, the history of Annie and her holiday flasks…it’s all led you here. My favorite part is pulling those messy threads together and showing how they connect. Our lives almost always do, more than we realize.”

The next few hours of work passed quickly. Neighbors and friends came and went as we hauled the remaining garbage from the lot and into the dumpster. Tabitha filmed short interviews with everyone there, documenting the process with her camera as she worked alongside us.

We revolved around each other like planets, making frequent eye contact. Sharing smiles that should have felt more forbidden.

I spent most of the time considering her words about messy threads and connected lives. I thought about us walking to school together. Attending those support groups together. Her falling into my lap and moving into Linda’s house and the two of us planning this park.

I was an amateur when it came to women and relationships. Tabitha seemed like an expert. Flirtatious, charming. She enjoyed sex and dating probably without hours of pointless worrying.

But even I knew the warmth that spread through me every time our eyes met was a complication.

19. Dean

Nineteen

Dean

Later that night, I stood on the sidewalk and stared at a bare space that had been a stinking, trash-filled lot a week ago. The dumpster had been taken. The neighbors had cleared every last bit of debris. All that was left were a few rough-looking bushes and some patches of grass. The street was hushed compared to the noise and activity of today.

Everything ached. I stretched my neck from side to side. I’d been sweating all day and still hadn’t showered. I heard the sound of Linda’s door opening and shutting. Then Tabitha appeared, scratching the top of her head and yawning. Her hair was still wet. She wore a giant shirt that fell almost to her knees. And nothing else.

“Hey,” she said sleepily, holding out a Yuengling. It looked ice cold. “Wanna sip?”

I reached for it. My fingers slid through hers. “Feels like all of your surprises are food and/or drink.”

One eyebrow raised. “Is that a complaint?”

I smirked around the bottle as I took a swig and handed it back to her. It was ice fucking cold and exactly what I needed right now. I wondered when Tabitha had started being able to make such accurate predictions of what I wanted, when.

I hoped she had no idea how badly I wanted her.

“I highly recommend a long, hot shower and then falling asleep immediately, which is what I plan on doing,” she said.

My eyes skated up her outfit. “You’re not heading uptown to hit the bars?”