He bent down and fluffed the branches, lifting one and scooting the cooler underneath until it disappeared.

When he stood up, he was next to me, our faces only a few inches away. When he leaned toward me, I did the same. When he kissed me, I was grateful I’d had some practice. When he pushed me back against a tree, my lips occupied, my mind racing, my back curdling in pain, I realized I liked it.

“I don’t regret that either,” he said a moment after he pulled away, half his mouth curled up in a satisfied smile. Before I could tell him I agreed, he was looking around, memorizing this spot so that he could lead everyone back to it later that night.

Then, just to be safe, he pulled a pocketknife from his pants, and carved a cross at eye level in the tree next to the cooler. It’s never helped us find our spots—tree carvings blend into the darkness—but it’s a fun tradition anyway.

And in a place like this, God forbid you break a long-held tradition.

NINE

It was only 11:00 p.m., but I returned home buzzed in that way that makes me feel like I’m floating. I’m numb and gravitating an inch above the ground, trusting that my body is moving forward because I’m not consciously telling it to. The kind of buzz I haven’t felt in a while. The kind that makes details blurry but un-worrisome in the morning—I’ll question how long I waited for the cab, but not whether I lost my phone in the car’s back seat. I never get too drunk anymore. Getting too drunk leads to slipups. It leads to saying things you don’t want to say.

The cab smells like marijuana, but it’s too late for me to get out. I’d already closed the door and we’d started due north before I took a deep enough breath to notice. I have a visceral reaction to that smell now, my cheeks blushing with secondhand embarrassment at my first memory of it.

When I was seventeen, I convinced my mother to drive three towns over to a thrift store. I’d made some money that month de-ticking my neighbor’s horse and I told her I wanted a new dress. She dropped me off and gave me twenty minutes to browse while she picked up some groceries. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she set a timer.

I stood on the sidewalk outside of Lady Luck Thrifts, watching our white van pull down the street, eventually turning right and disappearing toward the busier boulevard. I waited and stared down the empty road for at least a minute, in case she did a U-turn or decided to come back. But she didn’t. I was good to go.