Chapters (31)
“No, it’s not like that. It’s only my eye in there, it’s just not doing what it’s supposed to. It’s more like there’s arthritis in my eye; like my eye is attacking itself so it’s swelling up in there.” He pushes a hand through his hair, like this whole conversation is stressing him out.
“Is it bad?”
“It’s not good.” He rolls onto his back, so I do too. “I’m probably not going blind though. Not anytime soon.”
I hadn’t even thought about that being a possibility. “That’s good.”
“I’ve been getting shots. That’s why I had the black eye a while back. I thought I could keep playing.”
I shudder. “I can’t imagine getting a shot in your eye.”
“Honestly, it’s not as bad as you’d think. You can’t see it coming at you, and they numb it first. Plus it’s not nearly as bad as taking a baseball to the face.” He’s tapping his hands next to him on the blanket. “But yeah, it’s creepy. My mom can’t watch.” Our fingers touch between us, and he runs his fingertips up and down the length of mine. It’s distracting, and I can’t help but think that’s probably intentional.
“So that’s why I’m your summer chauffeur?”
“When you say it like that it sounds really shitty.” He fidgets. “I thought you had a boyfriend, and I wanted to hang out with you … but I also needed a ride…”
“It’s fine, I loved going to ArtPrize. And your car will come in handy for my cross-country road trip next month.”
His head pops up. “Really?”
I laugh and poke him with my arm. “No.” I feel like I owe him something for his confession, so I blurt out the worst problem I can think of. “My mom’s trying to be a mom again, and it’s really weird.”
“I caught on to that.” We both laugh, and it bounces off of the bricks around us and settles into the darkness.
I think about telling him that I’m moving at the end of summer. I should tell him. Except the words feel stuck in my throat. Eight more weeks with Aiden doesn’t feel like nearly enough, and the thought of it grips my chest and squeezes. I like the Olivia I am with him. And I can’t help but think how different things would be if he was the one I had met years ago. Why did we have to meet the summer before I move away? I tuck the thought away and force myself to just focus on this moment, lying next to him, feeling like we have so much ahead of us. Tomorrow I’ll worry about how I’m going to stay—or how to tell him I’m leaving.