The People We Choose by Katelyn Detweiler (any book recommendations .txt) 📗

about to ask him to stop, say I’ve had too much, the song changes again. It’s not as happy as it was to start, not as full. But it’s not as sad either. There is a bouncing rhythm to it, the notes higher and warmer. My toes tap along.

This section, the last one, I suspect, is meant to feel hopeful.

Noah stops. The final note lingers in the leaves all around us. He puts the bow down on the bench.

We don’t say anything.

I should, though. I should say something. Thank him.

I stand up, tucking the towel under my arms, and walk over to him. I stop when I’m a few inches away, our eyes locked.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for his hand. “That was beautiful. I felt…everything.”

He’s blushing now, a bright red flower spreading over his cheeks. “I didn’t know how to say all of that to you. Not without messing it up somehow. So instead I spent the summer finding a different way to express myself. A more foolproof way.”

“Noah,” I start, more anxious than ever about finding the right words, the best words, “I care about you so much, I do, you have to know that—”

He puts his free hand up to stop me. “Wait. Before you say but, I just need to get something out. I didn’t play that song to make you change your mind about us. The opposite, actually. I wrote it so I could purge all those feelings and we could move on. For good. I just wanted you to hear it. So you could… understand me better, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m not proud of how I acted this summer. I just didn’t know how to face it, the truth—that you would never love me like I loved you. But seeing you hurt? It was way worse than seeing you love someone else. I wish things were different for you and Max. And I’m sorry I let you falling in love with someone get in the way of our friendship.”

“I forgive you,” I say, and I do. Completely. “I’m sorry for lots of things, too. For starters, we should have been honest with each other sooner. Like when I knew you gave me that Valentine’s Day card sophomore year. And how the rule was at least partly to avoid having a real conversation about it. I wanted to protect us, but maybe that wasn’t the best way.”

“I kind of figured. Not at first, but…” He shrugs. “I could have said something, too.”

I shake my head. “No. That was on me. And I wasn’t the greatest friend this summer either. I should have spent more solo time with you. And Ginger. Maybe I’ll just never date again, period. That’s probably the easiest solution. My rule was pretty smart, after all, only it should go above and beyond senior year.”

Noah laughs. “Nah. I don’t want that for you. Or me. We both deserve love. Someday. Whenever it’s meant to happen.”

I nod. And then, “I love you, Noah,” the words tumbling out before I have time to be self-conscious—because that’s all there is, and it’s as true as anything else in my life. I may not know a lot of things about love right now, but I do know this: “I love you in the way that matters most.”

“I love you that way, too.”

I look around us, my mind running with a nonstop montage of Noah memories from this yard: the three of us trying to hang a swing from one of the trees on our own, Noah—and the swing—flying ten feet in the air on the first trial run; Noah filling an old kiddie pool with strawberry juice ice cubes and blue Kool-Aid packets, his “most greatest idea ever”; Ginger screaming hysterically when she found a half-dead baby bird along the tree line, and me and Noah delicately nursing it back to life in a shoebox.

“Can you promise me something?” I ask, turning back to focus on Noah.

“I can’t promise until I know what you’re asking. But I’ll try my best.”

“Promise me we’ll always be friends. No matter how complicated life gets around us. We don’t give up. Not on this.”

He nods. “I think that’s a promise I can keep.”

We both reach out at the same time, our double-pinkie oath. One pinkie each never felt like enough. Two hands, two pinkies, full promise.

His grin is brighter than the blazing August sun, and I throw myself against him for a hug.

“You seem cheerier tonight,” Mama says, putting a plate piled high with grilled tofu and veggies on the table.

I shrug, picking at the crispy brown edge of a piece of tofu and popping it in my mouth.

“Did it have anything to do with Noah visiting?” She’s trying to sound indifferent, but her hungry, searching eyes give her away. Like if she stares long and hard enough, she’ll be able to see the answer for herself inside my mind without me having to say a word. I wouldn’t put it past her. I don’t doubt Mama has superpowers.

“Maybe. Yes. I feel like we finally understand each other.”

“So you’re friends again?” Mama asks, smiling extra wide.

Mimmy’s smile is just as big as she settles into the chair next to me with a basket of fresh homemade corn bread.

“I think so.”

“Good,” Mama says, loading up her plate with a stack of tofu. “It wasn’t right, the two of you being separate. The three of you belong together.”

“I know that. Noah’s my blood. Ginger, too. Just like the two of you. And as for Marlow and Max and Elliot… I don’t know what they are to me yet. I don’t know how to label them.”

“And that’s okay, my sweet girl,” Mimmy says, lifting her palm to rub my cheek. “Give it some time. Maybe your family only got bigger this summer, even if it came about in an unusual way. It’s not traditional or normal, but what family is?”

“Ha!” Mama laughs loudly around a mouth full of eggplant and pepper. “I would