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The summer after Mitchie’s first year of undergrad, Shane doesn’t make it to camp until the middle of July.
It was a clear, three pronged agreement that came along with the decision that no, Shane cannot retire before he’s old enough to legally drink, that allotted him a contractually obligated 32 dates in which he had to be in an arena in some part of the country he’s never had an inkling to reach on his own instead of on his couch in Los Angeles watching his girlfriend panic over her last few finals.
Comparatively, he really can’t complain all that much. He had enough days off this time he made it home twice, and Mitchie was able to come out to 50% more shows than she had two years ago, and he guesses he did make more money in nine weeks than his dad has seen in his entire life. Still, there was something unnerving as he stood by the edge of the campfire with Tess and Caitlyn, trying to settle into a routine that’s been going on without him.
“Dorthy keeps dropping hints that she might come back,” Caitlyn says, swirling the drink in her plastic cup.
“Which ones she?” Shane asks.
“Wore that Target-looking headband all the time,” Tess tells him. “Apparently Lorriane was posting photos from a few summers back and they’ve been messaging.”
“And if Lorraine comes back you know Ella will do another summer,” Caitlyn adds.
“What, was she talking about leaving too?”
“Oh yeah she’s been saying this is her last summer the last three years,” Tess says. “But now that Peggy’s gone she like, actually means it this time.”
“I miss Peggy,” Caitlyn laments. “I really thought she was bluffing about growing up and focusing on her career or whatever she was on about.”
“I know Mitchie invited her to the show last night,” Shane offers. “I never heard back on why she couldn't come though.”
“She’s been stuck in the city,” Caitlyn tells him. “I think she was trying to make it down but this internships really been kicking her ass.”
“Has she tried nepotism?” Shane asks.
“The internship is nepotism,” Tess says. “It’s sucked so bad losing her here though, Colby had to take over her vocal lesson load this year and his classical training up against Mitchie’s is, like, pitiful.”
“She’s been trying to help him out a bit because of course she has, but I think it might have backfired,” Caitlyn adds.
“Oh?” Shane asks.
“Yeah, he’s definitely developed a little crush on her in the process. I don’t think he’s learned anything except that Mitchie is smart and he’d like to kiss her about it.”
“Hold on, what the fuck?”
“It’s a non-issue he knows nothing would ever happen,” Tess says.
“I kinda wish he would make more of a scene of it, just to see. It’s about the drama of it all,” Caitlyn muses.
“Why am I even standing with you guys?” Shane asks.
“Because we’re the only people here who are as bitchy as you are,” Caitlyn says.
“That’s true.” Shane peers around the clearing, taking stock of the crowd milling from the refreshments table to the fire, locking eyes on Colby smiling and placing chocolate on seemingly infinite marshmallows being handed to him by a gaggle of Junior Rockers.
“You’re unbelievable,” Caitlyn says, following his eyes.
“What?!”
“You’re jealous of a guy who’s not in any way going to go after your girlfriend, who doesn’t see your girlfriend all that often, who knows she’s been dating you for jesus-fuck-long, when he’s some guy she goes to summer camp with and you’re...you know.”
“I’m what?” Shane presses.
“Ugh don’t make me say it,” Caitlyn grimaces.
“Oh but it would make me so happy if you did,” Shane says. He’s grinning now, thrilled at the way Caitlyn’s face contorts into something like actual agony over the prospect of having to pay him a compliment.
“You’re you,” Tess finishes simply.
Shane looks over to the fire again, taking one long swig from his cup like it was a reflex. He says nothing.
“You gonna go pick a fight?” Caitlyn asks.
Shane mumbles something noncommittal.
“Don’t do anything before I get a chance to put some money on it,” Caitlyn follows up. “What’s the over-under do you think? I bet Colby could take Shane in a heartbeat, isn’t his day-job all manual labor?”
“Are you kidding?” Tess replies. “He’s terrified of Shane, he’d roll over and let him win just so there’s no more bad blood.”
“Ok so what I’m hearing is 60-40,” Caitlyn riffs. "Shane I am going to grant you the generous opportunity to place the first bet here-”
But by the time Caitlyn turns, Shane’s already walking away.
He finds Mitchie fiddling with the speakers on the edge of the space. She smiles when he catches her eye, but doesn’t stop messing with the cords to meet him in the middle.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight, I figured you’d still be recovering,” she tells him.
“You could never keep me away,” he tells her. “You know how I feel about half-stale marshmallows.”
“I stashed a few of the chocolate bars in the freezer, but don’t tell anyone.”
“You’re my hero,” Shane jokes. “Dig them out during free period tomorrow?”
Mitchie plugs the speakers back into the extension cord, seemingly satisfied with her impromptu project. “Maybe before lights out?” she offers, dusting her hands off on her jeans. “Free period I’m supposed to help Colby look over the octave worksheets his kids turned in.”
Shane’s vision goes a little fuzzy, his spine prickling in a way he wasn’t particularly proud of.
“Yeah, I heard,” he replies. “He hasn’t like, tried anything on you has he?”
Mitchie scowels momentarily. “What? No, of course not.”
“Because Tess and Caitlyn said he’s been going around saying he’s got some crush on you.”
“I mean I think that’s an exaggeration.”
“Ok well you don’t have to worry about letting him down easy or anything, you can fully tell him to just back off. Or I can,” Shane says, unpolished.
Mitchie stares at him in silence. Shane’s spine prickles more strongly.
“What?” Shane finds himself asking for the third time that night.
“I’m fighting the urge to call you ridiculous,” Mitchie replies.
“That’s what Caitlyn said.”
“Well, good.”
“You don’t get it.” He shakes his head. “It’s not fair like, I’ve been gone half the summer how am I not supposed to feel a little insane?”
“I don’t get it?” Mitchie deadpans.
Shane doesn’t say anything, waiting to see where this was going.
“How many dozens of roses were handed to you as you walked off stage last night?”
Shane’s movements start to still. It went exactly where he thought it would go.
“Or two weeks ago when someone threw their bra on stage?”
“I’m pretty sure they were aiming for Nate,” he offers.
“Nate is gay.”
“Try telling his fans that.”
“My point,” she starts “is that out of the two of us one of us probably has a lot more grounds to be moody and possessive than the other. Except if I do it I’m a bitch who should’ve known what she was getting into.”
“Yeah,” Shane says, dully. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m just saying like, I’m very good at this role I’ve been asked to play. But it’s you who controls the narrative just by being Shane Gray.”
She says his name like it’s trademarked, and he noticeably winces.
In moments like these, it goes one of two ways. The first is one of no enabling, Shane’s told to shut up and stop brooding and everyone moves on. This time, Mitchie sighs, her hand falling in comfort on his arm, and Shane knows it’s going the way of the second.
“When we first met you’d just look at me in this wildly intense way, I had no idea how to reconcile with how it made me feel,” she tells him. “It was like I was the only person in the room. And I’d rationalize it, I just told myself that you made every single girl in the world feel that way. And there is a point where sure, you know you can make anybody feel important on a good day, but it took so long for me to put together that what we had was an outlier.”
Shane pauses. His memories of those early days were so hazy, clouded by want and uncertainty and the general brain fog of a new existence, but he does remember moments where he would quite literally remove his sunglasses to hold a conversation with her, and supposes that if you really think about it, that could be perceived as overtly and unhingedly intense.
He sighs, running a hand through the front of his hair before saying, “Giving up the spring was one thing but giving up some of the summer was just-“
“We've always had it set aside.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s also like, I don’t know. A detox, being here.”
Mitchie gives a knowing smile. “You don’t have to do anything but be yourself."
“Exactly.”
There’s a rise in commotion from near the fire pit as the counselors leading the event attempt to wrangle stragglers to get started. Mitchie and Shane both look over, watching the group for a moment before Shane turns back to her.
“I know this is the time-split we all agreed to and everything but, I just…” Shane trails off, trying to piece together what exactly he’s trying to say before finally landing on a lame, "...really missed you.”
Mitchie reaches for his hand in warning that she is in fact going to make them go back over there. Their fingers lace together. He can feel her brush warmly against the tattoo she panic-yelled at him for getting a couple months earlier, and his heart races a little as they begin to migrate back to the hub.
“It used to be so much worse than this,” Shane says. "Why does it suddenly feel harder?"
“I don’t know, maybe we got off easy back then,” Mitchie responds.
“Sorry, what part of waking up at 5 am to get in an hour of Skype time was easy for you?" he retorts.
“Nothing in you ever needed to know where I was going or who I was with before we lived together,” Mitchie says. "This is a totally new anxiety that didn’t exist when we weren’t going to function at all if we didn’t completely trust each other."
Shane doesn’t think she’s wrong, but he’s saved from having to respond by their reconciliation with their friends and threat of the beginning of the evening's activities booming over them. He glances over at the activity leads, then turns back to Mitchie quickly.
“Hey. Kiss me.”
Mitchie follows Shane’s line of sight, catching on. “You just want Colby to notice.”
“Maybe."
Mitchie shakes her head, but smiles as she obliges, kissing him with a level of enthusiasm that he could only describe as toeing the line of what’s appropriate to bring to a clearing surrounded by 65 of their closest friends, at least two of whom have begun to whoop and whistle behind them, but it does the trick anyway.
The warmth from the flames of the campfire lick his back while the warmth from her tongue was licking his mouth and Shane wants to say a million stupid, possessive, possibly anti-feminist things like “you’re mine” or “I own you” or “please bear in mind that I am the only person who has ever touched you like this and god willing I’ll be the only person who ever does,” but none of this comes out, not any of it. It doesn’t have to.
“Well? Is he looking?” Mitchie asks. She sounds annoyed but her eyes are glittering and Shane’s remembering what he was on about when he was sixteen. Why would he ever bother looking away.
“I have no idea,” Shane tells her, truthfully, like the warmth built a home right back inside him.
They take seats a few rows back, quiet and content to listen to the stories and the giggles and the music of their peers. Shane leans into Mitchie, and yawns lowly.
“You know, I am tired,” he says, quiet and mumbly.
Mitchie shakes her head, wrapping an arm around his waist and letting his head fall on her shoulder.
“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”