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The house is exactly as it’s always been. Since she left this morning. Since she first came back home nearly two weeks before. Since she left for college. Since her mother died. Forever frozen in time, a collectively held breath captured between four walls. It had been reassuring, once, coming home and finding all these lonely traces of her mother still lingering on every surface -in every piece of art on the walls; in every pillow and blanket positioned just so on every couch and chair; in the plates and silverware- but now Ava wonders what Danica will think, walking through the door to this place frozen in time. Preemptively grimacing, Ava turns back, holding the door open behind her for Danica to shuffle through. “Sorry…it’s…”
Danica waddles over the threshold, dragging a comically large suitcase behind her. She sets the suitcase upright, slipping off her sunglasses and glancing around. “It’s just like high school,” she says wistfully, sounding far more pleased by this fact than Ava’s own line of thinking. Her shoulders seem to loosen, her grip on the handle of her suitcase slackening. “I always loved coming here.”
Ava reaches around her to push the door closed, locking it in what has become second nature as of late. Every door, locked. Every window, bolted. “Really?” She crinkles her nose, giving her friend a skeptical look. “Even though your house has a hot tub, and a movie room, and-”
“Yeah but your house is just so comfortable,” Danica says dismissively, dragging the suitcase behind her as she moves away from the door and further into the space. She trails her hand along the back of one of the sofas, fixing a crooked blanket. “It always reminds me of your mom.”
“Yeah,” Ava says softly, feeling a twinge at the way Danica says it like the intention is cozy rather than a memorialization.
Danica starts toward the staircase that will take them toward the bottom level of the house, where Ava’s room sits always patiently awaiting her return, the whole lower level the sole property of an only child. How many nights and summer days had been spent down there, piled in the living room together with the others, watching Milo and Stevie play video games while Danica played with her hair and Teddy tried to find new ways to get their attention. The memories lodge themselves in her throat, but there’s still enough breath left for her to say, “Wait.” When Danica turns back to her, Ava offers her another apologetic grimace. “I’ve been…staying in the guest room.”
The words don’t seem to surprise Danica, something like relief seeming to soften her features. Had she been thinking, too, of all those sleepovers, movie nights, study sessions where nothing much got done after all? Had she dreaded stepping into Ava’s room the way Ava herself had, that first night home from the hospital, when she was alone again with Danica swept up by her concerned parents and no one waiting but all those pictures on the wall, another shrine she’d created and curated for years without even realizing it? Even still, Ava hasn’t bothered to go down there and why should she? What she needs of her life right now is already packed away in a suitcase and everything else is waiting somewhere far from Southport and the pictures of her with her arms around Stevie, the ones of Milo so shamelessly staring at her rather than the person on the other side of the camera.
They walk down the hallway toward the guest room, the space by far the most lived in element of the Brucks’ home at the moment. Clothes in piles, the suitcase open and spilling its contents across the arm chair in the corner, a bottle of pain killers on the nightstand by her phone charger. The guest bedroom is safely neutral, all beiges and grays, the only personalized touches coming in the form of the framed photographs doting the surface of the bureau.
“Where’s your dad?” Danica asks, unceremoniously letting go of her suitcase, unbothered as it flops over.
Ava sits on the edge of the bed, watching as Danica moves slowly through the room. Her own injuries have taught her quite a bit recently about the body and how it works, both how easy it is to get used to not being able to do things like you used to and also the close connection of every nerve and muscle and movement. But she still can’t imagine how it must be for Danica, how easily curved steel can sink into a person and tear through their insides. She knows better than to ask that dreaded question, that neither of them are really okay anyway but it’s better than being at the bottom of the ocean.
“He’s doing something for work,” Ava says with a shrug. “I think he’s in New York…maybe?” Honestly she can’t even remember anymore. The person she was when she called her dad a few weeks before to make sure it was still okay if she came home for Danica’s bridal shower hardly seems to exist anymore.
“He hasn’t come home because of…you know…” Danica gestures to herself in what Ava assumes is meant to encapsulate the entire experience. Nearly being murdered by our friend in a fisherman’s slicker.
Ava just shrugs again, resting her free hand against her knee. “I’m not even entirely sure he knows what happened? Or if he does then...”
Where Ava assumes disappointment or hurt should be, there’s really nothing at all. Certainly not surprise -her father has never been the type of rush to fill any particular voids in her life. Besides, what would she even say to him if he was here, asking about how all of this possibly could’ve happened to her? Ava isn’t sure she’s in a rush to see that stern expression on his face when she explains that, in some ways, she’d brought all this on herself.
“Just us, then,” Danica says decisively, nodding. “Just like the old days. Sleepover!” She claps her hands together.
Ava grins. “Oh, for sure.” As a kid, she’d longed for this exact thing: an endless number of sleepovers with Danica where her friend never had to go home again. She’d always imagined slightly less murder during those daydreams though.
The smile falters somewhat when Danica picks up one of the framed photos on the dresser, another relic of decor from years before, placed there by her mother. It’s a picture of Ava, young and smiling, arms wrapped around the woman who would never know her daughter as she is now. Sometimes Ava is grateful for that; what would her mother think of who she is?
“Your mom was so pretty,” Danica says, smiling down at the photograph, the moment frozen in time.
That feeling is back at the base of her throat. It seems like there is no shortage of memories now to make it harder to breathe; no shortage of people who exist now only in the pictures she has laying around, waiting to ambush and punch the oxygen out of her lungs. “Yeah. She was.”
Danica studies the picture, brow furrowing, expression darkening. “Does it feel like…” She pauses, letting out a sigh. “It just seems like there’s always been so much death around us, right? Your mom…what happened with Sam…and then-”
“I don’t think so,” Ava interjects quickly, shaking her head to push aside the words, that unsettling tickling at the base of her neck. “No. That’s not…no.” She waves a hand. “My mom died a long time ago. And with…no, don’t think like that Danica.”
Because what would that mean, anyway? If they were just the unwitting characters in some cosmic Gothic tale with ghosts lingering around every corner? It’s bad enough, thinking about Stevie still out there somewhere, sharpening her hook.
“Ugh, you’re right.” Danica puts the picture down, shaking her head and rubbing her hands across her face. “Sorry. Gah. I’m so morbid.”
“Maybe Mercury is in Jupiter,” Ava teases with a smirk.
Danica rolls her eyes, pouting. “Don’t joke.” She sits down on the bed beside Ava, a serious expression on her face. “We’re going to be entering Leo season soon and you know I’m a water sign.”
It’s fighting a losing battle, trying to keep her smile from growing even wider. Thankfully Danica doesn’t seem to fault her for it. Ava wraps her arm around Danica’s shoulder, pulling her closer, resting her face in the crook of Danica’s neck. It’s becoming more and more like second nature: reaching for Danica, pulling her close, listening to the sound of her breathing as she tries to fall asleep. The impulse seems to be there all the time, just beneath the surface, to have Danica close; she’s safe when the two of them are wrapped up together. Danica never seems to mind, leaning her weight into Ava, sighing.
“I’m glad you wanted to stay,” Ava murmurs into her skin.
“Of course.” Danica reaches over, brushing Ava’s hair back from her face, letting her hand linger against the nape of her neck. “I feel so much better when we’re together.”
Ava nods, closing her eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”
It’s easier to forget all those ghosts.
“Everyone is staring.”
“What? No they aren’t.”
And therein lies Ava’s mistake. And she realizes it all too late, that ordinarily she would’ve just scoffed and nudged Danica in response. Of course they are, diva, look at you. But her quick answer, the dismissiveness in her tone, only makes it all the more obvious that she’s noticed too, how they’ve been catching quite a bit of attention since walking into the coffee shop. Some of it’s to be expected, the way the locals turn toward them and quickly avert their gazes, suddenly all too interested in their lattes and Americanos. But, as of lately, there have been more than just the local people hanging around Southport, people taking pictures in front of Bayside House and down at the docks, grinning wide with their fingers crooked in the approximation of a fisherman’s hook. And it’s not like Ava is an idiot; she doesn’t live under a rock. She’s been known to binge a true crime podcast with the best of them. She’d just never really thought about those same podcast hosts knowing her name.
There’s still a few people in front of them in line and Ava keeps her gaze fixed on the menu on the wall like she and Danica haven’t been coming here since they were in middle school. “Just ignore them,” she mutters, linking her arm through Danica’s. Danica remains stiff beside her, though she can’t be sure if that’s from the attention or the doctor’s appointment they’ve just come from, the poking and prodding and studying of stitches and bruising.
Danica glances over her shoulder, frowning, before determinedly studying the pastry display instead. “So fucking weird,” she mutters. “I think someone is trying to take our picture.”
Ava looks and sure enough there’s a group of girls sitting on the other side of the cafe, giggling and saucer eyed. They can’t be older than college freshmen, one of them wearing a shirt that says stay sexy and don’t get murdered which seems like reasonable advice if the two weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. One of the girls is most definitely pointing a phone in their direction and Ava twists out of her sling in order to give her the finger, scowling. At least one of the girls has the sense to look embarrassed, reaching out and covering her friend’s phone.
“We should go home,” Danica mumbles and there’s something in her tone, in the faraway expression in her eyes, that makes her look small and unfamiliar, like the whispering and blatant stares have taken something from her that Stevie couldn’t quite manage.
Ava straightens her shoulders, readjusting her arm in the sling even though she wants to whip it off and use it to start strangling people. “No, fuck that,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “No. We are going to get coffee and sit outside and stay right here and everything is going to be fine.”
Which is, of course, her second mistake.
They manage to order without incident and after ignoring the glances from the coffee shop patrons, it’s easy for Ava to pretend like she doesn’t notice the sympathetic look she gets from the guy who takes their order, clearly at war with himself about whether he wants to offer his sympathy. Thankfully, he decides against it, just handing over the waxy brown bag containing the chocolate muffin Ava thinks she’s most definitely going to need to keep from throttling those girls on her way out.
Drinks in hand, she and Danica go out onto the patio, finding a table out of the direct sunlight, the wrought-iron surface still warmed by the glow. They’re close enough to the marina to get both the cooling breeze and the inescapable wafting smell of fish and salt that immediately roots Ava firmly back to her childhood, to moments exactly like this one, only when they’d needed more chairs crowded around the too small table.
Ava reaches into the bag, retrieving the muffin and attempting to peel it from the wrapper one-handed. Danica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Can I help you?” She teases, pulling the bag in her direction. “Why do you even need that anyway?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Ava glances at the sling, narrowing her eyes. “I was stabbed in the back.”
Danica breaks off a piece of the muffin, popping it into her mouth and groaning, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t even care how many calories are in this.” She closes her eyes, tongue darting out to collect a stray crumb, and Ava busies herself trying to pull muffin into more pieces.
“Chocolate doesn’t have calories,” Ava assures her breezily. “Totally guilt free.”
“Oh, I don’t feel guilty,” Danica assures her, taking another bite. “I hope you didn’t want any of this because…” She grins, sliding the muffin in her direction once more.
Ava smiles, watching her without protest. There’s more color in Danica’s cheeks at least, the dullness having left her gaze. She nudges Danica’s foot underneath the table, pressing the nose of her sandal against Danica’s ankle. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just answered that question a million times for every doctor in Southport,” Danica deadpans, lifting her eyebrows as she looks at Ava. “Can we please just be normal? Can’t you ask me who I think is going to win Love Island or something?”
Ava snorts, taking a piece of muffin before Danica inhales them all. “Please. It’s obviously-”
“Um…excuse me?”
And, well, so much for normal.
Because when Ava turns toward the voice, she finds that it belongs to one of the girls from inside the coffee shop, the three of them standing in a cluster behind the table. If Ava hadn’t been so focused on studying Danica, on watching her friend’s face for every minute giveaway of how she was feeling, she imagines she might’ve seen them approaching and thrown a chair to scare them off or something.
The same one who had been trying to take their picture earlier holds up her phone, smiling. “Could we get a picture? I know it’s super embarrassing but-”
“No,” Ava snaps, a chill settling through her as she looks at these girls, their smiling faces. She was like them once, she imagines. So was Danica. Watching someone else’s worst day ever on TikTok and then skipping off to Psych 101 or to make out with some girl at a frat party, happy and smiling and easy. And now she’s had to watch her friends die and she can’t sleep unless she’s certain Danica is still breathing beside her. “No, you can’t take a picture. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Danica stares down at the surface of the table, the color sliding from her cheeks once more. One of the girl’s friends jumps in, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder and giving Ava a frown. “No, it’s totally not like that, I promise.” She looks at Danica, smiling. “We just think you’re, like, so pretty. And, just, so brave.”
The first girl nods, smiling. “So brave.”
Ava stands, the chair scrapping across the sidewalk with more noise than she honestly would’ve thought possible. “Just fuck off,” she snaps at them. “Seriously, what is actually wrong with you? Do you visit all murder sites or just this one?” She waves a hand in the direction of the dock, where she’s certain there’s still crimson staining the wood. “That what you’re into?”
Danica reaches uselessly across the table. “Ava…”
“We were big fans of Tyler’s,” one of the girls says, affecting a serious tone and putting her hand over her heart.
“Well, she’s dead,” Ava says flatly. “Actually because she was doing the same thing you guys are. Huh. Funny.” Immediately, Ava regrets the words, the stab of guilt that radiates out of the center of her chest. It’s not Tyler’s fault she’s dead, regardless of what she might’ve been doing in Southport. If anything, it’s Ava’s fault. She’s the one who introduced herself to Tyler, who insisted on the “murder tour”, who put her on Stevie’s radar.
The righteous anger that had been burning hot in the center of her chest since she’d first noticed all the attention directed toward her and Danica seems to fizzle out suddenly, leaving her feeling unsteady and empty and Ava blinks, looking away. “I-”
That’s when she realizes the third friend, the one who had actually seemed embarrassed by her friends’ antics, has her phone out and pointed at Ava. She opens her mouth but can’t find the words that might actually make any of this okay again. Danica stands, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “Come on,” she mutters, shouldering past the girls and reaching for Ava’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Ava allows herself to be pulled away, keeping her gaze firmly on her feet. Not one of her finer moments, surely. But it’s been a while since she thinks she’s actually had any of those.
Absently, Ava gently nudges the patio swing back and forth with the heel of her foot, studying the sprawling backyard that stretches out before her. At some point over the past few years, her father had decided to get rid of the playset he’d had put in when Ava was young, the swings and twisting slide and small tree house now home to a bed of mulch dotted with wilting flowers. Had she known he was doing that or had her father not even bothered to tell her, assuming that his now grown and nestless daughter wouldn’t really care about her childhood play space. The sky is streaked with violets and purples, a dazzling summer sunset, the gathering clouds tinged with edges of gold. Ava feels like she barely notices, just studying those wilting flowers, nudging the swing into motion as the crickets slowly start up with their evening song. If she closed her eyes, she could back anywhere in time, any different version of herself. Not that it would help things in the long run.
Behind her, Ava hears the patio door slide open and she turns to watch as Danica steps outside. She’s got two cans of sparkling water in her hand, her hair still piled on top of her head from her shower, wearing the comfy rumpled pair of pajamas she’s worn to bed for the past few nights. Ava stills the swing, allowing Danica to sit down beside her, shaking her head when Danica holds the can of sparkling water out to her. Not that that seems to phase Danica in the slightest, who just reaches over and attempts to wedge the can between Ava’s thighs.
Ava laughs, pushing her away. “Okay, hello? That’s cold, thank you.” She presses the can against Danica’s back between her shoulder blades and her grin comes easier at Danica’s yelp of protest, the chains of the swing creaking from Danica’s attempts to twist herself out of the way.
“Okay, grumpy, see if I get you anything again.” Danica sticks out her tongue, taking the can away before Ava can engage in any more warfare. She sets them both at her feet, safely out of reach.
“Sorry. Thank you,” Ava says sweetly and off Danica’s narrowed eyes, she smiles softly. “Seriously. Thanks.”
Danica reaches over, patting her leg, letting her hand rest against Ava’s bare thigh. Ava sighs, giving the swing another nudge, setting them gently rocking. “I’m…sorry for earlier,” she says for the first time, even though the apology probably should’ve come hours before. She looks at Danica out of the corner of her eye, grimacing. “That was super embarrassing and I…I’m sorry.”
Unfortunately, she knows that the video the girl had taken has at least started making the rounds out there in the vitriolic courts of social media. A few barely acquaintances from work and college have sent her messages but she’s been attempting to delete them all without reading what anyone might have say, unwilling to figure out how she’s being judged out there by the people who clearly think they know everything about her. It’s strange to think that her own father probably has no idea about the goings on in Southport but some chronically online amateur sleuth knows exactly who she is.
Danica just shakes her head, moving closer. “Stop. Don’t apologize. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
Ava wrinkles her nose. “Eh…”
“I know you were just trying to protect me,” Danica says, laying her head on Ava’s shoulder. She traces the curve of Ava’s knee, calling up goosebumps in her wake.
“Yeah, well,” Ava says, her throat suddenly tight. “I know you can fight your own battles.”
Danica nods, lifting her head. “Yeah. But still.”
Ava looks at her, studying this face that has been so familiar to her for her entire life. When she thinks back over the past year, nothing feels as clear to her as the past few days that she’s spent with Danica, as if being back with her have flooded the entire world with color. Her heart aches for them both, for what they’ve lost and endured, but there’s something inside her chest too, explosive and light and radiant, that is glad too. Relieved to be here, now, with Danica.
Ava leans forward, eyes closing as her nose brushes against Danica’s, only to stop herself at the last moment, the realization of what she’d just been about to do slamming into her. Before she can apologize, turn it into something else, something different, Danica has closed the sliver of space left between them, her lips finding Ava’s anyway. The kiss is soft, not as much a question as a nudge, a suggestion, and Ava feels her lips part in response, her body leaning in closer, searching. Danica’s hand is still on her knee, nails against her skin a faint pressure, and Ava shivers, swallowing.
Ava reaches up, resting her hand against the curve of Danica’s shoulder, even as she makes herself pull back, to study Danica’s face. Her cheeks are pink, her breath warm as Ava feels it ghost across her lips. “I’m…sorry.” But the words don’t feel quite right, not with Danica looking at her like that, her eyes still half closed and dark.
Danica shakes her head, swallowing. “I thought I told you to stop apologizing.”
Ava feels the smile tugging up the corners of her mouth even as she leans in to kiss Danica again. Somehow it feels as familiar as everything else about her does, like she’s done this a million times before. But also like its the first time, her body on fire as the kiss deepens, her hand pulling Danica closer to her.
“Is this…” Ava exhales, closing her eyes, her forehead resting against Danica’s. “Okay?”
Danica’s eyes search Ava’s face, her brow furrowing. “Is it…okay…with you?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Ava swallows, nodding quickly. “Yes. Definitely okay.” In fact, she can’t understand why she’s not kissing Danica right now. Why it’s taken her this long to ever kiss her before. Her body aches for the pressure of Danica’s mouth against hers, like she’s been without it for ten years rather than ten seconds.
Danica smiles, nodding. “Then you should kiss me again,” she says. “I thought we were acting like everything is normal.”
“Normal, right.” Like kissing her best friend is normal. Like it’s just something they’ve always done.
But they’re doing it now. Danica is kissing her again, their knees pressed together, the swing swaying beneath them. Ava fumbles with the velcro on her sling, tugging it off and freeing her other arm so she can reach for Danica properly, cradling her face and pulling her in closer. The stitches deep in her shoulder protest the movement but Danica surely doesn’t and Ava is far more interested in Danica’s body than her own right now.
The doorbell rings and Danica groans, pressing her face into the pillow and pulling the blanket over her head. “No,” she whines.
Ava considers just ignoring it. She’s pretty sure that even the most resourceful of journalists or true crime fans wouldn’t show up on her doorstep but it feels like the kinda assumption she doesn’t want to be wrong about. Besides, she’s got Danica’s legs draped across her lap, her nails tracing endless looping patterns softly against the small of Danica’s back. They’ve spent most of the day like this, sinking into the couch cushions and watching whatever Hulu recommends, with Ava only occasionally extracting herself to bring Danica water, toast or crackers or whatever she can stomach enough of to allow her to swallow down a painkiller. It’s been a while since she’s seen Danica like this, certainly not since they’d left the hospital, and it twists Ava’s heart in a dozen different directions, leaving her aching and wishing she could do more than just run her fingers through Danica’s hair or bring her glasses of water.
But when the doorbell chimes again, Ava sighs, casting a regretful glance toward the lump that is Danica. “I’ll be right back.”
Carefully, she slides out from beneath Danica’s outstretched legs, heading toward the door. Any doubts she’d had about answering quickly disappear once she glances through the peephole and hurriedly opens the door. “Julie! Hey.”
Julie James looks only just slightly out of place, standing on the weather worn welcome mat her mother picked out decades before. She offers Ava a wan smile, like she, too, is all too aware of her own incongruous nature. She’s wearing a Boston alum shirt, jeans with tears in the knee, her hair pulled away from her face. “Sorry for dropping in on you.”
“You never have to be sorry for that,” Ava assures her, stepping back and quickly waving her inside. “I’m happy to see you. Seriously.”
Julie smiles, following her in through the hallway and into the living room. “I wanted to know if you had time to grab a coffee or something. I thought we could talk and just…I wanted to see how you were doing.”
Ava turns back to look at her, arching her eyebrows. “You saw the video didn’t you?”
Julie shrugs, apologetic. “I saw the video.”
Ava groans, exasperated. “Okay, my delivery could’ve used work, but I’m not entirely in the wrong,” she protests as they enter the living room.
The top of Danica’s head and eyes have emerged from the blanket and she mumbles, “Who is it?” just as Julie comes into view. “Oh.” The blanket slips further past her face, her cheeks pale, furrows etched across her forehead.
Ava looks between the both of them, suddenly struck by the two people here with her, the surprising amount of love she feels for them both. Danica, a given, her best friend, her soulmate, now something fully new and exciting and scary and exhilarating. And Julie, who in so many ways saved her life, who came back to Southport for her not once but now again, just to make sure was okay. And how she wants them to know each other too, to knit these pieces of this strange new life she’s living together.
“Julie,” she says to Danica by way of both answer and introduction, gesturing in her direction before turning to face Julie herself. “I’m not sure coffee works, actually. It’s kinda a bad time-”
“No,” Danica protests, attempting to sit up. “Don’t not go because of me.”
Ava hurries over to her, putting her hand on Danica’s shoulder and halting her progress, attempting to ease her back to the couch. “You shouldn’t get up,” she chides softly, running her fingers through Danica’s hair. It’s limp and tangled, duller than Ava knows Danica would ever have let it get in the past. Not that it makes her look any less beautiful.
Julie is watching from the entryway, her hands in the pockets of her jeans, an uncertain look on her face. “I…” She shifts, hesitant. “Ava, we can-”
“No,” Danica says more forcefully, looking at Ava. “Go. Seriously. I’m just going to sleep anyway.”
Frowning, Ava kneels down closer, looking Danica over like she might somehow discover the hidden trick to making her suddenly magically feel like herself again. “Are you sure?”
Danica nods. “Yes. Bring me back a frappucino.”
Ava laughs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, okay. That’s exactly what you need.” She kisses Danica quickly, running her hand down her shoulder, before standing up. She puts Danica’s phone firmly within reach. “Text me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Danica rolls her eyes, waving her away.
Ava glances toward Julie, suddenly uncertain, shy. Going to Julie for advice on how not to be killed was one thing; a coffee date fully feels like another. “Should we…”
“Sure.” Julie nods, glancing past her toward Danica. “I hope you start feeling better, Danica.”
Danica musters a smile. “Thank you. Don’t let her forget my frappucino.”
Julie laughs and some of the uncertainty unroots itself, loosening the tightness in Ava’s chest. “I’ll do my best.”
As they reach the door, Julie pulls her keys from her pocket, holding them up. “I can drive. If that’s okay? I think I still remember my way around.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Julie’s car is clean, all business much like the woman herself. NPR emanates from the speakers as soon as Julie starts the car and she absently reaches over to turn it down even as she starts backing out of the driveway, looking over her shoulder despite the video on the dash. Ava glances out the window to avoid watching Julie, certain if there’s anyone who wouldn’t let her get away with her shameless curiosity it would be Julie James. Even still, she gets the impression that Julie isn’t the type of person who spends a lot of time in the car riding with other people. She doesn’t rush to make conversation, just keeping her hands firmly on the wheel, eyes on the road.
Finally, Julie clears her throat, giving Ava a brief glance. “So. How have you been feeling?”
“Ah, fine.” It’s mostly the truth, all things considered. She glances at the arm still snug against her chest. “Can’t wait to get rid of this thing.”
“I’m sure.” Julie gives her a sympathetic smile. “I guess you’re lucky though, all things considered.”
Ava nods, flexing her fingers. Lucky. It’s the same thing the doctor had said while looking her over, seeming almost impressed by Ray’s technique. And Ava supposes that’s true, in a way. Lucky, because she isn’t dead. Lucky, because she gets to press on and heal and just be fine, totally fine, eventually. “Yeah.”
Julie drives them to the same coffee shop from two days before and Ava scowls, chagrined. “Back to the scene of the crime.”
“Sorry.” Though Julie sounds more amused than anything. “I only know one coffee shop in Southport.”
“It’s fine,” Ava sighs, hopping out of the car. “Thanks. For driving. And coming to check on me.”
Julie smiles at her as they walk into the coffee shop. “Of course. I know what it’s like to need someone to do a little checking here and there.”
They order -matcha for Ava and some terribly bland sounding tea for Julie- and Ava pays and they take their drinks outside, as though truly intending to recreate the scene of what Ava hopes is not a viral video over in the social media sphere. But there don’t appear to be any gawking onlookers at the moment, the cafe and surrounding storefronts quiet for the time being. Only the marina is a hub of activity, boats coming and going and unloading their catches, making room for the next haul, and maybe that’s lucky in some ways, too, this promise that life keeps on going in spite of everything.
Ava pokes at the ice with her straw, squinting at Julie sitting across from her. “So. What did you think of my performance? Textbook trauma response, huh?”
Julie gives her an indulgent smile, tapping her nails against the side of her mug. “Do you want me to answer as a professor or your friend?”
Friend. Ava likes that. She figures she could use one of those right about now, all things considering. “Friend, please.”
“As your friend,” Julie starts, only to pause, shaking her head and blowing out a breath. “I’m just really glad social media was not a thing when I was going through all this. I probably would’ve done a lot worse, let me tell you.”
Ava nods, leaning closer. “Right? It’s so weird! This small group of people on TikTok know who I am because I almost died and…that makes me famous or something?” She scoffs, shaking her head. “No thanks.”
Julie shrugs. “People go to great lengths to find community.”
“Okay, well, now I get the professor, huh?”
Julie just pats her hand, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “Your frustrations are completely valid,” she says. “You’ve been through something fucking terrible. Blowing off a little steam, in a safe way,” she adds with an arched eyebrow, as though she’s suddenly privy to some of Ava’s more questionable moments of the past year, which is a truly horrifying thought, “is definitely part of the process.”
“Thanks Professor James.” Ava lifts her cup, contemplating the contents rather than taking a sip. “I think I was just more worried about Danica anyway, you know? Like hasn’t she been through enough? She doesn’t need to be on some stupid podcast too.”
Julie doesn’t immediately respond and after the silence stretches between them, Ava lifts her gaze, surprised to find Julie carefully watching her from across the table. “What?”
“You and Danica,” Julie says. “You seem…close.”
“Well, yeah.” Ava nods, the brief smile that flitters across her face completely out of her control. “She is my best friend.” Off Julie’s continued prolonged staring, Ava says again, “What?”
Julie feigns innocence. “I don’t kiss my friends goodbye. Just saying.” She holds up a palm, a gesture of surrender.
“Oh. Yeah.”
And, honestly, Ava isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say from there. She isn’t even sure what there is to say, all things considered. For all the time she’s spent with Danica, the memories and moments they’ve shared and the things they’ve done, this is entirely new territory. Kissing her. Touching her in a way that most certainly would more than push the definition of traditional friendship. Cuddling up with her in bed or on the couch and not having it be a strictly survival response. She blushes, unable to stop the rush of heat to her face and chest. Whatever this thing is between them, Ava is enjoying trying to figure it out. Having Danica kiss her, take her hand, pull her close. It feels like something Ava has always been waiting for, something she’s been searching for, only to learn she’s been looking just a little off center from where she was supposed to be.
Julie nods, sighing. “Trust me. I understand. That…need. Or, impulse, I guess. To cling to somebody. Especially someone who has just been through all the terrible things you’ve been through. Someone who gets it.”
Ava offers a noncommittal hum in response, uncertain about what she’s supposed to say to that. To Julie’s tone, weary and sympathetic.
“It’s common, in situations like this,” Julie continues. “But that doesn’t mean it’s always the best thing for us. Trauma bonding.”
“Okay. Thanks for the advice, professor.” Ava attempts to make her tone lighthearted, but even she can hear the edge to her words, how off-kilter her forced smile feels.
Julie presses her lips together, waving her hands. “I know. Sorry…sorry…” Briefly, she worries at her bottom lip, before adding, “It’s what happened with Ray and I, I think. We had a history already, like you and Danica, but it was hard to trust anyone after what happened and he already knew everything and he had lost the same people I had…it just felt like the most logical thing.”
“Yeah but…Julie, with all due respect, that’s you and Ray. And Ray is kind of a dick, clearly.”
Julie scoffs but doesn’t rush to argue.
“And me and Danica…it doesn’t feel logical at all. It feels crazy. Like for so long she’s just been my best friend and I love her and now it’s like the fully new thing and I just want to be with her and see what happens. It’s not…I mean, yeah, I guess we have the same trauma but…I don’t know…it’s just…it’s Danica. She’s not a stranger to me.”
Julie looks like she’s going to protest, only to catch herself, her expression softening as she nods instead. “Okay. As your friend, I just want to look out for you. Healing…it’s not so cut and dry…a distraction can always seem like a nice alternative.”
Ava snorts, shaking her head. “Trust me, I know all about that,” she mutters, taking a sip of her latte. “Hey, maybe it can be like the flip side of things, you know.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Having someone who understands you better than anyone else can be a good thing,” Ava points out. She gestures between the two of them. “I mean, it certainly doesn’t hurt that you have literally the exact same trauma surrounding fishermen’s slickers that I do.”
Julie laughs, seeming to contemplate Ava’s words. “Yeah. Certainly doesn’t hurt.”
Ava just lifts her eyebrows, tapping the side of her drink against Julie’s mug in a sort of acknowledgment of her temporary victory. It seems to be enough to at least allow Julie to let the subject lie dormant, coaxed easily down a different path when Ava asks her about her summer classes, what made her want to be a professor in the first place.
“Is it weird, still being close to Southport?”
Julie just shakes her head, smirking. “Out of sight, out of mind.” When Ava gives her an uncertain look, she just says, “Kidding. Obviously.”
Eventually, Ava glances toward her phone, surprised to find that over an hour has gone by since she and Julie had first sat down. And while she hasn’t received any texts from Danica, there’s still a twinge of guilt at the fact that she’d just left her alone. “I guess I should get back…”
Julie nods, getting to her feet. “Sure.” She pushes in her chair, she adds, “Don’t forget that frappuccino."
“Yeah, she’d probably kill me.” Ava winces, casting a guilty glance in Julie’s direction. “I mean…”
But Julie just laughs, heading back toward the front of the cafe. “Well, we can’t have that.”
The conversation flows easier on the drive home, though it mostly remains centered on some of the changes to Southport Julie is noticing for the first time, her opinion on the amount of breweries that seem to be popping up on every corner, as well as the various news stories on NPR. Once she pulls into the driveway of the Brucks’ home, Julie puts the car into park, turning to face Ava.
“Listen, as your friend,” she starts with a wry smile, “I’m sorry if I overstepped with what I said about you and Danica. People aren’t just case studies and sometimes…it’s easy to forget that.” Julie rolls her eyes at herself. “The curse of academia.”
Ava smiles, reaching out to take her hand. “Thanks. And thanks for checking on me. I’m…I’m just really honored you would come back to Southport for me.” She manages to make it sound almost like she’s teasing Julie, somehow making light of the situation, when really she feels a little bit like crying.
Julie nods, squeezing her hand. “Of course. I’m here, I mean it. And tell Danica too. I’m here for both you.”
“Like my trauma-bonded sister?” Ava smirks.
Julie just lifts her eyebrows, looking quite a bit like an older sister no longer amused by the antics of the younger.
“But thanks,” Ava adds quickly. “In all seriousness.”
“Any time.”
Ava is only half asleep when Danica jerks awake beside her, so it’s easy to reach over for her, to forgo counting sheep in favor of tangling her fingers with Danica’s. “Hey. You’re okay.”
Danica exhales, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I am so over this.”
“Another nightmare?”
Danica just nods, looking at Ava. The room is bathed only in the moonlight coming through the wooden slats of the blinds, the shadows stretching long and velvety across them. “I used to dream almost every night about…what happened,” she mutters. “Now I just dream about drowning.”
“I’m sorry,” Ava says softly. She’d learned long ago how meaningless those words could feel, but there’s no denying the ease of them, how I’m sorry just feels like shorthand for all the rest of the things Ava wants to say. The reassurances, the promise that if she could change it, take those feelings away from Danica and shoulder them herself, she would. She’s certain she’d run out of sheep to count long before she would tire of numbering the things she wishes she could do to help them both sleep through the night.
“It’s okay,” Danica murmurs. “It’s better with you here.”
Ava swallows, shifting onto her back despite the protests of her stitches, pulling Danica closer. “Come here.”
And Danica does, resting her head against Ava’s chest, sighing when Ava slides her fingers through her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp. “Feels good.”
Ava smiles faintly, continuing to stroke her hair. She studies the ceiling, the shadows cast over their heads. “Do you think we’re…trauma bonded, or whatever?”
“Oh, for sure,” Danica says without hesitation. “You’re stuck with me, bitch.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound so bad when you say it like that.”
Danica just nods, her fingers absently toying with the loose strings of Ava’s pajama pants, her arm draped across Ava’s hips. “Virgo and Pisces are really compatible, you know.”
“Is that what Fleur told you?”
“No.” Danica just scoffs. “Everyone knows that.”
Ava just shakes her head, managing to press a kiss into the tangle of hair on the crown of Danica’s hair. She smells like gardenias drenched in summer sunshine. Marsh drifting across the bay. The air right before the sky splits open. All Ava’s favorite smells of home.