It was the beginning of the end but they were too naive to understand it yet. They thought that they were made for each other, that nothing could tear them apart as long as they had the willpower to stay together. She believed in the romance and rarity of being high school sweethearts. She desperately wanted them to be the ones that made it. He just was along for the ride, seemingly with no thoughts or desires or emotions either way. They believed they’d be together for the rest of their lives despite, despite, despite…

They had decided long ago, when they were practically children, that they were meant to be together and so here they were, preparing to take a trip with another couple for the long Fourth of July weekend. At first the novelty of the experience excited them. It was the first ‘grown up’ trip they’d take together, even if that trip was just five hours north to their friend’s father’s house. They were newly college graduates, feeling their way through adulthood and everything that comes with it, though they both separately lived with their parents, didn’t pay bills, didn’t yet have jobs, didn’t yet have any semblance of responsibility. Nevertheless, they considered themselves grown and they thought they knew where and how their lives would converge, committed to being forever entwined.

But the roots were rotten. They just didn’t know it yet. Or maybe she did but she was scared. Nothing could ever grow out of the foundation they’d built because they were too young to know how to build one. It was just sticks and stones and a mutual adoration for Will Ferrell movies and pop punk and the comfort of knowing another person for so long.

That early July morning was already sweltering. She gazed at the shimmering waves of heat rising from the blacktop as he packed their bags and absolutely too much beer into his car, as if they couldn’t get beer where they were going, as if upstate New York was some beerless desert. He called her name several times in mounting aggravation to get into the car, but she was somewhere else, sweat dripping from her upper lip, sweat flowing like a river down the length of her spine. He never knew where she went in those moments and though he knew she’d eventually come back, he was impatient to leave. He didn’t have time for her sad, romantic shit. He eventually gave up calling her name and got into the car, started blasting Rage Against the Machine. The slamming door snapped her out of her reverie. She turned and saw him in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, trying to keep a passive expression on his face, but she could see in his eyes that he was angry.

And thus started their journey. She realized she had to pee again before they left, but didn’t want to poke the bear, and besides, they’d be stopping in an hour to pick up her best friend anyway, she could pee at her house. She waved goodbye to her mother and got into the car, wanting to rest her hand on his shoulder but fearing the white hot rage she could feel emanating from him would somehow seep out of his skin and burn her fingertips. So she rested her hands in her lap and looked straight ahead, a little voice in the back of her head telling her this trip, this relationship, this life is a mistake. She told it to shut up, reminded it that she loved this man she’d known since he was a boy, that this was what she wanted.

Eventually, he turned the music down to a less ear-shattering volume. She could feel his rage slipping away but not enough to ask him what was wrong, no, she’d learned not to do that the hard way. It wasn’t that he’d ever hurt her physically, but he had a sharp tongue and a tendency to cut her with it when he was feeling, well, anything those days. Eventually, he started talking about some skateboarding video he’d watched with his friends the night before.

She didn’t want to hear about that night. They had plans to see a movie, go to dinner, organize themselves for the weekend ahead. But he’d disappeared, as was usual for him. He’d told her he was dropping something off at his friend’s house, he wouldn’t be long, he’d pick her up for the six o’clock show. He never showed. She’d heard from one of her friends that it turned into a party that he didn’t bother to invite her to. She’d heard from one of her friends that the other girl was there, the one that had always wanted him, the one that he was cagey about, the one that he claimed he didn’t even like and never had and never would. But curiously, she’d heard they sat so closely that she was practically on his lap, his arms resting easily around her waist. She’d heard their faces were close, and she knew that if she brought it up he’d just say it was loud and crowded, that was the only way they could actually talk to each other, that there was nothing for her to worry about because he loved her and didn’t care about the other girl. He’d even go so far as to insult the other girl’s intelligence or looks or promiscuity or behavior, something she never liked because she knew the other girl was none of the things anyone ever said about her.

She didn’t want to hear about that night because she never heard from him, not until he showed up that morning, bags packed and ready to go. She didn’t like who she was when he disappeared. Her spine itched, her heart raced, her body felt cold, her mind ran and ran to places that frightened her badly. She’d call and call and call and call and call him over and over and over again, becoming increasingly sadder. She’d cry, but was too proud to call a friend for comfort because she knew what her friends would say about him and she didn’t yet agree. So she’d call and call and call and call him over and over and over again, crying, heart racing, wondering what she possibly could have done this time to make him ignore her.

Eventually she’d call his mother, plead to get in touch, feel stupid for doing so. Eventually, she’d call his friend, the one she knew always answered because she suspected he had a crush on her that she unfortunately did not reciprocate, though she did sometimes wonder what life would be like if she did like someone else, or if she was even capable of liking someone else. So she called his friend and she heard him in the background, laughing, telling stories, living his life fully without her, and his friend would make up some excuse that so-and-so needed help or so-and-so’s mom insisted they’d stay for dinner or they’d lost track of the time and of course he still loved her and of course he wanted to be with her and of course he respected her and her time, don’t be silly, you’re making this more than what it is, just relax, everything’s going to be okay, until she’d heard him in the background yelling to hang up.

And so she’d spent that sleepless night crying into the scruff of her dog’s neck, checking and rechecking her phone for missed calls and messages she knew weren’t there, wondering if he’d even show up the next morning for their trip or if it was over this time. But then like clockwork, there he was, standing at her side door with a bagel and an iced coffee, smiling in the way that always made her melt. And there he was, and everything she worried about the night before just floated away because there he was and that meant he wanted her and that was their life and they were going to visit their friends and have a great Fourth of July.

By the time they reached her best friend’s house, any tension between them seemed to have disappeared. Well, on his side at least. He was, once again, happy and easy-going. He was excited and chatty, he was putting on a show. She felt awkward. She wasn’t a good actress. Her best friend could see it all over her face. She threw her bags into the car and got into the backseat, asked if she wanted to join her back there, pretend he was their chauffeur. He gripped the wheel again and laughed a fake laugh and urged her to get back there. She did get out of the car, but that was only to run into the house to pee, then right back to the passenger seat. She knew better than to get in the back. Best Friend discreetly texted her, “ok?” And she felt warm inside for the first time that day. She texted back, “later,” and Best Friend understood.

She put her phone away, didn’t want him to see she was texting her friend in the same car and rightly assume it was about him, but he knew. He just didn’t care. That time. Best Friend, with her sunny disposition and incredible laugh, was impossible to be upset around, so her very presence in the car lightened the mood. The following four hours were full of snacks and signing along to songs on the radio like Don’t Stop Believin’ and Ocean Avenue and Bitch and Low. And she felt that if it could be like this, then it could be okay. All she needed was Best Friend to always be around, no big deal, easy peasy.

When they arrived at the Boyfriend’s house, he was standing on his front porch, excitedly hopping from one foot to the other. It had been three weeks since he’d seen Best Friend and they were in love in a way that they just could never achieve. Best Friend and Boyfriend were easy, complementary, kind. She launched out of the car before he even put it in park and ran into his arms. He lifted her off the ground, hugged her tightly, put her back down and held her face for thirty full seconds before giving her a kiss. And she watched everything from the car, knowing she’d never been greeted with that much adoration, and probably never would. She felt envious, but like that voice in the back of her head, she pushed it away. He’d already gotten out of the car and begun unloading, completely ignoring the other couple. He shouted her name for help. She unbuckled and opened the door, stretched her legs, walked over to him. She wanted to give him a hug and thank him for driving, but he wasn’t looking at her. He shoved her overnight back into her arms and grabbed two cases of beer and started walking toward the door, a grin plastered to his face.

Twilight was looming by the time they’d taken the tour of the Boyfriend’s father’s house and settled themselves in their room. He and the Boyfriend grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and corn while she and Best Friend sat at the patio table sipping rum and cokes. They were out of earshot, so Best Friend leaned in close, rested her hands on her knees, forced her to look her in the eye and tell her she was okay.

“It’s stupid, I’m okay, I was just being stupid last night.”

“How so?”

“Well we had plans and then he went to a party and I just couldn’t reach him and I got so…”

“Hey, you’re not stupid. That was incredibly inconsiderate of him and he knows better.”

“No, I made it worse, I got all upset, I cried and I called his friend.”

“No, listen to me, if anyone is being stupid, HE is, not you. Ugh, sometimes he just makes me so mad, you do not deserve—”

But then they were back and proud of their grilled meats and expected praise and so they ate and told them they did a good job and pretended it was all nice and normal and everything was fine. And they went on pretending that way until the booze loosened them up enough to feel that it actually was nice and normal and everything was fine. And that was the cycle that she chose to ignore.

Eventually, with enough drink, he pulled her onto his lap and rested his hands on her waist the way she heard he did with the other girl, and she knew this and she pushed this away because at least he was touching her, even if it was a facsimile of affection. They sat at that table and watched the sun go down, the stars come out, the fireflies light up the yard. They talked and played card games until the Boyfriend pulled the Best Friend away to bed to do what people who love each other do. And then they were alone at the table, the tension slowly returning, but she wouldn’t let it. She yawned a fake yawn and told him she was going to bed. He said he’d be right there.

He stumbled in two hours later and pulled her close. He breathed his hot beer breath on the back of her neck and sloppily kissed her. She was sweating and agitated and tired but she gave in if only to lighten his mood for the following day. He started snoring and she was awake at midnight, one am, two am, restlessly sleeping by three.

She woke up at nine o’clock on the Fourth of July, eager to begin the day the Boyfriend planned. She kept still in the full bed next to him, straining her ears for any sounds of movement. All she heard were the creaks and groans of the old house and the birds chirping happily in the tree outside her window. And in that moment, it became so unbearable. She imagined Best Friend and the Boyfriend snuggled up in his room, smiling at each other under the sheets, while she was there, in bed with him, inching further and further away from his body until she was teetering on the edge of the mattress, one hand dangling inches from the floor. She didn’t know if she could do it anymore, this thing with him, even though she had professed stubbornly and repeatedly to all the adults in her life that they were meant to be. She looked over at his sleeping face and felt her stomach flip in revulsion. Was she going to ruin America’s birthday party today?

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and slowly and quietly got out of bed. She put on her bra because, for some reason, walking around braless in the presence of anyone other than her family embarrassed her. She tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She went to the bathroom and washed her face. She tiptoed downstairs with her book, intending to read in the backyard until everyone else woke up. But then she smelled coffee and heard sizzling bacon and knew someone was in the kitchen. She hoped it would be Best Friend and the Boyfriend, but as she made her way closer still, she knew it was his father, up and preparing a meal for his young guests. She tried to slip away unnoticed but he saw her and smiled broadly.

“Good morning! Get in here, girl. Want some OJ or coffee or both?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay, I can wait until the others are up.”

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all to make you a cup of java. Besides, your pal is already out on the back porch enjoying hers.”

“Oh, she’s up? I thought she’d be—”

“Yeah, yeah, young love. She said she wanted to let him sleep in while she reads. Looks like you have the same idea, huh?”

She loved that about Best Friend. No matter what, they were riding the same tracks, thinking the same thoughts, but she just didn’t feel as strong as her. The Father sent her outside. He said he’d bring coffee and some fruit to his girls momentarily. So she stepped out into the dewy morning light and settled next to Best Friend. Neither said a word until the Father brought out refreshments. He handed her a World’s Best Uncle mug of steaming coffee and looked at her with his kind eyes and she was overcome. She couldn’t help it. She sobbed. He patted her shoulders with his weathered hands and looked to the Best Friend before saying, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need me.” He went back inside.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why, what happened?”

“That’s just it, nothing. Nothing happened and nothing ever will happen. And he doesn’t love me.”

“Do you love him?”

“I think so.”

“Come on, do you love him?”

“I…don’t know. I don’t know!”

“Well, I think don’t you do anymore. And this does not need to be your life, you know. Just because you decided something when you were young doesn’t mean it has to be that way forever. You grew up, learned some shit, changed.”

“No, I know, but then what do I do?”

“You just—”

But then he and the Boyfriend walked out carrying plates of eggs and muffins and bacon, laughing about the previous night and talking about the day ahead. So she wiped her cheeks and Best Friend nodded that she looked okay and she pretended to enjoy breakfast. They got dressed and piled into the Boyfriend’s pickup truck with a cooler full of sandwiches and hot dogs and sodas and beers and chips to head to a forested country park with a glacial lake so blue that it looked like a painting.

She watched as the Boyfriend held Best Friend’s hand, stopped to take pictures on her phone, wrapped his arms around her as they walked. It seemed like he never wanted to let her go. Like if he stopped touching her for one second she might dematerialize. She kept looking over at him, wondering if he’d make a move to clasp pinkies like they used to as they walked the halls of their high school, or put his hand in the back pocket of her shorts, resting his cheek on the top of her head, or absently twirl her hair between his pointer and middle fingers. But he didn’t. He just walked along naming the trees, complaining about the heat, talking about all the summer parties he was excited about to no one in particular. He filled the space between them with his words. She felt wicked for wanting him to keep his distance while at the same time wishing that he would close the gap and hold her if only to make their distaste with each other less apparent.

They finally reached the edge of the lake and she again went somewhere inside herself, mesmerized by the glimmering of the sun on the surface of the turquoise water. Dimly, she heard the others laughing and splashing around next to her, but she stayed still. It was the most peace she’d felt in days and suddenly she felt so sure. The Boyfriend said this was where they’d watch the evening’s fireworks. The Boyfriend spread a blanket out by the water’s edge, while he walked over to a picnic table where he spread out a tablecloth he carefully packed in his backpack. He set out paper plates and plastic forks and knives, made it look like a real grown up table, and then walked over to one of the park’s rusty metal grills, poured in some charcoal, and lit it up. She felt a pang of appreciation for him in that moment, could see that he was trying and her resolution wavered.

The lakeside started filling up with revelers as the day wore on, but they had gotten there early and therefore had the best spot. He and the Boyfriend did have to make a run to a country store for more chips, but it was no bother. She and Best Friend floated in the lake, soaked up the sun, and didn’t talk about anything in particular. It was enough that Best Friend was there; she knew the inevitable was looming.

As dusk approached, the Boyfriend packed up the food and accoutrements at the picnic table and told the others to get comfortable on the blanket by the water’s edge. A pontoon boat floated by with a four piece band blasting Fortunate Son and Born in the USA and American Girl and Sweet Home Alabama from speakers hastily tied to its rails. Everywhere she looked, families and young people were laughing, eating ice pops, waiting for the show to start. Finally, an announcement came over the system that it was time. The sun had fully set and the night proved to be warm, dark, and just humid enough to be enjoyable.

The Boyfriend told them to lay down and look up at the sky. Fireworks were blasted from a stationary barge in the middle of lake, sending explosions of colors and light directly overhead. Occasionally, ash fell into her empty waiting hands and brushed her quietly tear-stained face. Next to her, she could feel Best Friend and the Boyfriend curled into each other. Next to her, at a distance, he quietly sipped his beer and made the expected oohs and aahs.

Then came the finale and barrage of sound and light and delight. She rolled onto her knees and stood up. Only Best Friend noticed. She took her phone out of her pocket and snapped a picture, waved it at Best Friend. Best Friend imperceptibly nodded.

She turned and walked away. He didn’t follow.