This Is What Happy Looks Like(59)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

“Are you kidding?” Graham asked. “Do you know how many girls dream about me—” He hesitated when Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” he said with a half smile. “But the thing is, it’s not me they’re actually dreaming about, you know? It’s the idea of it. And so the real thing is always a big disappointment.”

“In the case of my dad, yes,” she said. “But in the case of you…”

“Only a little bit?” he said with a hopeful grin, and she smiled.

“Only a little bit,” she agreed. “But you’re probably right. It’s for the best. Besides, if my mom ever found out I’d asked him for money without even coming to her…”

“You know,” Graham said, “I’d be happy to—”

“No,” she said, a bit harshly, then caught herself, realizing how it had sounded. “But thank you,” she said, her voice softer, and she gave him a rueful smile. “It wasn’t really about the money anyway.”

“It was about seeing him,” he said, and she nodded.

“I’ve been picturing that moment my whole life,” she said. “That wasn’t exactly how I thought it would go.”

“Really?” Graham said. “You never imagined shaking hands with him at a Fourth of July clambake?”

Ellie laughed, and then—because he couldn’t wait any longer—Graham lifted an arm and drew her into it, pulling her against him so that her head was on his shoulder, and they were both angled to the window, the ocean rushing by, a wavering ribbon of blue against the paler sky.

“Do you think I should have asked him anyway?” she said, and Graham shook his head, his chin brushing against her hair. “Or even just told him who I am?”

“It wasn’t the right moment,” he said. “You did what anyone would do.”

“Which was nothing.”

“You went there in the first place,” he said. “That’s something.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she said, then let out a hoarse laugh. “I actually believed this time too.”

“Believed in what?”

“The quest,” she said. “My dad.”

Graham’s eyes moved to the window, the sun flashing through the trees. He thought again of the way her father had looked at her, the empty greeting and absent smile, and then he pictured his own dad, flipping burgers on a barbeque in someone’s backyard in California. Would it have been different if Graham were applying to colleges right now, worrying about the SATs instead of memorizing lines? Or was this just what happened when you got older? Maybe growing up was really nothing more than growing away: from your old life, from your old self, from all those things that kept you tethered to your past.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he felt Ellie go still against his chest.

“About what?”

“About everything,” he said. “And about Harvard.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a forced lightness. “I didn’t want to go that badly anyway.”

“I’m sure your mom would help.”

“I’m sure she would,” Ellie agreed, “but I can’t ask her.”

Out the window, the trees opened up so that all they could see was the water, still dotted with boats. “You’re lucky,” he told her. “You have a great mom.”

“I’m sure you do too.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she has such a great son,” she said, and Graham smiled. “Aside from the whole beating-up-a-photographer thing, of course. Not to mention that one little boat-theft incident.”

“You know,” he said, “before I left school my friends always joked I’d be voted ‘Least Likely to Get Arrested,’ and now I’ve almost done it twice in twenty-four hours.”

“Really?” Ellie teased. “I’d have pegged you for ‘Most Popular’ or ‘Best Smile’ or something cheesy like that.”

He laughed. “What would you be? ‘Most Likely to Rebel Against the System by Stealing a Boat One Day’?”

She considered this for a moment. “ ‘Least Likely to Fall for a Movie Star.’ ”

“Boy,” Graham said, pulling her closer, “would they ever be wrong about that.”

They rode in silence for a while, the bus stopping every now and then to let someone off. They could feel the vibrations of the tires beneath their feet, and the sway of the bus—a gentle motion that reminded Graham of the boat—made his eyelids heavy. He was halfway to sleep when Ellie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“So what now?” she asked, and he wasn’t sure what she meant. The question could have a thousand different meanings. It could mean What do we do when we get back to Henley? or Should I try again with my dad? It could mean What happens when you leave in two days? or How will this all turn out? It could mean Here we are, the two of us wedged together on a bus in the middle of Maine, and even after the worst day ever, which came right on the heels of the worst night ever, there’s nowhere else we’d rather be, so can we stay forever?

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and she sat up, turning to face him with a serious look. Her green eyes were large and her red hair was tangled from the wind, but she looked beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes your heart fill like a balloon, so light you worry it might carry you away.

“With us,” she said, and Graham felt the words one at a time, each a sharp jab, because he didn’t know; he didn’t know what would happen, and even more than that, he didn’t know what he could offer her. In two days, he’d be leaving Henley. In two weeks, he’d finish filming this movie. And in three weeks, the last installment of the trilogy would be out in the theaters. Graham would be shuttled around the world with a smile pasted on his face to talk into a thousand different microphones about what it all meant, traveling from L.A. to Tokyo to Sydney to London, and back around again. There would be late nights and big crowds, endless talk shows and press junkets.

There would be no more fishing boats or walks along the rocky beach.

There would be no more Ellie.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully, because he didn’t. It seemed too big a question for a simple answer. Right now, sitting so close, he couldn’t imagine being without her. But including her in his real life didn’t seem logical either. It was like there were two different Graham Larkins, and even if one of them was truer, more substantial—even if one of them was happier—the other one still took up more space, and it wasn’t going away.