Page 52 of What I Like About You

I nod. “I kind of grew up on location.”

Autumn hangs on my every word as I fill her in on what life is like as Mad and Ari Levitt’s daughter. I can feel Nash listening, but thankfully this part of my life is safe, solely Halle’s, so I try to focus on Autumn’s enthusiasm. Most teens don’t care about doc, so it’s super cool meeting someone who does. I almost forget what an important part of my identity it is until I start talking about it, and I kind of fall in love with it all over again.

My chest pangs and I make a mental note to send al’shanah tovahtext to my parents tomorrow. I’ve been so wrapped up in the Nash-Gramps-Alanna drama, I’ve barely read Mom’s updates.

“What about you?” Autumn asks.

I blink. “Me?”

“College?”

“Oh.” I pause. “NYU is my top choice.”

“Dude, same,” Nash says. “NYU is everything, but I’ll probably end up at Wesleyan or UConn or some other in-state school.”

“Why?” I ask, even though Kels was just talking to Nash about his overbearing parents.

Nash starts mouthing words to me but I can’t hear them over the opening notes of “Islands in the Stream,” coming from the karaoke machine. The chords leave me breathless. My necklace feels like a weight on my chest andI can’t breathe.

I haven’t listened to this song since Grams died.

“Sorry,” I say, standing up in the middle of Nash’s sentence.

Ollie. I scan the room for his eyes, but he’s not here anymore.

I can’t even imagine listening to two strangers sing it, so I bolt.

I’m halfway up the stairs before I realize that Nash is following me.

“Are you okay?” Nash asks.“Halle.”

“I need air.”

“Okay.”

Nash laces his fingers through mine. The fingers that type the words and hit send on the thousands of messages he’s sent to me, Kels. It’s the first time he’s ever touched me, Halle, and it must be the panic overtaking me because I don’t think to flinch. Not even for a moment.

I follow Nash up the stairs and out the back door and thank God hands can’t talk because if they could, my sweaty palm would be screaming the truth.

Nash sits with me on the swings until I catch my breath.

I bend my knees and let the wind sway me back and forth. Breathe with the wind until my pulse steadies to a normal pace. Nash doesn’t say anything. He just swings in sync with me. Helooks ridiculous, this tall body on a tiny swing. Every time he tries to straighten his knees and propel his body forward, his feet scuff against the mulch and the chips fly forward. Adjusting his strategy, Nash leans back in the swing to give his legs more space.

Spoiler alert: They’re still too long.

In the attempt, he almost falls backward out of the swing. He catches himself at the last second, but for a moment he looksscared. Like he’s going to fall a full fourteen inches to his death.

I cannot stop laughing. I’m used to laughing at Nash via banter, but this kind of laughter? It’s totally new. He sits up and plants his feet on the ground, the swing still beneath him. I focus my eyes forward and keep swinging. This is the part where Nash askswhat happenedorare you okayor any other variation of an attempt to acknowledge that I heard a Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers duet and lost my shit.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Nash says.

This surprises me. It also kind of makes mewantto talk about it.

“It’s a stupid song,” I say. “Every Thanksgiving, Grams and Gramps would blast ‘Islands in the Stream’ and bust out in this epic drunk duet.”

Nash laughs. “Really?”

“Gramps only sings when tipsy,” I say. “And they wereawful, but watching them, it was like,this is what love is, you know? And I miss her. Most days, I’m okay. But then Dolly Parton slaps me in the face and it feels like I’m just being told all over again.”

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