Page 108 of The Summer of Everything

Wes can’t find a place to rest his eyes. The sunset. The gold-green water. A group of teens down the shore, taking a selfie. Lupe’s indifferent expression, the battle between her curled mouth and frowning eyebrows.

“Why don’t you try to talk him out of it?”

Lupe laughs, both short and defeated. “You think I could?”

Probably not. Nico’s too stubborn.

“When I look at him, I still see mi pequeño sol, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t let him make decisions for himself,” she explains. “I’ve always encouraged my children to be themselves. I’m not here to dictate. I’m here to listen, support, love, and interfere when they do stupid things.”

“Like chugging milkshakes while smashing an entire extra jalapeño-pepperoni pizza?” A smile teases Wes’s lips.

“I don’t understand you boys.” She pretends to gag. “Jesus, the smell coming from Nico’s bathroom that day. It was so offensive.”

Wes tips his head back, guffawing at the sky.

The wind off the ocean sways the hem of Lupe’s white dress. Her hair’s dark, like a sky emptied of a moon and stars. It continuously dances into her face. “I just want Nico to figure himself out,” she says. “He can be a doctor. Or a skater. He can be bisexual or pan or whatever feels right. He can be here or Palo Alto.”

Her bottom lip trembles. One of them is three seconds from crying. Probably him.

“I just want him to do it for himself.”

“I want the same for you, Wesley,” she adds, pinching his wrist. “You two are so different, but so alike. It’s like I have two sons.”

Wes chuckles. It’s easier to laugh than for him to confront the sting in his eyes and the way his sinuses are ready to explode. Honestly, he’s been stuck on the top of an emotional rollercoaster for an entire summer and, at some point soon, he’s going to crash.

“He loves you,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, sure. We’re friends—”

“No.” She shakes hair out of her face. “Lovesyou. In love.”

The way she says it, so confident and pure and amazed—Wes’s chest aches. He doesn’t need Google to tell him what’s coming.

“How do you know?” he asks, choked.

“Please. Nico’s definitely Martín’s son.” Lupe smirks, eyebrows climbing her forehead. “Do you think I don’t recognize the way Martín would stare at me doing the most ordinary things is the same way my son looks at you reading a comic book or shoveling food in your mouth? Ha.”

They’ve drifted closer to the water. It almost kisses the soles of Wes’s Pumas.

“It’s probably killing him, knowing your time is short and he hasn’t said anything.”

Wes stares at her blankly.

He loves you.

“Go.” She nods up shore. “Talk. Or whatever it is you teen boys do. Just don’t be late for dinner.”

Nico’s planted in the sandnext to a lifeguard tower; the wooden shack is painted pale blue. He’s dressed in a denim button-up and white linen pants. His feet are buried in the sand. His hair’s wind-tousled. Wes doesn’t know why he’s observing all these things, creating a new untouchable list in his brain—Reasons to be Forever in Love with Nico Alvarez—instead of flopping down next to him.

He has so many issues.

“Cool sunset,” he finally says, settling into the sand.

The top of the sun’s still visible. Its reach over the waves keeps them gold and beautiful. From here, they can see Sofía playing leapfrog with the twins. Lupe joins them, taking turns spinning each of her daughters in circles until they fall. Nico wiggles closer until their shoulders touch.

Wes is grasping for something incredible to say. A teen romcom swoon-worthy monologue. Instead, he says, “Did you take a photo for the Gram yet?” like the geek loser he is.

“Of course.” Nico unlocks his phone, scrolling through his feed to show Wes. He caught an amazing shot of the sun, large and looming over the Pacific, with the sand and a few birds and the silhouette of two people standing near the shore.

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