Page 118 of The Summer of Everything

It’s the universe’s gift to Wes—a chance to figure himself out without any distractions.

Leaving Ella was hard, but they’ve adjusted.

“The worst thing you could do in this life is live it without ever knowing who you are,” she said.

Wes thinks she stole that from her therapist.

“Has anyone been by the new shop since…” Zay trails off.

Around the table, everyone shares looks—sad, confused, and indifferent ones. This is one thing they don’t talk about.

Wes shrugs, then says, “I’ve visited Lucas a few times.”

Cooper nods. “We hang out there all the time after school, before their shift.”

“I got an iced coffee the other day,” Anna says. “Horrible.”

“Told you,” Kyra says smugly.

“Their book selections need work. They’re showcasing the wrong stuff,” Ella huffs.

Wes side-eyes her. He knows Lucas only has a small voice in what’s featured in Mrs. Rossi’s Book Corner, but they’re trying. Secretly, he’s certain Ella just wants a summer job bossing around young baristas and pissing off entitled customers. The usual.

But this is nice too. They’re not tiptoeing around the fact that Once Upon a Page is gone. Their second home has been turned into a luxury apartment building with all the amenities and none of the heart that made the bookstore the soul of this community. But they’re letting go.

“I heard there’s a new indie bookshop opening up a few blocks away,” Anna mentions.

Wes knows. He’s already put in an online application. So he’smostlylearned to let things go. But he loved life in a bookstore. He loves the things it gave him and the things he was able to give in return.

Zay raises his water. “To Mrs. Rossi.”

It’s quiet for a moment. They’re all accepting that Once Upon a Page’s not the only thing that’s gone.

Wes stares resolutely at the Formica table. It’s only been five months since the funeral, but it still aches like yesterday. Wes now owns two suits. He’ll never wear either of them again. But he made it through the beautiful ceremony. He sat next to Mr. Rossi, holding his hand. He fought back tears, but only until Nico cornered him before the burial.

“It’s not her. Her hair’s not pink,” he whimpered into Nico’s shoulder. “They didn’t even give her that.”

She died in her sleep. She died living the last of her days reading, sitting in the sun, and being with her husband.

Wes clears his throat, then lifts his glass. “To Patty Rossi,” he finally says. “She changed our lives.”

Ella adds, softly, “She was a fighter.”

They clink their glasses. Anna sniffles into a napkin. Nico drags his knuckles across his puffy, wet eyes. It’s surreal. They’re toasting Mrs. Rossi and the bookstore and all the things they can’t take with them. Except the memories.

Wes will never leave those behind.

Constantine returns, brooding, but Wes now knows it’s only for show. Constantine and Ella are posers. One day, he’ll call them on their bullshit. “I put in an order for two pepperonis, a Hawaiian, and a veggie,” he announces. “And a pitcher of Coke. Anything else?”

“The complimentary breadsticks,” Ella reminds him.

Constantine stomps away, offering their table a one-fingered salute.

Wes yawns. It’s almost eleven o’clock on a Saturday, and he’s exhausted. Is this adulthood? Is this what he has to look forward to? In bed before midnight on a weekend? This is a tragedy.

He rests his head on Nico’s shoulder. A dry kiss is pressed to his temple.

Across the table, Cooper hums something. It’s familiar. It’s also terrible.

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