Page 129 of Here We Go Again
She reaches out for Logan’s hand again. And again and again. Rosemary tugs them along, deeper into the surf, until the waves lap around her shoulders. She counts to three, and as a wave rolls in, she plunges beneath it, feeling the cool water envelop her.
When she pops up again, she’s laughing. She can’t help it. Even better, Logan is smiling fully back at her.
Rosemary shifts her body so she’s floating on the top of the water. “Race you?” she smirks, stroking her arms in preparation for the coming wave. Logan does that competitive grimace Rosemary loves so much. They both kick their legs as the wave approaches, and when it comes, Rosemary feels herself buoyed above the wave, floating on the crest all the way back to the sand.
Of course, she wins.
“Best two out of three,” Logan argues as she spits salt water out of her mouth.
They wade back out into the depths, and they ride the waves back to shore. It’s beautiful and it hurts like hell when they land on the scratchy sand, and Rosemary feels completely and utterly out of control.
They go again and again.
Next SummerBar Harbor, Maine to Vista Summit, Washington
LOGAN
“What isthat?”
“What?”
Logan points to the offensive object in question. “That. Is that a binder?”
Rosemary clutches the binder-shaped thing tightly to her chest. “No.”
“I can see it, Rosie. That’s a fucking three-ring, two-inch son of a bitch. We agreed this trip would be spontaneous!”
“It’s just research,” she says, slipping the binder into the passenger seat. As if that settles things. “Just some information about possible routes and interesting stops and clean hotels and places to get gas and—”
Logan frowns, but she’s not actually upset. She can’t wait to see what Rosemary has planned for them. Still, Rosemary tries to reassure her. “We can have structured spontaneity!”
“You packed the laminating machine, too, didn’t you? And gx… oh God, not the label maker!”
“You love my label maker.” She comes in close, and there’s thatvanilla and peppermint, now mixed with salt water and something woodsy Logan associates with the cottage by the sea. Tree bark after rain and spring flowers in bloom. Cedar and soil. Something impossible not to love.
Rosemary presses herself up on her tiptoes and kisses Logan’s cheek. “You just focus on your part of the packing, Pear.”
Logan puffs out her cheeks, set to argue, but the air goes out of her at that term of affection.Pear. Rosemary started calling her that sometime after Joe’s funeral.
Rosemary isveryaware of the effect of this word. Logan is alwaysPearwhen the garbage needs to be dragged to the curb for pickup or when the grass is looking a little long or when there’s a particularly nasty spider in the shower. She is neverPearwhen her dirty towel is left on the bathroom floor or when she brings home mountains of student work to be graded and takes over the entire kitchen table. She’s definitely notPearwhen she blasts music from Joe’s old record player and sings along too loudly during Rosemary’s writing time.
But sometimes, she is Pear when they are curled up under the single quilt they share, trying to stay warm through Maine’s winter. Sometimes she’s Pear when they shower together or when Logan does that thing with her tongue Rosemary really likes. Sometimes, she is absent-mindedly Pear in the produce section at Hannaford, when Rosemary needs help reaching something on a high shelf. And sometimes, she is Pear when they’re hiking in Acadia or camping in Nova Scotia or taking weekend trips to Portland or Providence, when Rosemary is so overcome with awe, she forgets to guard any part of her heart.
And in those moments—inmostmoments with Rosemary—Logan forgets to guard her heart, too.
There are still mornings when Logan wakes up convinced it will all be yanked away. There have been arguments that she was sure would be their last. Sunrises that felt too good to be true. So manyinstances when Logan was too much—too loud, too chaotic, too messy—that she was waiting for Rosemary to walk out the door.
But Rosemary never does. Every day, Rosemary proves she’s too stubborn to break a promise. She never walks away, and Logan is learning not to push thanks to the inner child work she’s doing with her new therapist.
Logan hunches over to lift the giant cooler and waddles toward the open side door of the van to slide the cooler onto the floor of the Gay Mobile. Odie takes this as his signal to load up. He barks twice, then jumps onto the back seat, sitting upright like he expects Logan to fasten his seat belt.
“Odie!” Rosemary snaps her fingers. “Bed.”
Odie gives her his otter-eyed look of innocence before he resettles himself in a dog bed Rosemary’s propped up to keep the seats clean.
Logan grabs the rest of Rosemary’s luggage—her personal cooler of bottled iced coffees and LaCroix, two rolling suitcases, a reusable grocery bag of snacks, her silk pillow, a white-noise machine, a literalhat box—and loads it into the trunk. She reaches for a black suitcase, and then almost falls forward from the weight of it. “What the hell is this?”
“My typewriter,” Rosemary says like it’s obvious. “Just in case the mood strikes and I need to write something down.”
