The path to the boathouse was etched in my memory like the lines on my palm, but tonight each step felt weighted with something new. Moonlight silvered the lake's surface as I made my way down from the house, eleven o'clock having finally arrived after hours of restless waiting. I'd changed outfits twice before settling on jeans and a sweater that suddenly felt too warm despite the September chill.
I hesitated at the weathered door, my hand hovering over the familiar latch. Meeting Liam here, alone, felt dangerous in a way our childhood hideout never had before. I drew a steadying breath and stepped inside.
He was already there, a silhouette against the window that overlooked the water. He turned at the sound of my entrance, moonlight catching half his face through the gaps in the wooden slats. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
"You came," he finally said, voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of water against the dock posts.
"You asked me to." I remained by the door, unwilling to venture further into the small space.
The silence stretched between us, filled with all the things we'd been avoiding for days. The distance we'd so carefully maintained in the house now felt both necessary and unbearable.
"This is harder than I thought it would be," he finally said.
"What part?"
"All of it." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in all directions. "Walking around with this... weight. Pretending everything's normal when it's not."
I knew exactly what he meant. The weight. The constant pressure in my chest that made it hard to breathe, to think, to exist in the same spaces we'd always shared.
"I know," I whispered. "It's exhausting."
I moved to the small bench beneath the window, needing to sit before my legs betrayed me. The ancient wood creaked under my weight, the same sound it had made throughout our childhood games of pirates and explorers, through teenage confidences and midnight snacks smuggled from the kitchen.
"Mom's starting to notice," I said after a moment. "She watches us like she's trying to solve a puzzle."
He nodded grimly. "Dad too, in his way. Asked me yesterday if we'd had some kind of fight he should know about."
"What did you tell him?"
"That we're just growing up. Doing our own things." He picked up a small stone from the windowsill and tossed it into the lake. The ripples expanded outward, disturbing the moon's reflection. "The usual lies."
The bitterness in his voice made my chest ache. We'd never lied to each other before, and now we were lying to everyone, including ourselves.
"What are we going to do?" I asked, the question hanging between us like smoke.
He remained standing, as if afraid to come too close. "I don't know. I thought having a plan would make this easier. That knowing I'd be gone soon would..." He shook his head. "But it's making everything worse. Every moment feels like it's slipping away, and I can't..."
He didn't finish, but I understood. The countdown to his departure was making every interaction more charged, every silence more painful.
"I keep thinking it will get easier," he said after a moment.
"Does it?"
"No." The word hung between us, honest and damning.
He sank down beside me on the bench, careful to leave space between us. I could feel the heat radiating from his body despite the inches separating us. The familiar scent of him, sawdust and that soap he always used, made my chest ache with a longing I couldn't name.
"I've tried hating you," I confessed, surprising myself with the admission.
A sad smile flickered across his face. "How's that working out?"
"Terribly." Despite everything, I found myself returning his smile.
The moment stretched between us, balanced on a knife's edge. His hand rested on the bench between us, and I found myself staring at it, at the calluses from working with Dad, at the small scar across his knuckles from when he'd punched a wall in high school after his first girlfriend broke up with him.
A splash from the lake broke the silence. A fish, maybe, or a night bird hunting.
"We should go back," he said eventually, his voice rough. "Early start tomorrow."
I nodded, though the thought of returning to the house, to our choreographed avoidance, felt like an impossible task.
"Wait," he said as I stood. "Meet me in the attic tomorrow afternoon? I need to find some old project blueprints for Dad before..."
I recognized the excuse for what it was – a chance to talk away from our parents' watchful eyes, somewhere less fraught than this boathouse with its shadows and memories.
"Okay," I said, knowing I should refuse, knowing I wouldn't.
He moved toward the door but paused beside me. For one dizzying moment, I thought he might touch me. Instead, he whispered, "Goodnight, Mia," and slipped out into the darkness.
I remained on the bench long after his footsteps faded, watching the moon's reflection fracture and reform on the water's surface. In less than two weeks, he would be gone. The thought of him moving through rooms hundreds of miles away, in a place I couldn't reach, felt like a physical wound.
***
"Pass the salt, please."
Dad's request hung in the air for a beat too long. Liam and I both reached for it simultaneously, then froze. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before we both pulled back.
"I've got it," Mom said, sliding the salt shaker toward Dad with a curious glance between us.
Dinner had become an exercise in avoidance. We'd developed an unspoken system of never looking directly at each other, never reaching for the same dish, never speaking in sequence. The careful dance was exhausting.
"So," Dad said, cutting into his chicken, "Henderson's garage renovation is finally finished. Came out pretty good, if I do say so myself."
"That's great, honey," Mom replied with the automatic enthusiasm of someone who's heard every detail of the project for months.
"Liam did most of the finish work," Dad continued, nodding toward him. "That corner cabinet especially. Excellent craftsmanship, son."
Liam nodded, his eyes fixed on his plate. "Thanks."
"You've got a real talent," Dad continued. "Henderson asked if we could do his bathroom next spring. Good steady client."
A heavy silence fell over the table. Next spring, Liam might still be in Colorado. Or he might be back, but nothing would be the same. The future stretched before us, uncertain and frightening.
"I need some air," I said abruptly, pushing back from the table. "May I be excused?"
Mom's brow furrowed with concern. "Mia, you've hardly eaten..."
"I'm not hungry." I was already moving toward the door. "I'll be on the dock."
Outside, the evening wrapped around me like a cool blanket. I made my way to the edge of the dock, letting my feet dangle over the dark water. The lake had always been my thinking place, but tonight it offered no clarity, only a mirror for the confusion swirling inside me.
Footsteps on the wooden planks announced I wasn't alone. I didn't need to turn to know it was Mom, not Liam. The rhythm was different, lighter, more measured.
"You've been quiet lately," she said, settling beside me. Not too close, giving me space. "Both of you have."
My pulse quickened. "Just busy, I guess."
"And you and Liam..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You two have always been so close. But lately, it seems like you're avoiding each other."
I focused on the ripples my toes made in the water. "We're just growing up, Mom. Doing our own things."
"It seemed very sudden." Her voice held a question she wasn't directly asking. "After the camping trip."
My stomach tightened. "Did something happen there that I should know about?"
"No," I said too quickly. "Nothing happened."
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the gathering darkness. I'd never been able to lie to my mother successfully. She saw too much, sensed too much.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Her hand touched my shoulder gently. "Anything at all."
For one hysterical moment, I imagined telling her the truth. *I can't stop thinking about Liam in ways that terrify me. Something happened in that tent that changed everything. I'm drowning in guilt and confusion and I don't know how to make it stop.*
"I know, Mom." I forced a smile. "Everything's fine. Really."
She didn't look convinced but didn't press further. "It's getting chilly. Don't stay out too long."
After she left, I stared up at the house, my eyes drawn to Liam's bedroom window where light spilled out into the darkness. In less than twenty-four hours, we would meet in the attic, the room that had always made me uncomfortable with its dust and shadows and forgotten things. Something told me that whatever happened there would change everything again.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stem the tears that threatened. The cracks between us were growing wider, and I didn't know how to bridge them before he left.
Two weeks. Fourteen days until he was gone. And then what? Would distance heal us or break us completely?
I had no answers, only questions that kept me awake long into the night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling that Liam had helped me arrange years ago. Cassiopeia. Orion. The Big Dipper. Childhood constellations watching over the wreckage of what we'd just broken.