Chapter 37

alyssa

Elliot’s arms are wrapped tight about my torso, pulling me tight against her. My butt is right below her pelvis, because she somehow grew an inch in the last few weeks. It’s the kind of luck I’ll never have. At the very least, it’s not much of a difference when I go to kiss her; I still have to stand on my tiptoes as far as possible, reaching up to cling to her bent frame so that I don’t tip over. Our kisses always end in laughter. Laughter at our clumsiness, at our sweet incapability, at our general awkward yet productive stylings. It’s nice. I can’t complain—somehow, she only gets hotter the taller she gets.

“Hey, you’re squishy,” Elliot whispers in my ear, her gaze focused ahead on Tanner at the barbeque. She gives me a squeeze and my legs about disappear from beneath me. One of my hands snakes up behind me and cups her cheek; the other grips her forearm.

“You’re squishy. Also, why are you in a sweater?” I ask her, pinching the thick fabric. “It’s literally a hundred degrees.”

“Well I’m literally wearing that sexy lil’ bikini of yours under this, so does it matter?”

“Wait, you’re actually wearing it?” Elliot and I have started going swimming most afternoons, and I bought her a bikini top and some swim shorts so that she didn’t have to rely on her too-small racerbacks anymore. I didn’t know if she’d actually go for it, but the thought of having a chance to glimpse more of her soft, barely defined abs that have formed over the course of this summer was too good to pass up.

Elliot rests her chin on my shoulder. It pokes in hard when she smiles, but I don’t mind. “I am, yes. I feel hot. Like Elliot Page.”

“Well now you have to take your shirt off. Because, as an almost heterosexual woman, I find Elliot Page irresistable.”

“Oh yeah, even as a completely non-heterosexual woman, I feel that. Elliot Page could turn Super Straights into non-homophobic-assholes.” Her arms loosen, and I turn around to watch her step away. Behind her, Duncan, Neema, and Norm’s sister Noelle sit on a few layered blankets, the surrounding area littered with crinkled Hi-Cs and ketchup-stained paper plates. Duncan is the first to notice Elliot’s stepping away, and how her hands find the bottom of her crewneck.

“YUSS, ELLIOT!” he shouts. His voice booms across the beach. I’m sure anyone in the public swim area a mile away can hear him. “GET IT, HOTTIE!”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the real hottie, babe,” she calls without turning around.

“I object,” says Neema, cupping her hands over her mouth as if she isn’t five feet away. Her voice doesn’t boom as loud. “Tanner is the real spicy Cheeto here.”

Tanner adjusts his frilly pink apron. He’s grilling a mix of vegan chorizo (we all still can’t decide if it can even be called chorizo) and bratwursts, beneath the back deck of Jace’s dad’s beach house. His floppy bangs are pulled back with a glitzy scrunchie—he stole it three years ago from me and treasures it to this day—and he bears a strong burn on his cheeks and shoulders from a lack of frequent sunscreen reapplication. He’s had pale skin for over seventeen years, yet he’s still a noob.

“Indeed,” he says, “I am the spicy Cheeto.”

Next to him with a spatula, Jace grins. His squatish nose is also a little red, but whereas Tanner is peeling and auburn, Jace is bronze and glowing. “Myyy spicy Cheeto,” he coos, poking Tanner’s arm with the silicon end of the spatula.

“Okay, it’s getting weird now,” I say. “Moving on.”

“Moving on … to my Elliot Page absss!” Elliot cheers, teasing the hem of her crewneck and then ripping it off. The sight makes me blush just slightly. The bikini top is a sportsy halter top, a deep olive green that somehow works well with her flamingo-patterned navy Bermuda shorts. She takes those off too, leaving nothing but the black swim shorts. And then, she poses, hands perched confidently on boxish hips.

Oh Gay Lords, I have a girlfriend. A disturbingly attractive girlfriend.

“I have abs too!” Duncan says, moving to stand up. Neema laughs and tries to tug him down by his wrist, but after a few seconds of typical Duncan scrambling, he’s up on his feet and barrelling into Elliot. He nearly knocks her over, but manages to help steady her instead.

He T-poses, giving her a challenging nod. “Sup. Brah.”

Elliot T-poses back. “Sahhhh, dude, sah.”

“This is killing any and all feelings I may have possessed for you at some point,” says Neema, standing herself. “But also.” And then, she T-poses.

Norm’s laugh is this infectious little snort-giggle. His sister just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. It makes the ends of her newly green-dyed wolf cut fly out just slightly. “You guys are grossing me out. This is like a nasty, cheesy ending chapter to a book the author didn’t know how to finish. So tacky.”

“Agreed,” says Jace. “You’re killing my vibes.”

“And you’re yucking my yums,” Elliot says. “We’re having a fluffy moment. Sheeeeesh.”

“It got tackier,” Noelle says and rubs her temples.

I walk backwards a bit, towards the shore. “Let’s go swimming,” I tell Elliot. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll spite-drown.”

She gasps, splaying long fingers across her collarbone in mock disgust. “Spite-drown? You ain’t got the nerve.”

“Ha. Try me.”

Elliot slowly closes the distance between us, and before I can figure out what’s going on, she scoops me up in her arms, slings me over her shoulder as if I’m the Fiona to her Shrek, and continues barrelling straight towards the water. It’s dizzying, and terrifying, and I can’t catch my breath because I’m laughing and bouncing and maybe slipping, but I don’t care. My hands find purchase where they can on Elliot’s warm, bare skin, and I hold on for dear life as we splash into the surf—unabashed, uninhibited, and completely, utterly happy.

I feel like this is the kind of not-quite-ending we deserve.

A/N – el fin.

GET IT? FIN???

Original final word count: 80,067. 

Current final word count: 80,859.

Thanks for sticking with it.