Nate arrived before the kettle had boiled.
I was alone in the kitchen. Mother had gone outside to check the grass, as if something might have happened to it overnight. Bea was upstairs getting dressed.
He stood at the door with a phone in his hand.
“You brought it,” I said.
“I said I would.”
“You said a few things yesterday.”
He took that without answering. His hair was damp and he wore a plain grey T-shirt. I remembered how it used to stick up after he'd showered, and wished my mind would find a more useful detail.
“Sit down,” I said.
He took the chair beside mine. I had put two mugs on the table without thinking. It annoyed me when I noticed them, but I didn't take his away.
The phone had a dark green case, worn almost smooth at the corners. I knew it. He had dropped it near the river once, and we'd spent ten minutes looking through the grass while it rang from my phone. Finding it had seemed important then.
He unlocked it and opened our old conversation. It took him a few seconds to reach the end. There were messages about meeting places, a picture of a badly made sandwich, a question from me about whether he'd got home.
I caught sight of a little heart beside my name and looked at the table.
“Here,” he said.
He set the phone in front of me.
The message was longer than I had expected.
I don't want to see you anymore, Nate. I was using you for attention. Stop contacting me. Nobody wants to look as though they're begging for attention.
Below it was his answer. The goodbye I knew.
I read the first message again. Then I picked the phone up and brought it closer, as if the words might change.
“I didn't send this.”
“I know.”
“I've never seen it.”
His hands were flat on his knees. “I believe you.”
Outside, Mother was dragging a chair across the paving. The sound came through the open window.
I looked at the date. Late August, two summers ago. I had been getting ready to meet him that afternoon. We'd talked the evening before about where we could spend our last afternoon together before he left.
“You thought I changed my mind overnight?”
“I thought you'd been laughing at me all summer.”
“Did I ever make you feel that?”
“No.”
He answered quickly. That helped more than another apology would have.
I put the phone down. The kettle clicked off, and I stood because I needed to do something with my hands. I poured water into both mugs. His had a tea bag in it. Mine didn't. I looked at the clear hot water for a second, then found the box.
“I was going to bring you those biscuits,” I said.
“What?”
“The last day. You liked the ones with the orange filling. I bought a packet before I came home.”
He looked at me, and I saw him remember.
“You said you had a surprise.”
“It wasn't very exciting.”
“I would have liked it.”
I sat down again. The packet had stayed in my bag for days. Then Bea and I had eaten it while she helped me rearrange my room. I hadn't told her why I'd bought it.
The old phone lay between us. Nate turned it slightly toward me so I could see the bottom of the conversation.
“That was all I sent after it.”
“I know what you sent.”
“I'm showing you there wasn't anything else. No call to your mum. No plan with her.”
His face was pale around his mouth. I believed that he had been hurt. I could see why he'd been hurt. It didn't make me less angry that he'd left me to guess.
“You could have come here,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Or asked what happened.”
“I thought asking would look pathetic. After what it said.”
“So we were both very dignified.”
He gave a small, unhappy laugh. “Apparently.”
I looked down at the mugs. I couldn't laugh with him yet.
“Bea told me she found out three weeks ago,” I said. “About Mum sending this.”
“That's when she told me.”
“Three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“How did it come up?”
He pulled his mug closer. “Your mum had changed something Bea wanted for the wedding. I asked why she never said no to her. We argued a bit, then Bea told me about the message.”
“Did Bea know when it happened? Back then?”
He looked at me.
“No,” he said. “She didn't know back then.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
I loosened my grip on the mug. Bea had known he was my Nate when she started seeing him. That hurt enough. But she hadn't sat with me that summer knowing there was a lie on his phone. She hadn't watched me cry while she could have explained it.
“Then why didn't either of you tell me three weeks ago?”
“Bea wanted to do it herself. She said you were happy, and hearing it from me before she explained about us would make it worse.”
“You could have asked me.”
He looked at the old phone. “I could have.”
“Twice, apparently.”
He didn't argue.
I took a careful sip of tea. It was too hot. I set it down and pressed my fingers against the mug instead.
Bea's footsteps sounded overhead. I looked toward the ceiling.
“I want her to see this with me.”
“Okay.”
“And I want to speak to Mum.”
His eyes moved to the window, then back to mine. “Okay.”
He reached for the phone. I put my hand on it before he could lift it.
“Leave it here.”
“I was going to turn the screen back on.”
I took my hand away. Our fingers hadn't touched, but I had been aware of his all the same.
He changed the setting so it wouldn't go dark while we talked, then put it where I'd asked.
I stared at the message. One small block of words. It had sent him away and kept me in this house, furious with him, grateful to the people who comforted me.
I could hear Mother laughing outside at something on her phone. She sounded perfectly ordinary.
“Will you stay when I show Bea?” I asked him.
“Yes.”
I went to the kitchen door and called my sister down.