"You up already?" asked Dad when we descended the stairs and entered the kitchen the next morning. When he saw there was two of us, he called a good morning in John's direction as well. He then proceeded to crack eggs and stir them in with the others he was preparing for scrambling.

Now we were seated around the small kitchen/dining table, eating our eggs and toast while Dad chatted about the progress he and John had made on the wardrobe the previous day. After being done sulking about the fact that I had gone shopping with Gabe, John told me about the woodworking rather enthusiastically.

They had milled the decorative parts of the doors and Dad had let John do one entire door after having him practice on a spare piece of wood. John had learned the names of a bunch of tools and Dad had explained to him how he did his drafts for the furniture. I had helped out a little here and there over the years, but I had never been ecstatic about the creative part. Dad seemed happy to be able to fascinate a young person with his work.

"What are your plans for today, Peanut?"

"Um... I haven't given it much thought. We were going to do Portland tomorrow. Portsmouth maybe?"

"The waves are supposed to be good today. You could drive out to the beach and watch the surfers."

John perked. "They surf out here? At this time of the year?"

"Oh, they surf out here any time of the year," Dad explained with a smile.

"Even during the thick of winter, they get out their heavy wetsuits and get out there on their boards. It's crazy, but impressive to watch."

"Hasn't Gabe done the New Year Surf before?" asked Dad and I wanted to roll my eyes at him for bringing him up again.

"I don't know," I replied even though I knew he had, then explained to John: "They have this tradition here on the coast where they all meet up on the morning of New Year's Day and greet the new year with a surf. Though most don't stay out on the water for long in this cold."

John frowned, presumably still at Dad's fixation on his quasi-son Gabriel. After the quality time they had spent yesterday while we had been out shopping, John had probably thought he wouldn't need to compete with Gabriel anymore. Which, of course, he didn't and wasn't, but it seemed like it to him.

"Anyway, would you be interested in the beach?" I asked John. "We could pack some lunch and blankets and stay however long we want and return in the afternoon."

"Or let's go out for lunch somewhere in the area." When he noticed my badly masked hesitation, he added: "My treat."

***

I sent a thank-you text to my dad for the idea of hitting the beach. The weather gods were smiling upon us, gracing our day with a temperature in the low 60s and enough wind to create a good swell for the surfers, but not so much that their spectators would freeze to death.

We placed a picnic blanket on the sand beside a large rock, then sat down and wrapped ourselves in a thick wool blanket. John leaned against the smooth surface of the rock and I sat between his knees, leaning against his chest. Where his hands connected in front of me, I placed my hands over his and stroked his thumb absentmindedly.

I loved the beach, especially during the off-season. It was mid-March and the region's natives ruled the coast at this time. There were few honeymooners, no families with little children, and, importantly, no spring breakers. The calming sound of the waves hitting the shore filled me, and I knew I was home. John's heart beat quickly but evenly against my back and mine matched its pace. I closed my eyes and let my surroundings take over. The whoosh of the sea, the cries of the seagulls, and the cars passing on the coastal county road behind us. Salty air tickled my nose and the wind was blowing tiny drops of water on my face, even if we were still more than 60 feet from the piling seafoam.

"It's incredible," whispered John so close to my ear that a shiver ran through my body.

"I know. I used to come here so much. Whenever I'm back on the beach I remember how much I miss the ocean at college."

"I bet." He squeezed me lightly. "Look, there's someone riding that wave."

There weren't many people out on the water yet, we had probably come too early. Out of the three or four people, though, a couple were decent as far as I could tell. We followed their runs for a good while, feeling no need to disturb the serenity of the morning with idle chatter. One thing I found about the ocean is that I could watch it for hours and hours without getting bored.

One surfer climbed out of the water in a full-length wetsuit carrying his board under his arm. He shook his head to get rid of the excess saltwater that would leave his dark hair rough and sticky. I had felt it countless times, had run my fingers through it when he had come to my house after an afternoon of surfing. He looked our way, shielding his eyes from the sun that was making a rare appearance through the clouds at that moment, then jogged over to us. John only recognized him when he came closer and his body stiffened.

"Grace, John, hey!" Gabriel called from fifteen feet away as he was unzipping his wetsuit and peeling out of the top half, showcasing his fit chest before wrapping himself in a beach towel he had deposited behind another rock to secure it against the wind.

After our heart-to-heart the previous day, I was fine around Gabriel. Most of the awkward tension was gone since I had realized I was genuinely over him. Of course I hadn't told John about it after he showed allergic reactions to the mere mention of Gabriel's name. I had wanted to speak to John and let him know he had nothing to worry about. I still wanted to. The time would come, I was sure.

Gabriel let himself plop down into the sand opposite of our spot. I sat up a bit straighter.

"How were the waves?" I asked.

"Eh, there isn't enough wind. And I'm pretty out of shape." Having caught a glance at his torso, I doubted that. "But man, it's so good to be out on the water again. It's a piece of home, you know?"

I smiled and nodded. I knew.

"How long have you been surfing?" Even John was curious now.

Gabe grinned as he usually did when he talked about surfing. "I can barely remember a time when I didn't surf. When you grow up so close to the beach, you almost always end up doing some kind of sport involving water. Grace is a swimmer, I'm a surfer."

"You're a swimmer?" asked John in surprise.

I vigorously shook my head. "I was on the team for a week as a sophomore."

Gabriel interjected: "You might not have been on the team for long, but you were swimming out here quite a bit, often while I was surfing. You thought it was ridiculous to practice in the indoor pool every day after school when you could roam the ocean instead, that was why you quit."

"And I never regretted it. But as much as I love the ocean, I am certainly not a swimmer. Gabe is exaggerating."

"What about you, John? From the looks of it, you're a real athlete, not like us wannabes."

I had never wanted to be an athlete, but I kept that to myself. It wasn't my time to talk.

John smiled politely. "I play soccer, started in middle school."

"That's awesome!" exclaimed Gabriel. "When I got to college, I was on the fence about whether I should take up soccer or crew, but I decided I wasn't cool enough for soccer."

A laugh escaped through John's nose. "Sorry," he said. "I just can't think of anyone on my team who's 'cool enough'."

"What?" I turned around to look at him incredulously. "You're cool!"

"Huh? You know me better than that."

"Okay, then what about Greg?"

"Greg's not cool. If he were cool, Linh wouldn't be dating him."

I laughed. "Fair. But what about Aidan?"

"Aidan likes to sing Ariana Grande songs in the showers—in a horrendously off-pitch falsetto."

Gabriel gave a hearty laugh and I erupted in a fit of giggles. "Noooo!" Another ripple of laughter went through me when I pictured tall, robustly built Aidan singing girly pop songs while stark naked—the last part I didn't graphically picture, of course. "I'll never be able to look at him the same way."

"No, really, rowing is cool," said John with a genuine smile. "I could never pull it off. Takes real discipline, I respect that."

John would be able to pull it off, he had the discipline. Maybe he actually believed it, maybe he was being polite. In any case, I appreciated his effort. Gabriel sat with us for another while, the three of us engaging in harmless chat about college, awful dorm rooms, dining hall signature meals, and professors. Naturally, the conversation wasn't of the deepest nature, but it was so nice to see the two of them get along. When Gabriel eventually said he'd need to get home and into a hot shower, John's stomach was growling audibly and I was pretty hungry as well. Gabriel shook John's hand and put a hand on my shoulder for a second when we said our goodbyes.

"He's pretty chill," said John as soon as we were on the road to the local diner that served the best sandwiches in the area. He was driving by my directions, but there weren't many options for a wrong turn with as few exits as this highway had. "I could see myself being friends with him if he weren't your ex."

I rolled my eyes. I knew it mattered, but in an ideal world, it wouldn't have.

"Why did you say you guys broke up back then?"

"I didn't."

John's eyebrows lifted and his eyes left the road only for the briefest second to look at me in astonishment.

"That came out wrong," I apologized. "Is that what you want to talk about, though?"

"I mean... yeah. I'm getting to know you and your life better, and I get the sense Gabriel has been a big part of it."

I was quiet for a couple of seconds.

"He was."

"Then what happened? I'm kind of surprised to find he's this easy-going surfer dude. For some reason, I understood from what you were saying about him that he was a real prick."

A sighed slipped from my lips. As comfortable as I was in the knowledge that I was over Gabriel, as uncomfortable I was remembering the details of our break-up. I had not covered myself with glory. I had been young and impulsive and had let my anxiety drive my decisions, overriding any veto from my reason.

"I broke up with Gabriel... not because he did anything wrong. I was young and scared. We'd been together for a long time and—ah, this is so weird—one spring night during my junior year, out of the blue, he tells me—he tells me he loves me and that he wants me to follow him to Boston University a year later. I freaked. I knew he was going to college, obviously, but we hadn't talked about it until then. Or at least it hadn't seemed so real. I knew where I wanted to go and that wasn't BU, and neither of us wanted to compromise on our ambitions. A couple of years before, my mom had told me she loved me but was leaving me. And now another important person was leaving me. Suddenly everything got so serious."

My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my coat and my eyes were pinned to my hands. I wasn't proud of how my relationship with Gabriel had ended, and I had never apologized to him. Instead, I had mostly pushed the whole ordeal from my mind, sometimes even making myself believe I had been right to do it.

"But, as cliché as it sounds, I'm not sure I would have met you had I not broken things off with Gabe back then."

John was quiet for a long time, leaving me to try to figure out why.

"You asked," I reminded him.

"I know."

More landscape flew past us.

"John, whatever it is that you're worrying about, don't. That was then and this is now."

"I know."

"Then why are you upset?"

"You were upset when you asked about Jenna's and my break-up, too."

"I wouldn't have been friends with her even if she hadn't been your girlfriend then."

His eyebrows furrowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

I sighed. "Never mind."

"I'm not mad, Grace. It's a lot to digest, spending time with... with my predecessor, if you will."

"He's not your predecessor. You're not just the next guy."

Gosh, he could be so frustrating.

John sighed and rubbed the side of his face with one palm. "No, I know, I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant, but please try to stop comparing yourself to Gabe. It puts me on the defensive and I don't want to feel that way with you. I don't want to justify why I dated him."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I know. But I feel like I have to nonetheless."

He was quiet for a painfully long minute. I could practically see him boiling underneath the surface and the tension in the stale, dry air circulating through the vehicle's heating vents was evident. I wanted to touch his hand on the center console, but didn't dare to interrupt the process in which he was.

Eventually, he mumbled: "I'll work on it. Is this theexit?"