Page 44 of Ship Happens

For a moment, Abigail stands there, looking at Kaitlyn, then to Owen, and back again to her wife. “I interrupted something, didn’t I?”

“Owen and I were just having a chat,” Kaitlyn explains. Owen braces himself for her to elaborate, to give Abigail enough context that they can then double-team him. But then she continues, “I don’t think he wants to do the candle-making class in Sitka tomorrow.”

The confusion on Abigail’s face is immediate. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer she expected. Owen can almost see the moment she decides to believe Kaitlyn.

“Afraid of a little wax play, Owen?” Abigail teases, grabbing the sugar. “You know it’s not as scary as you think it’d be, it peels right off when it’s cool.”

“Texture issue,” Owen tells her, emphasizing his discomfort by flexing his fingers. “And I did not need to know that my best friends do wax play.”

“Party pooper.” Abigail rolls her eyes.

“At least I’m not kink shaming.” Owen tries his best to joke, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Abigail hums, and then, as if confirming Owen’s suspicions that she can tell something is going on, she excuses herself to the bathroom. Kaitlyn watches Abigail before turning back to Owen, both of them listening for the sound of the bedroom door closing.

“Are you happy?” Kaitlyn asks, completely out of nowhere.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“You don’t seem that happy,” she says to him, her honesty blunt as always. “You haven’t seemed happy since Jacob left the first time.”

“Would you be happy if the person you loved packed everything up and moved to another state? Then left the country?”

She hesitates, unwilling to answer the question. “Well . . . I saw the two of you getting up close and personal last night. So that must be a good sign?”

“He was teaching me how to hold the putter.”

“Okay, I believe you,” she says, her tone betraying her.

“Having a boyfriend doesn’t determine my happiness,” Owen tells her, words bitter.

“No, it doesn’t. But I think that Jacob leaving you affected you more than you’re willing to admit.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Kaitlyn. Please, not before noon.”

“I’m just saying, if we could crack your brain open, I could take a poke around, see what chemical imbalances are going on up there.” Owen laughs at that, genuinely, despite the anxiety blooming in his chest. “But the two of you seemed like you were getting . . . I don’t know, close again.”

“We’re playing nice,” Owen tells her. “That’s it.”

“Do you really think that’s the way you both can find closure?”

“Who said anything about closure?” he asks.

“It’s important. And if you two get there, who knows, maybe you can move on, actually be friends again.”

“I’m good,” Owen says. “I told you . . . I’m over him.”

Kaitlyn looks at him with that familiar expression, the one that tells him she doesn’t believe a word he’s said. But she doesn’t say anything else, because she knows the truth.

And so does Owen.

“All-righty, here are your towels and the keys to your lockers.” A woman behind the counter directs them to the two large archways on either side of the front counter. “Men over here, and women to the left.”

Then, as she hands Owen and Abigail their keys, she adds, “And our . . . um . . . gender-neutral changing rooms are further down.”

“Thanks?” Owen replies, meeting Abigail’s eyes, both of them struggling to keep back laughter. “I didn’t realize you’d come out,” he says when they’re a few feet away.

“Is it the hair?” Abigail asks, pulling at a short strand. “Am I really giving they/them?”