A Different Kind of Us

Chapter 7

The shuttle ride back to their office was quiet--an exhausted, crash-after-a-sugar-high kind of quiet. Sutton could feel everyone slipping back into normalcy, leaving the excitement of the retreat behind them.

She sat by herself and leaned her head against the window. She stared at the back of Ada's head several seats in front of her. Ada had pulled her dark curls back into a tight bun again, like she did every day for work. She had headphones in her ears. She was shutting the world out. Shutting Sutton out.

They hadn't so much as looked at each other since that moment on Jacob's Ladder. Sutton had landed back on the ground with a leaden heaviness inside her. She had let Ada answer their colleagues' disappointed questions about why they'd given up. She didn't try to hide the sadness she knew was evident on her face.

She gave in to that sadness now. Curled up in her seat, dug her temple further into the window until it hurt, and told herself to feel.

The shuttle bumbled into the Cyntera parking lot around two o'clock. Everyone departed with tired, lethargic goodbyes, ready to go home to their families and pets. Sutton muttered her own "See you" to the general group, then walked off toward her car. As she pulled open the door and stuffed her overnight bag inside, she glanced across the parking lot to where Ada was getting into her car. Turn around, she pleaded, not even understanding why she wanted Ada to look at her.

Ada did not turn around.

Sutton got into her car and stuck her key into the ignition, but did not turn it. There was a heaviness in her throat, in her esophagus, in her gut, and she wanted to feel it in the silence.

Her parents weren't there when she got home. She trudged up to her old bedroom and dumped her bag on the floor. Wilson Phillips looked up from her spot on the bed, her eyes curious.

"I'm home," Sutton told her, sprawling out on the bed next to her.

Wilson Phillips started purring. She allowed Sutton to stroke her head, her eyes closing in satisfaction. Sutton lay there with her head on one arm, her other arm extended to stroke WP, and her throat clogging until she could hardly breathe.

They start kissing regularly. It happens on weekends, mostly. Some nights they go over to Ada's house because her subdivision juts up to the greenway that sprawls through their suburb. In the daytime, people sweep past on the greenway, training for half-marathons or biking with their kids, but at night, no one passes through. The grassy field stays empty. They can walk down Ada's street, through a cul-de-sac, and out onto the expansive earth.

It's always dark, and now that first semester is drawing to a close, it's chilly. They wear hoodies and thick socks. Joey wears beanies over his messy hair. When they inhale from a joint that Derek passes around, they get a taste of the air, and it's crisp and lean.

On one of these nights, Joey and Derek bring girls with them. They're underclassmen, but they're nice enough. Sutton and Ada mostly talk to them for the boys' sake.

After a while, once Joey and Derek have taken several hits, they stop talking and fade into making out with the underclassmen. Sutton looks at Ada, who shakes her head with a small smile.

Then Ada takes Sutton's hand and leads her away from the others, farther out onto the grassy field.

They lie on their backs, hips touching, fingers intertwined. For a long time--maybe a full five minutes--neither one of them speaks. They've perfected being in silence together.