Counterfactual

epilogue

EPILOGUE

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TWO MONTHS LATER

          ROWAN DOESN'T KNOW WHY HE GOES BACK.

          Perhaps everyone was right when they told him there really is no way of escaping Vofield's magnetism. Perhaps it's because he tried so hard to stay away from it, including forcing himself to not think about everything that happened there, that he was bound to return eventually. Either way, it's late June when Rowan finds himself back in Vofield.

          This time, no one chose the diner as a meeting spot, or the campus café. Joanna recommended an English pub, for whatever reason, and Rowan couldn't bring himself to refuse, so he agreed to meet them up there. Since there's still a bunch of his stuff at the apartment—as he's paying for it—he didn't bother bringing much luggage with him, and there's no reason to drop off his backpack before meeting up with the gang.

          There's a plate of nachos in front of him, and, even though his stomach is rumbling, he doesn't think he has much of an appetite at the moment. Even though he wasn't gone for that long and won't be staying in town for more than week, it seems like he's the only one of them who has changed at all.

          "I can't believe you cut your hair," Natalia comments, with one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer. Rowan shrugs, and even he has to admit it still feels strange to not feel the ends of his hair brush against the skin of his neck. It's a lot shorter now, shorter on the sides and letting the front be slicked back at times, which reminds him of Vanilla Ice's haircut. "Is it like . . . a new beginning? New hair, new me?"

          "You look so different," Joanna adds, gesturing towards him with a nacho of her own. "The stubble, too."

          "How hipster-y of you," Micah laughs, patting him on the back.

          "It's hot back home," Rowan simply explains, reaching out for his beer. "I don't want to look like a wet dog every time I leave my house."

          "It's hot in New Hampshire?" Chase questions. "Really?"

          "Global warming. You should have seen the weather before I first left to come here last year." He sips his drink. "I was hanging out in a pool the day I applied for that ghostwriter position." Natalia and Micah exchange a look that doesn't go by unnoticed, but Rowan pretends to not notice. After all, he was never supposed to get attached to people he'd probably never see again, yet here he is. "So."

          "So," Natalia echoes. "Are you going to eat those?"

          "Probably not." He pushes the plate towards her. "Be my guest."

          Silence falls over their booth, and the pub is full of other conversations and the twinkling of cutlery and glasses, with the occasional bottles thrown into the mix. His beer tastes like wax, scratching its way down his throat when he swallows, and he can't bring himself to reach out for the plate of nachos now in Natalia's possession.

          He finds it hard to believe they have nothing to talk about. Before he left, before the truth about what happened to Taylor got out, no one in the group had any trouble coming up with a random subject just so they wouldn't be surrounded by awkward, heavy periods of silence like this one. He's not stupid and can easily tell there's something going on.

          The door swings open, and, even though Rowan doesn't turn to look, he knows it does, as the summer breeze seeps inside and he feels it brush against the hair on his arms and raise goose bumps. The girl who entered the pub is tiny, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight her forehead is tinted red, and his heart momentarily skips.