August
Chapter 15
On August first, Georgia stops by the store in between errands at 9:15, just after I’ve arrived. We haven’t even opened yet, but I unlock the door for her. She jogs in place while she stands in front of me, hand up.
“High five,” she says, out of breath.
I give her one. “And, uh…why?”
“Do I really need a reason?” She winks at me.
“No one pissed in the pool this morning?”
“Better.” She starts jogging backward, ponytail swinging behind her. “Birthday month, baby!” She grins extra big and then turns, dashing out the door.
I honestly haven’t even thought about my birthday. The month of August is significant because it is the last month I’ll spend here, not because I’m turning seventeen.
But even in a normal August, I wouldn’t be as excited as Georgia is. Birthdays have never been big in my house. We have cake and ice cream, my parents give me a couple gifts, and maybe we go to a movie, but that’s about it. It comes with having a summer birthday, I guess. August 20 is right before we go back to school, so my friends are usually busy—on last-hurrah summer vacations with their parents or spending time with camp friends who will soon return to their normal lives.
Besides, the beginning of the year is when friend groups break up and new groups form. Having a big party right before that happens, when everyone knows it’s coming… Ever since I was in middle school, it seemed awkward. It’s easier not to bother.
Georgia’s birthday is a week before mine, August 13, and she’s told me this before, but I keep forgetting. It matters to her, though, and I have to remember that. We had a conversation about it in June. She asked me what I usually did for my birthday. I told her nothing much. She was shocked.
“Birthdays are the most important,” she said, as if it were a fact. “My parents don’t give a single fuck about Christmas or Easter or the Fourth or even Thanksgiving, really, but birthdays they go all out.”
“That’s weird. Especially since your parents are not, like…”
“The most affectionate?” she finished. She rolled her eyes. “True. But…”
“They do love you, obviously,” I said quickly. “They just expect a lot out of you.”
“Right,” she said, “exactly. And they always frame birthdays as this celebration of everything I’ve achieved in a year, which is pretty great.” She was smiling bigger and bigger as she talked. “Anyway, I can’t fucking wait. It’s gonna be great. And listen, I’m sorry, but as your friend, I’m going to make your birthday a time to remember.”
I laughed. “Well, shit, I guess I’ll do the same for you.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Needless to say, I haven’t come up with anything. With all my thoughts occupied by leaving with Jake, I forgot about her birthday as thoroughly as I forgot about mine. I spend the rest of the morning wondering how big she means when she says birthdays are big, and subsequently, how much I have to plan. I don’t know any of her friends from school. She mentions them sometimes, but only in passing, and I know she’s said most of them will be out of town on her birthday. Normally, I’d think her house was off-limits since it was so awkward the last time I came over, but if her parents are really into birthdays, maybe…
It’s a welcome distraction from the minutiae of Kentucky. Jake debates those details endlessly, and they pile on top of me like snowflakes, each one light on its own, gathering into a drift so heavy it’s hard to escape. There are too many to keep track of. So it’s kind of nice to wonder what kind of cake Georgia likes best and consider a guest list. A birthday party can only have so many specifics.
I spend that morning doodling pictures of cakes and pondering what I should get Georgia as a gift. It will be the first gift I’ve given her in the course of our friendship, and somehow it feels critical to get the right thing. Between the cold of the AC in the store and wanting to talk to her about birthdays, I am counting down the minutes until lunch.
At 12:50, with no customers having come in for at least an hour, I glance at Jenny’s closed door and decide it’s a day to cut out early. I practically run down the hallway leading to the patio.
I’m about to push the door open when I hear a female voice outside yell, “For fuck’s sake, Toby!” I pause, my hand on the push-bar. It takes me a moment to recognize the voice because I’ve heard it so few times. For a moment, I think it’s one of Toby’s exes come to visit. But I do know this voice. It’s Serena.
I should leave. But the others will be here soon, and would it be better for one of them to walk in on this argument? So, I should go outside. But God, I don’t want to get in the middle of a fight, sitting there awkwardly until everyone else arrives. I stay where I am, trying to decide, and also, to my own shame, leaning closer to the crack in the door.
“Serena,” I hear Toby say, “calm down, you’re being completely unreasonable. I’m sorry if you’re upset, but—”
“But what?” Serena shrieks. “But fucking what, asshole? You tell me you want to get back together, and then I see you out with some other girl? Practically fucking her?”
“I would not say we were—”
“Fine! Kissing! Whatever!”
“Technically, I never said I wanted to be exclusive, so—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” If anything, it seems like Serena is only getting angrier. I know I should back away, but the worst, most gossipy part of me wants to hear the end. I knew that Serena and Toby had dated, but since they always seemed to tolerate each other easily, I’d assumed it was pretty casual. Apparently, I’d been wrong.
“Why are you even still here?” Serena says, her voice low now and furious. I have to strain to hear her. “You’re almost twenty years old. You’ve been working here since graduation. You’re not doing anything with your life. All your friends are in high school. It’s pitiful. It’s fucking creepy.”
Silence from Toby for a moment.
“You know I didn’t get into—” he starts.
“Oh, seriously?” Serena interrupts, the volume rising again. “So your first choice rejected you. Big deal. You got into other colleges. You could’ve gone to one of those places. Or you could’ve taken a year off and applied again. But instead, you just fucking stayed here. At your high school job. You have the power to overcome that inertia, you know. You choose not to.”
Silence from Toby.
“You know what?” Serena continues, “The first time I brought you home, Helen told me she thought you were weird and she didn’t like you. I thought she was jealous of how much time I was spending with you. But she was right. And she’s nine! My nine-year-old sister is more trustworthy than you.”
More silence.
“Nothing? Okay. I’m done.”
I hear footsteps marching toward the door and finally break out of the trance I’ve fallen into. I duck into the bathroom a few yards down the hall, the door closing just as I hear the door to the patio opening. I set my lunch on the counter and start washing my hands, hoping Serena won’t come in.
But she does, of course, her omnipresent sunglasses pushed back on her head and face splotchy and red from crying. She turns away quickly as she sees me and goes into a stall.
I turn off the sink and dry my hands. “Are you okay?” I ask into the silent bathroom.
“Fine” comes her response from the stall. I stand there for a moment longer, but I don’t know her well enough to help, so I step outside. Just then, like the sun coming out after a rainy day, I see Georgia and the rest of the counselors making their way down the hall, laughing.
“Caroline!” Georgia yells. “One of the kids finger-painted Matt’s face! His whole face!”
Matt walks behind her, grumbling, and though he’s tried to wash it off, there is a distinct blue and green streak down the middle of his fore
head, nose, and cheeks.
“That kid’s on my shit list,” he says. “I thought I could teach them something about art. But no. This is what I get for trying to spread my talents.”
“It’s a gift,” Georgia says, elbowing him. She grabs my hand, swinging it as she pushes open the door. “God, I’m so hungry.”
I look around quickly for Toby, but he’s not there. The usual stack of pizza boxes sit in the middle of the patio, unopened and waiting.
“Huh,” Georgia says, her brow furrowed. “I wonder what happened to Toby. He was getting the pizzas today.”
“Don’t ask,” I murmur.
“Wait, what?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I say to her.
Dave, Devin, and Matt don’t even seem to notice his absence, so focused are they on defending the paint job and making fun of it, respectively. Serena slips through the door, her sunglasses hiding her eyes, but her cheeks slightly redder and puffier than normal. She takes off her T-shirt and lies on the ground with her book, like she always does, but this time, she faces away from the group.
Georgia nudges me. “What’s up?” she whispers.
“I almost walked in on Toby and Serena having a huge fight,” I say to her in a low voice. “She was yelling at him about cheating on her. And about the fact that he’s almost two decades old and all his friends are in high school.”
Georgia blinks. “Shit,” she says. “Wow. I mean, she’s not wrong. But at the same time…”
“He’s Toby,” I finish.
“Exactly. He’s Toby. He’s just around, all the time. But I told you he was a cheater, remember. I’m not surprised about that at all. I’m just surprised she puts up with him. That she even has any time to put up with him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, her parents have been divorced for ages now, and her dad married this woman who was way, way younger than him, and they had twins, and Serena takes care of them all the time. Her stepmom works weird hours, so she’s basically responsible for them after school. Or camp, I guess, in the summer. They don’t go here, though—they’re too old.”
As we’re talking, Toby walks back from around the corner of the building, his stride as brisk and cheerful as it’s ever been. I try hard not to stare. I can see Serena looking up, but she doesn’t leave, simply turns back to her book and brushes her long hair over the side of her face. Toby doesn’t even glance at her as he sits next to Matt, Dave, and Devin.
“How do you know all this?” I ask Georgia. I had no idea.
“Well, her dad works with my dad, which is how I know the stuff about the divorce and also why he can’t take care of his own kids like a responsible adult. And plus, Serena and I are the only two girls at JAC, so we talk a fair amount. She’s pretty private, but you can’t help but learn a little about someone when you talk to them every day.”
Georgia lies down, apparently thinking over the new information, and I follow her lead. I never thought of Serena as a person with any depth at all. I am so lost in thought that I don’t catch any of the chatter among the guys, so I am startled when Toby yells, “Shut the fuck up, y’all.” Georgia and I raise our heads.
“Friends,” he says. “The boys and I have been discussing something. Georgia, Serena, I believe you’ve been privy to the earlier portions of this discussion. It is in regards to the end-of-summer Great Adventures trip, and as I believe everyone understands, it is utterly unprecedented.” He’s looking around the group like a prosecutor at a jury. Serena is still facing away from him, but she’s turned her head to listen. “Great Adventures has always been of an egalitarian nature. For the people, by the people, et cetera. And what we’re proposing is to make it a birthday party, a joint birthday party.”
“Yes!” Georgia yells, sitting straight up. “I told you this was a great idea months ago!”
“And I do not think,” he continues, raising his voice, “that we would commit to this, this crack in the great wall of tradition, were it not to honor two of the most high-quality ladies in the area. Georgia and Caroline, after great pains and hours of deliberation, we offer you this rare opportunity: the chance to celebrate your birthday, with us, as the guests of honor at the end-of-summer Great Adventures trip.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Georgia says, bouncing up and down on her heels.
“What are we talking about again?” I ask.
“Go with it, Caroline.” He extends a hand to each of us. “Do you accept?”
“Uh, sure,” I say. I put my hand in his. It’s large and damp.
“Obviously,” Georgia says. She’s way more enthusiastic, grinning ear to ear and bouncing in place. Only a few minutes ago, we were talking about what a shithead Toby was, and she appears to have forgotten all about it. But I get it. His excitement and charisma are infectious.
“We have a deal,” Toby announces. He raises our hands as if we’re two prizefighters who have somehow both won the match. “Caroline. Georgia. Great Adventures. August 30. The greatest, grandest, most historically significant end-of-summer aquarium party I will have ever organized or experienced.”
The group cheers—except for Serena, who totally ignores us and turns back to her book. Georgia cheers loudest of all, throwing an arm around me and squeezing. “I am so fucking excited,” she says to no one in particular, and Matt nods.
“Gonna be excellent,” he says. “It was fuckin’ great last year, and we didn’t even have anything to celebrate except not having to work anymore.”
They keep talking like that, going over the rides at the park, the carpooling situation, and the history of the event—which I forgot existed, although now that I’m thinking of it, I have heard them mention it.
I’m torn. As I listen, Georgia chiming in with questions and requests—who’s driving, if they’ll be able to smuggle in booze, a nonnegotiable demand for soft-serve ice-cream cones dipped in chocolate—it does sound pretty great. The last time I went to an amusement park with friends, I was eleven. It was also for a friend’s birthday party. I remember it was a Saturday in May, and even though I was too scared to go on the roller coasters, I still had the time of my life, getting dizzy on the Tilt-a-Whirl and eating mountains of junk food. I didn’t stop talking about it for the rest of the summer. I loved it so much that I begged my parents to take me back for my birthday, and they did. Except of course, none of my friends could come, so it was just me and them. It was still fun, but a little awkward.
This will be much better. With real friends. It’s hard not to smile as Georgia giggles and crows in delight at each new promise.
“There’s no reason we can’t have cake in the car on the way down,” Toby says, and Georgia launches herself at him in a clumsy hug. Serena starts to turn, then sighs. I try to imagine her on a roller coaster: sitting there totally expressionless while she’s whirled up and down and every which way.
But the only reason this isn’t absolutely 100 percent perfect is that August 30 is two days before I leave, and I was kind of planning to spend some time with my parents, seeing as I won’t be anywhere near them for the foreseeable future. I’ve been avoiding thinking about how pissed they’ll be when I leave—or even how to tell them I’m going—and whenever I do let my mind wander to them, the guilt pulls on me hard like a riptide. Jake and I haven’t talked about Christmas and Thanksgiving. I don’t know if he’s planning on us coming back or not. Even if he is, September to the end of November is a really long time. Plus, setting my parents aside, I’m sure there will be all kinds of things to hammer out with Jake in that last weekend. It’d be nice to do that with him in peace, so we aren’t so rushed on Sunday.
But I can’t bail now. It’s clear that what I thought was a minor social gathering is actually a big fucking deal. And most of me really is excited about it, this last hurrah of summer.
So I try to set aside the uneasy, scared part of myself, as I ha
ve been doing so much these past few weeks. I launch into the conversation, wrapping an arm around Georgia, oohing and ahhing at the answers to her unending questions. After a few minutes, the uneasiness is almost gone entirely, so far off to the sides I can barely see it in my peripheral vision.
Later, as Georgia is driving me home, she puts her hand on my knee. Her palm is warm and dry, slightly cracked from the chlorine.
“I just want you to know,” she says, “that I recognize it’s a big deal for you to come to this birthday party, with it being only two days before school starts.” That’s how she’s been referring to it: school starting. It’s technically accurate, but it feels like a euphemism, as if she is talking around my impending absence to pretend it won’t exist.
“But,” she continues, “it really matters to me, and there’s no one I’d rather spend my birthday with than you, because you’ve kind of become my best friend, and I’m just really excited and happy to have you there. And…” She looks at me. “I hope you are too.”
The light turns green, and she removes her hand from my leg to turn left into my neighborhood.
“Honestly, it’s not that big a deal,” I say, and as I say it, I start to believe it. “I actually can’t wait. It’s gonna be great. I mean, I know birthdays are important to you, but I haven’t had friends at my birthday since elementary school, so it’s a pretty big deal for me too.”
She flashes a glance at me before looking back to the road. “Really?”
“Really. Seriously, Georgia, I’m excited.”
She smiles a little and turns the radio up. It’s one of those songs that always played at the pool when I was a kid. I associate it with cold water and hot plastic chairs and soft-serve ice cream from the truck that came by on Saturdays. A song about teenagers from a time when I wanted to be a teenager so badly, because it seemed like the most perfect and glamorous age, the freedom and knowledge of adulthood with the glory and style of youth. In this moment, that dream is real, and I am sixteen and beautiful and perfect, the universe spread out before me on this slim suburban road.
The Goodbye Summer Page 20
