The Last Summer Girl: A Coming of Age Love Story

by S. C. York

  “What the heck is this?” I whisper to Ryan when the empty seats at our table are taken by Blaire, Carter, and their parents. Ryan leans over to whisper, “Don’t worry about this, sweetie, the Grants are also huge patrons here. It will be fine.”

  “Isn’t this awkward for you, since both you and Blake have been with her?”

  “No. Blaire was just a piece of ass,” he says making me choke on my wine. He gives my back a few whacks, and we try to hide our laughter.

  The Fosters and Grants chat about the regatta, and Eva even contributes to the conversation using her knowledge from working at Fosters. Ryan and I just sit back and enjoy each other’s company trying not to be too rude to the rest of the table. As dinner starts, the conversation gets heavier.

  “I think Donald Trump’s rise can be attributed to the growing sense of populism that was created by the failing economy combined with the working class not seeing any relief under the Obama administration,” Mr. Foster says in response to a question from Blaire’s father.

  “You’re wrong, Father. President Obama’s policies did more for the middle class than any other President, except for Bill Clinton. The Affordable Care Act is a perfect example,” Blake adds.

  “Son, that bill has only crippled the economy more. Where’s that money going to come from by insuring everyone? Premiums are rising, hitting the middle class in the pocket. Obama had eight years in office. What did he do to help the economy? It’s never fully recovered from the crash in 2008,” Charles scoffs.

  “Yes, sir. A crash that he inherited from President Bush’s banking policies,” Blake replies not backing off.

  I bounce my eyes back and forth trying to understand what the heck they are saying.

  “What’s the Affordable Care Act? I’ve only heard of Obamacare,” Eva asks the table. Everyone stares incredulously at her, but I just raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders not knowing the difference either.

  “What do you think, Vanessa? You’re a recent graduate, what’s your opinion?” Blaire asks.

  “I have to confess that I still played with Barbie dolls when President Obama came into office. I was only thirteen,” I reply much to the humor of the men at the table. My joke seems to go over well, but I know they are laughing condescendingly at me and it sucks. I feel stupid. I’ve never paid attention to politics.

  “Where did you go to college?” Mrs. Grant asks.

  “Eva and I both went to Eastern,” I respond.

  “Well, I’m sure they have political science courses there, come on, girls. My Blaire graduated from Columbia with a double degree in political science and business.”

  “That’s nice,” I reply dryly as the conversation continues.

  “My prediction is populism will spread through Europe. The globalist policies of the EU are failing, I mean look at BREXIT,” Mr. Foster says to the table.

  “Did you say breadstick?” I ask, smiling sweetly, gaining more laughs.

  “You’re wrong, Father. A global economy is better for trade and will stabilize financial markets around the world,” Blake replies.

  “How about you, Eva, what’s your take on globalism versus populism?” Mr. Foster asks.

  “I don’t know enough on the subject to have an educated opinion,” she replies.

  “And that’s the problem with state colleges,” Mrs. Grant announces, smiling smugly.

  “Well, I think the European migrant crisis needs to be addressed more seriously. We need to take in more refugees, no excuses.” Blaire declares.

  “Blaire, that’s great in theory, but we have no way to adequately screen these people, our own CIA director admitted this,” Charles insists.

  “Do we need to interrogate families? These are women and children trying to escape civil war and terrorists,” Blaire says getting exasperated.

  “Blaire’s right, Dad, the United States helped create this mess.”

  “You’re both wrong, where are these woman and children? Over seventy percent of the migrants are men in their twenties and thirties. They left the woman and children behind in Syria,” Charles goes on. The debate is starting to get spirited and it’s completely going over my head.

  “I think you all make excellent points, but the problems of the world won’t be settled here tonight. I’d like to raise my glass to free speech, different opinions, and the cool summer breeze on the Sound always being fair,” Ryan says to cheers around the table as we all raise our glasses.

  The rest of the dinner is uneventful and as our plates are cleared, the band takes the stage on the other side of the tent. Ryan and I excuse ourselves and take our glasses of champagne in hand as we stroll on the grounds.

  “Vanessa, do you read any newspapers or watch cable news?”

  “No, why? I find the stories too depressing. Sometimes I scan the news of my Facebook feed, though.”

  “That’s not very mature. You should be more aware of the world around you. This small town is too sheltered. Reality is waiting for you outside, grasp it, empower yourself. I’m glad we are here and not at a work event of mine, you’d embarrass me.

  “Those jokes you made at the table made you look foolish. You came across like an airhead who cares nothing of the real problems facing the world. Do us both a favor and start paying attention.”

  He leaves me on the hill still holding my glass of champagne. Dejected, I stare out across the inky water and see River Road staring back at me from the other side. If only I could be there right now, holding onto my fantasy, because so far, the reality sucks. Quickly, I dab each corner of my eyes and take a deep breath, reaching into my purse I grab my bottle of Paxil and swallow one pill with a sip of champagne. For the heck of it I take a Xanax, too. Having a panic attack right now is something I can’t risk.

  Standing here alone and focusing on my breathing helps me calm down. The live music floats in the air from inside the tent. Is he right? Am I selfish, self-absorbed, and living in my own bubble? I thought my cute remarks went over well, even though they were laughing at me. Maybe Eva is on to something, expanding her horizon.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Ryan says wrapping his arms around me from behind. I stiffen. I’m still hurt at the unexpected lecture he gave me.

  “Ry, you can’t have it both ways, saying you like me for the simple girl that I am, then angry at my lack of world experience.”

  “Vanessa, you don’t have to come from a wealthy family or have gone to an Ivy League school to understand world events.

  “Instead of wasting time on Facebook, inform yourself. I find European news outlets, particularly the UK news sources, to be the most unbiased. Don’t forget to research both points of view on every topic, that way you can form an educated opinion.”

  “Thanks for the advice but you need to work on your delivery. You made me feel like a complete idiot.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Let’s just forget it for now and have the night you always dreamed of. Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back inside the tent to the dance floor.

  Dancing in his arms, I let the tensions from earlier meltaway. It’s like a dream. The party has dwindled and only the younger couples remain. Tonight’s been muggy and every time a server comes by offering me a glass of ice cold champagne I take it. The alcohol, combined with my anti-anxiety pills, make me feel weightless. I float in his arms across the dance floor until the band announces the last song. He holds me close and sings to me as I nuzzle my face into his neck.

  “I’ve never heard this song before, it’s soothing.”

  “Vanessa, this is Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic, a cult classic.”

  “Huh,” I reply sleepily.

  “How many glasses of bubbly did you have?” he asks, supporting most of my weight.

  “About five, maybe six, I think,” I say with a yawn.

  “Are you drunk, sweetie?”

  “No, just supremely relaxed. I took a Xanax or was it Paxil or both? I can’t remember.”

 
“What? You’re drinking with a benzodiazepine in your system?”

  “A benzo what?”

  “It’s the class of drug Xanax is. Christ, Nessa, it’s time to go.”

  This time, he angrily leads me through the tent. Grabbing a few bottles of water from the bartender, he nods to Blake letting him know we are leaving.

  “Slow down. Ryan, you’re dragging me,” I say, trying not to trip in my heels. He just keeps going until we reach the valet, handing him the ticket stub to go fetch his Range Rover.

  “Drink,” Ryan orders, unscrewing the water bottle and giving it to me. I debate whether to call my dad to pick me up.

  “You’re being a dick,” I tell him. Taking the bottle of water and dumping it on the pavement. A few sloshes reach his expensive, shiny shoes. His nostrils flare, dark eyes burning, body wound tight as he looks at me.

  Shit.

  “Vanessa, sometimes I forget how young you are, until moments like this. I’m going to take you home so your nurse mother can look after you. I’m done being your babysitter.”

  I give him my middle finger and walk away, down toward the main road.

  “Don’t bother. I’m going to call a man a thousand times better than you to come get me.” I yell not even looking back at him.

  Stumbling down to Greenmanville Avenue I sit on a bench. Opening my purse, I grab my phone but before I can tap my parents’ number, a police cruiser stops at the curb.

  “Need a ride, Nessa?” Sean asks.

  My urge to have another go at him is superseded by my need to make Ryan burn. Looking to the right, I see the familiar black Rover pulling out and stopping. Ryan starts to open his door, enraged at what I’m about to do.

  “Yes, Sean, I’d love a ride.” Sean gives huge thumbs up to Ryan as he opens the cruiser door allowing me to slide into the passenger seat. I wiggle my fingers out the window at Ryan as we pass by.

  “Nessa, you look hot, babe,” Sean tells me, one hand on the steering wheel the other he puts on the inside of my thigh. As he tries to move his hand up the slit of my dress, I have enough sense left to ask him to remove it. I start panicking, my small moment of victory fading. Oh, shit. What have I done?

  “Stop the car. Please, Sean.”

  He looks over trying to see if I’m serious.

  “I’m sorry, Sean, this was a mistake, please just let me out.”

  He stops the car pulling over on Isham Street. He studies me, his hands resting on the wheel. “Vanessa, you can trust me. I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake. Let me get you home. I’m not letting you out on the side of the road at one in the morning.”

  “I know you’d never hurt me like that. You’re a good cop, Sean, just a shit boyfriend.”

  “I know,” he sighs.

  There’s a tapping at my window. Ryan stands under the lamplight. His skin’s tight over his cheeks as he looks dangerously at the two of us sitting inside the cruiser. I make a move to open the door but Sean reaches over and grabs the handle stopping me.

  “Are you sure about this, Vanessa?”

  “Let her out now,” Ryan’s voice cuts through the glass reaching us inside.

  “Yes,” I answer. He relents and I get out hoping I haven’t done it this time, pushed Ryan too far.

  He drives me back to the Stonington Borough not speaking, barely even looking at me. Staring out the window, I wonder how we got here. A night that was so full of promise has turned to complete shit. As I sniffle, Ryan reaches over me, opening the glove box, and handing me a tissue.

  “Thanks,” I whisper. But he continues to ignore me.

  The tires on the Rover roll over the stone in the Fosters’ driveway. It’s the only sound breaking the silence. Ryan turns the key in the ignition shutting off the car. He rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment then turns to me.

  “Vanessa, I want to be your boyfriend, not your babysitter. Maybe we need some space.”

  “Are you kidding me? We’ve only been dating a month. I only see you on weekends and you want more space. Turn the car back on and take me home. I’m done being jerked around by you.”

  “You’re one to talk, with the stunt you just pulled. After everything you’ve told me and the things I’ve seen myself, you didn’t even hesitate to get in his car. I’m seriously questioning your judgment right now.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, want me for who I am and then say I’m not good enough.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I can teach you about, wine, culture, and politics, but growing up is something you have to learn yourself.”

  I snap my head back. It’s obvious now more than ever how far apart we are. I was deluding myself thinking he could be with someone like me. Despite everything he’s told me, he does he want a more sophisticated woman. My Chanel designer gown didn’t fool anyone tonight. I’m just a small-town girl playing dress up.

  “Are we breaking up then?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “This isn’t what I want either. I can’t pretend to be someone else, Ryan. I’m happy with who I am. We’re too different. I didn’t like how you made me feel tonight.”

  “Why did you take those pills, Vanessa? I’m worried that our relationship is not right for you. You said yourself it had been six months since you needed your prescription but in the past month you’ve needed it what? Three times?”

  “Yes,” I answer lowering my head in shame. He sucks in his breath and shuts his eyes contemplating what to do.

  “I’m not ready for this to end yet.” He moves over and tries to kiss me, but it doesn’t feel right.

  “I can’t just forget everything you said to me tonight, like it was nothing.”

  “Vanessa, I can help you. I know how to battle inner demons and win, let me show you how. We can beat this together.

  “I think you should see a therapist about your anxiety. We need to recognize your triggers. Focus on how to get you in a place where you don’t need to pull your pills out every time something goes wrong. Vanessa, you’re about to work in New York City. It’s a high-pressure, cut-throat place. Picturing you there like this—you’d be a lamb going to the slaughter. I’m worried about you. We don’t have much time left to figure this out, but we can at least try to get ahead of it.”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way before. It never occurred to me that my career could trigger more attacks.”

  “Let’s go inside it’s been a long night. We’ll finish discussing this tomorrow and come up with a plan,” he tells me.

  I let him lead me around the house to the dock. We board Her Majesty and walk down to our stateroom. Unzipping my dress, I carefully hang it up then cross to the bathroom. I press a button on the wall turning on the shower’s powerful jets. I take off my bra and panties, shake out the bobby pins from my hair and open the heavy glass door.

  “Hi,” I say to her. “Tonight sucked. I wanted to be Cinderella at the ball but life isn’t a fairy tale after all. I’m all screwed up and fractured inside.

  “Most of the time the cracks hold together and I get through the day, the weeks, being happy but they are always there inside of me, just a moment away from splintering.” Her emerald eyes stare into mine. I take my finger and trace her lips.

  “I wonder what kinds of things you’ve seen and heard here. There’s something about you that makes me want to confess everything, or maybe it’s just the champagne, Xanax and Paxil.” The bathroom door opens.

  “Vanessa, I heard you talking. Are you all right?”

  “Yep, just working things out with my new therapist,” I tell him pointing to the flame-haired goddess made from tile. He shakes his head at me.

  “You are crazy, but I like you anyway. I’m going get you a few bottles of water. Drink them this time, okay?”

  “Sure,” but I’m not looking at him, I’m staring at her.

  I wrap myself in a plush towel and comb through my long hair, sipping the col
d water Ryan gave me. He comes back in the bathroom with my coconut lotion and tugs my towel down. He works the thick cream into my skin with firm pressure. The massage relaxes me even more and he carries me to bed. The cabin lights are off but light from the porthole filters through. He puts me down and lies over me, slowly and gently kissing me, “Get some sleep,” he says into my hair then pulls me in to cuddle for the night.

  I feel better, rolling over I pick up my phone scrolling to unlock it. It reads 11:25. Ryan snuggles against my back; his face’s buried in the cloud of my hair.

  “We should probably head up for brunch,” he says.

  “I need coffee.”

  “I bet you do after last night.”

  “Can we just forget about it?”

  “No. I meant what I said, we’re going to figure this out,” he sounds serious.

  “We?”

  “Yes, and control your panic attacks,” he says about to grab my lips with his.

  “Wait. I never kiss in the morning if I haven’t brushed my teeth,” I tell him.

  “Fine, I won’t kiss you then.”

  He rolls me over and slides my pajama shorts down giving him access to what he wants. I close my eyes at the sensation of having him so close and so deep. Giving in, I let go. He’s not far behind and we lie back spent.

  After a few minutes, we reluctantly get up. He gives me some privacy to brush my teeth and use the toilet. Turning on the shower I step in, adjusting the water temperature, turning it up so hot it almost burns. Fog fills the glass stall, making my mermaid look as if she’s sitting up in the clouds. The toilet flushes then after a minute Ryan joins me. He unrolls a fresh washcloth and adds soap. Taking the cloth he rubs in circular motions on my breasts and stomach then cleans off the sticky residue left on my thighs. We’ve had sex without a condom before, but he’s always pulled out.

  “We should probably talk about this.”

  “What,” he asks.

  “I get the shot, but you probably shouldn’t have come in me like that. It freaked me out.”

  “I just wanted you to know how special you are to me. I’ve never done that with anyone before, not even Emily.”