The Summers

by Iva-Marie Palmer

  My dad ran his fingers over a few of the postcards, tracing around their borders. There were old pictures of the Cape, and some with women and men in crazy modest old-fashioned bathing suits. But he wasn’t really looking at any of them.

  Tea stood up and clapped her hands together once. “So, since we’re all here, I wanted to bring something up.” She sounded like a miniature CEO, even if she was wearing pajamas with roller-skating cookies on them.

  Eliza shut the wedding binder with what seemed like relief and Devin put down his phone. Even my dad looked up from the table. Tea really did know how to work the room.

  Tea held up the iPad and scrolled through some of the photos. They were of Mom’s paintings. “So, I was thinking how we have so much of Mom’s artwork upstairs and even if we all take our favorites, there’s so much more at home and in our rooms and everywhere,” she began. “But . . . Landrys’ has two big banquet rooms that really have no personality and Mom always liked to share her artwork. Mr. Landry said he’d love to outfit the rooms with Mom’s pieces and he’ll make a big donation to a charity in return. I thought something to help kids. Mom would like that.”

  “That’s a great idea, sweetie,” Eliza said, and for a split second, I caught her exchange a meaningful look with my dad.

  “Yes, good thinking,” he added. It was almost too easy. He didn’t even flinch. And what did the look between him and Eliza mean?

  I caught Becca’s eye over the counter. She’d seen it, too, I could tell.

  Tea hadn’t, though. “Great, I’ll start on it and run everything by you guys first.”

  She happily buzzed up the stairs, forgetting to eat her breakfast.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT STARTED TO rain after breakfast. Not a light summer rain, either, but a massive downpour that felt symbolic, a signal that any shot I’d had with Ryan was washed out to sea. I knew that was some pretty lackluster symbolism. But with my mind so focused on how I’d killed my relationship, I wasn’t coming up with high-quality anything. Wallowing was, it turned out, not a great creativity booster for me.

  My sisters and Devin decided to go to the movies, but I begged off, saying I had some work to do. The truth was that it was the movie I’d already seen with Ryan. My dad turned down the offer, too, and flipped on a baseball game. “See, it’s not raining everywhere,” he said as the Orioles took the field. It was what he always used to mention on rainy days, and it was comforting to hear him say it again.

  We enjoyed an easy silence, drinking iced tea and watching the game like it really mattered to us, even though we were Mets fans. If I let myself just listen to the announcer’s voice and the rain behind it, I could almost believe things were back to the way they used to be. If I walked up to the studio, my mom would be painting with the frenzy that a good rainstorm stirred up in her. But then my glance would drift out our back door and toward the Landrys’ backyard, and I remembered that we were long past those days.

  After a few innings, Dad looked sideways at me and said, “Everything okay, Katie?”

  The rain was beating out a thumping rhythm on the windows. I bit my lip and said, “No, not really.”

  “What is it?” It was the first time I could remember my dad asking what was going on with me.

  “Well, I’m seeing someone. . . .” I started hesitantly. I’d never talked to my dad about guy issues before.

  He smiled, one of soft acceptance. “You’re eighteen. I know you date,” my dad said, urging me to continue.

  “Well, the big issue is, I wanted to keep the relationship just between us—there are reasons—but he wants to be more . . . official,” I said. And Eliza might hate me if that happens. But I didn’t say that, knowing that, beneath the surface, there were more reasons that had more to do with me than Eliza.

  “You can’t push things. You need to go at your own pace,” he said. He reached out and patted my shoulder. “Not everyone follows the same timeline for these things.”

  He was talking to himself as much as to me, I knew. Over the last three years, he’d been urged, by family, friends, and neighbors “to get back out there,” and he didn’t want to. In fact, Ryan had told me that he’d overheard his parents offering to set up my father and he’d reacted poorly. Mrs. Landry was worried that my dad was mad at her, a fact that made me sad. It explained why my father was watching the game with me and not Mr. Landry.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said. If it had been my mom, she would have probed until she knew all the details. Then she would have given me an answer that was either as layered as one of her oil paintings or as black and white as one of her charcoals. My dad’s help was neither nuanced nor succinct, but it was nice that he was trying. It was progress. Ironically, I knew the person who would give the best advice was Eliza—when I’d asked, she’d guided me through some of the few arguments I’d had with Matt.

  I spent the rest of that day and the next just hoping I could get Ryan to talk to me. He sent a few texts to say hello and ask how I was. I sent effusive, cheery replies hinting at getting together. In one, I even signed off with a series of x’s and o’s, feeling their paltriness even as I typed them. I couldn’t bring myself to ask any bigger questions over text, and I figured that Grace was right—talking was better. But I watched and waited for Ryan’s truck to be around, and it never showed up . . . not after Grace’s on Monday, and not when I peeked out my window at midnight.

  Tuesday morning, after a poor night’s sleep, I woke up fuzzy. Embarrassingly, I was clutching my bear tightly to my chest, as if someone was going to steal it in the night. I didn’t want it to become a souvenir of that one time I slept with Ryan Landry, but I didn’t want to get rid of it, either. I wanted us to be real. If I hadn’t already lost him, it was time to make things official. And that started with telling Eliza.

  Standing in front of the narrow mirror that leaned against one wall, I thought about what I was going to say to my sister and what she would say to me. Surely, she’d start with the fact that sisters didn’t date sisters’ exes. “But don’t you think,” I started, rearranging pieces of my dark hair around my face in what I hoped looked sophisticated. “Don’t you think this is a lot different than if I dated, say, Devin? You and Ryan happened years ago, and you were basically kids.” I looked at my Coolidge High Cross Country T-shirt and cutoffs and decided that I also needed a more mature outfit if I was going to say Eliza was a kid at eighteen but I was not. And mascara.

  I put on a white sleeveless blouse and a pair of gray-and-orange-striped shorts from J. Crew, rehearsing the whole time. “I know you had Ryan first but it’s unfair to declare him off-limits because of that. We’ve been dating awhile and we’re really good together,” I said. A wave of sadness came over me, as I thought about how we were really good together. I didn’t like thinking that in the past tense.

  With all of my arguments and rationales stacked up in my mind, I headed down the stairs to find Eliza.

  She was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with my dad. A scribbled-in notebook was in front of her, her wedding binder closed at her elbow.

  They didn’t see me come in, and I heard Eliza say, “I’ll help you with it.” She patted my dad’s hand. “It will be hard, but it will be okay. Right now, just take care of yourself. Try to spend some time at the beach, or on the boat. Or why not with the Landrys?”

  “I know all that’s good for me. It’s just, doing those things takes more energy than you’d think,” he said, a sigh deflating him around the shoulders. His hair was still dark, but he looked so much older than I’d ever remembered him being.

  “I know, Dad,” Eliza said. She looked woefully at her wedding binder, then back at my father. I got mad at her sometimes, but when I was being honest with myself, I knew she was the one my dad leaned on the most. Sometimes, it meant she took him on so the rest of us didn’t have to, and she never complained about it.

  Eliza
looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. “Kate,” she said, surprised. “You look so nice. Those shorts are cute.” Her tone was chipper and obviously a cue to my dad to perk up for my benefit.

  “Katie, come sit with us,” my dad offered, patting a chair. He smiled, but whatever he’d been upset about was still bothering him. I could tell by the tone of his voice. “Are you feeling better?”

  Even by the way he offered the seat, I could tell he wanted to be alone for a while. Besides, my speech to Eliza was branded in my mind, and I wanted to have our talk as soon as we could. “I am,” I said, “but I was hoping Eliza had a little time.” My dad nodded his understanding, like he thought this was a good idea. “Do you want to go to Main Street for a pedicure?” I asked.

  She scrunched her nose at me. “I thought you hated pedicures.”

  “People change,” I said. It was true; I had hated pedicures for a long time. The idea of making someone touch my feet always seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. As a runner, I always had blisters and calluses galore. But, problems aside, the way Ryan looked at me made me feel pretty, and it made doing something feminine feel acceptable.

  “Okay, let me get my purse,” she said, brightening. “Dad, you’ll be okay?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I think I’ll take the boat out.”

  “Good idea,” Eliza said. “Just be careful.” We each gave him a kiss good-bye and headed down the front steps. Ryan’s truck, I noticed, was still gone. The empty parking spot triggered a hollow ache in my chest.

  We decided to walk. Eliza talked about wedding plans on the way to Main Street. It made sense why. She had less than two months before the whole thing took place and most people took a year to plan a wedding.

  “Was everything okay with Dad?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, just some wedding details. Relatives. You know,” she said with a shrug, but I could tell she was still stressed. She’d lost weight, and not in a healthy wedding-diet kind of way. Her cheeks weren’t as full; she looked older. And the tan that had started to appear this summer had already begun to fade from spending time indoors wedding planning.

  But her energy was there. As we walked, Eliza was like a human to-do list, rattling off tasks and things she needed to buy. I felt a little bad for her because she should have been planning all of this stuff with our mom. Mom, who would have tempered some of Eliza’s high-strung nervousness. Mom, who was the best at knowing when things were too little or inconsequential to worry about. She’d tell Eliza that no one would remember the flowers, or the favors, or even the food. I think, deep down, I knew this, too. I thought about telling Eliza myself. But I wasn’t our mom and it didn’t seem right.

  There was nothing I could offer her. I realized that, even though she’d brought us all out here, she really hadn’t asked for that much from us as her bridesmaids. Or at least not much beyond basic sisterly bonding. She was shouldering the more boring responsibilities. A guilty twinge shot through me as I thought about having given her a hard time.

  We took the boardwalk path, passing all the haunts where we’d spent time as kids. Dale’s Dream Cone, Shakey’s Sandwich Shack, where Becca had once won free sandwiches for a whole summer when she almost guessed the correct number of seashells in a jar. The bathing suit shop where I’d begged my mom for a string bikini and had changed my mind as soon as I’d tried it on.

  Nails and Sails had a wait. It was busy, probably because the Fourth of July was a few days away and everyone was getting ready for parties. As soon as we sat down in the small waiting area, I began to feel antsy. I didn’t want to wait to tell Eliza until our feet were soaking. What if she got really angry and I wanted to leave? I couldn’t exactly just jump out of the footbath and take off down the street.

  “So, you know how you’ve been wondering what I’ve been up to?” I said to Eliza as we both watched a little girl choose a pink polish to show her mom.

  “I haven’t been nosy, have I? I know you’re a writer, and you need your space.”

  “Well, there’s some writing,” I said, trying not to think about my unsatisfying short stories. “But actually, I’ve been spending time with someone, and I’m worried it’s going to bother you when I say who.”

  Eliza gave me her funny squinty look again. I knew the look well. It was a look just for me that meant, “Just say it already.” Because if the situation were reversed, Eliza would have already said her piece without all the buildup. It was a look that embodied both how different we were and how well we understood each other. “As long as he’s not a married man or something, why would I mind? Is it Morrison? He’s cute. Even if he’s a rebound from Matt.”

  She was making this worse. Or maybe I was. “No, it’s not Morrison. . . .” I trailed off. Sighing, I let go, forgetting all the bullet points I’d practiced. “It’s Ryan. Ryan Landry. Your Ryan.” Why had I said it like that? My whole point was going to be that he wasn’t her Ryan any longer. But here I was, acting like I was borrowing him. Was that part of my issue with going public? That people would never think of Ryan as mine?

  Eliza cocked her head to one side, studying me with an impassive look on her face. “My Ryan?” She laughed. “Since when?”

  This was weirder than if she had yelled at me. “Since forever.”

  “No, I mean how long have you been seeing him?”

  Oh no. Here was the part I’d hoped she wouldn’t ask. “Since a couple of days after we got here,” I said. My shoulders closed in toward my neck, like I was a tiny animal hiding from a predator.

  “And you’re just telling me now? What, have you guys been going out in disguise?” I couldn’t tell from her face if she was angry or impressed.

  “No, just keeping it low-key.” I looked down at my toenails in my flip-flops.

  “Oh, he must love that,” Eliza said, shaking her head. “You’re dating the king of Harborville and you don’t want anyone to know. What reasons have you been giving him?”

  “That I, uh . . . don’t want the whole world to know yet.”

  “Seriously, Kate? He’s going to think you’re embarrassed to be with him or something. Believe it or not, Ryan can be insecure.”

  I thought of the way he’d left the other day and felt even worse. I hated when Eliza was right. . . . I’d thought of Ryan as more than human, and that all the things that would injure a normal guy’s ego wouldn’t bother him.

  “I was afraid you’d be mad,” I said softly.

  Eliza playfully swatted me on the arm. “That’s why you should have just told me right away,” she said. “Crisis averted.” She sighed and turned toward me.

  “Look, it’s been three years since I’ve even talked to Ryan, and I’m engaged to Devin. We’re grown-ups. You’re a grown-up,” she said, her tone implying that I was doing a subpar job. “It would be pretty cruel of me to call dibs on a summer fling.” She reached out and gave me a hug across the chairs. “Don’t worry so much. That’s my job, little sis.”

  I hugged her back, letting the relief echo through me. This had been the most hassle-free, go-ahead-and-take-him boyfriend transaction in history.

  Eliza pulled back from the hug and nodded wisely. “You and Ryan, huh? I can see it. Two dreamers. It’s cute.” She grinned at me. “And he’s a great kisser, right?”

  I blushed, more because she’d just said what a good match we were. What did she mean, dreamers? I hadn’t even thought about what kind of couple we were. . . .

  “You can breathe now, Kate,” she said, alerting me to the fact I hadn’t answered her. “Your bad big sister isn’t going to put the kibosh on your hot summer boyfriend. And really, if I did, you’d be an idiot to listen to me.”

  “What about sisters before misters?”

  Eliza laughed. “I don’t think that applies when the sister dated the mister before the official onset of adulthood.” She shook her head. “You and Ryan. Just r
emember, I taught him everything he knows.”

  “Eliza! Gross.” She would take credit. I tried not to think about the extent of her lessons.

  Now she turned to face me, her eyes serious. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” I said, prepared to do just about anything for her.

  “I’m having trouble with my vows. For the wedding.” She pursed her lips and set down her coral nail polish, picking up a bottle of red from a small table. It was unlike her to be so fidgety and indecisive. “This is better for the Fourth. . . .”

  “Your vows?” I prompted.

  She turned back toward me. “I’m so flighty today. Sorry. Anyway, you’re such a good writer. And I’m having trouble getting it all down. Do you think you could help me come up with something? Just about how much I love Devin.”

  The idea that she wanted me to, literally, put words in her mouth was slightly scary. She handed me a folded-up piece of paper from her spiral notebook, and I gently took it from her hands. It was huge for Eliza to ask for help, and I was flattered that she had thought of me. I opened up the note carefully. The vows she had going weren’t much more than a list of adjectives: “generous,” “sweet,” “respectful.” She watched me reading them. “I know, they’re pathetic. When it’s facts, I can do it. When it’s feelings, I suck.”

  “Your feelings can count as facts. I mean, if you really feel them,” I tried to comfort her.

  “Maybe, but I do common sense stuff, agreed-upon facts. When I have to say the big stuff, it comes out wrong. Or weird. I wish I could tap into that stuff the way you do.”

  “I’d be glad to help,” I said. “Is there anything in particular you want to say?”