The Summer I Said Yes

by Tess Harper

  “Vaughn?” a deep, warm voice asked.

  My heart started beating even faster for reasons that had nothing to do with anxiety or fear. “Uh…Peter?”

  “Hey.”

  Oh shit! It was Peter. And I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

  “Emily, are you alright?”

  I coughed. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. You just sounded a little…upset.”

  So the fact that my nostrils were flaring like a bull that had just seen red had come across in my voice. I guess that shouldn’t be surprising. “Sorry I’m just not having the best day.” Or week. No, actually make that month.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Did I want to talk about how I unwittingly and madly fucked one of my barely legal students senseless over the summer? The answer to that was no. No I did not.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I evaded.

  “You sure? I’m a good listener, and I promise not to judge you.”

  Oh…I think it would be impossible for you not to. “I know. You’re the best. However, this just isn’t something that I feel comfortable talking about right now.” As much as I hated to admit it, things were starting to fall apart, and if I talked about them I had a feeling that I’d start to fall apart too.

  “You’re really not gonna budge, Vaughn?”

  I found myself smiling curling despite my nerves. “I’m really not.”

  “Well, damn. I guess my persuasive techniques need a little work.”

  “What persuasive techniques? You just asked me the same thing twice, and then gave up.”

  “Yeah, and with a guy like me, once should be enough.”

  I laughed at that. “Oh whatever.”

  “Oh whatever? That’s not a comeback, Vaughn. That’s a retreat. I think I just won the argument.”

  “No way. I’m gonna say ‘oh whatever’ twice, and then you’ll lose.”

  “So you agree with my logic, then?”

  My head was starting to swim in the most delightful way possible. “Peter, I have no freaking idea what we’re talking about anymore,” I laughed.

  “Well let me clue you in then, girl. We’re talking about how I’m going to meet up with you right now and cheer you up.”

  I stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk. My heart was beating in the same sickening, foolish way that it had when my crush, Billy, in forth grade had asked me if I wanted to hold hands on our way back to recess. “What?”

  “I promise I won’t ask about the thing, whatever it is. I’ll be there for chocolate mocha therapy only. Maybe even pastries if you play your cards right.”

  My mouth started to salivate. “Peter…”

  “And we can talk about fun things, like the gory details of my day, or puppies.”

  “Peter, I can’t.”

  There was a short pause. “Another day, maybe?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, yes, but not for a while. I have so much work to do and I swear that isn’t an excuse. I’m really far behind on my graduate work. Some stuff came up at the beginning of the term and I wasn’t prepared for it, and now I just don’t know. I’m going to the museum right now to look at a few paintings I’m going to use in my paper and clear my head.”

  “The museum, huh? Right now.”

  “Yeah. I’m almost there.”

  “Well, if you want some someone to bounce ideas off of, or to lurk behind you in the shadows, I wouldn’t mind offering my services.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Lurk in the shadows, huh? Now that sounds like something I could get behind.”

  “But not if I’m already behind you. Zing!”

  I almost dropped the phone I was laughing so hard. “That was the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I bet if you let me come I could top it.”

  “Alright.” My lips curled into a competitive smile. “You’re on.”

  Chapter 12

  I arrived before Peter so I texted him to let him know I’d be by the Van Gogh paintings. When I got there I saw a group of kids clustered around one of his portraits.

  A boy with bright red hair gave one of the girls a big smile. I recognized that look. It was generally followed by little boys dropping bugs down girls’ shirts.

  “I heard he sliced off different parts of his body and froze them to eat later because he was too poor to buy real food!” the boy whispered in a spooky voice.

  I smirked. Yep, I was right. The girls shrieked and clutched each other.

  I glanced around. The four kids seemed unattended, which seemed weird. Though it wasn’t in my nature to pry, I was also worried they were lost.

  “Hey,” I said, walking up to them.

  The kids darted around, then froze. “Hi,” the boy with bright red hair said. “I was just telling them everything I know about Van Gough.”

  Well, at least the kids didn’t seem upset. That was good. “Oh really?” I asked.

  The boy nodded. “Yeah. That’s why he has that bandana around his head. He ate his ear.”

  One of the girls frowned. “They didn’t have bandana’s back then, Kevin. Bandanas weren’t invented until like 1995.”

  Alright, there were some inaccuracies I could look past, and some I could not. “You know,” I began, “they actually did have bandanas back then, however that isn’t a bandana wrapped around Van Gough’s head. It’s a bandage. He’s wearing it because he did cut off his ear.”

  The boy’s chest puffed out with pride.

  “However,” I continued, “Van Gough didn’t eat it.”

  The kids all frowned and crept closer. “Well then what did he do with it?” Kevin asked.

  “He mailed it to his brother Theo,” I answered.

  “Ewww!” The girls in the front of the grow squealed. “That’s so gross!”

  The boys turned to each other. “That’s awesome!”

  Kevin nodded. “Yeah. I wish someone would mail me their ear!”

  Oh dear. I was glad they were enthusiastic, but there was a thing as too much enthusiasm.

  “You know,” a deep voice said from behind, “cutting off your own ear hurts a lot. You guys have all skinned your knees, broken bones, or gotten booster shots, right?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to find Peter holding two steaming hot lattes in his hands.

  The kids all answered his question with a nod.

  “Well, cutting off your own ear hurts way more than that. It’s definitely not something you want to try at home.”

  The boys sighed, deflated. “Oh alright.”

  Peter turned his attention to me. “Art museums should come with parental warnings.”

  “Like video games?” Kevin asked.

  “Yep. Just like video games,” Peter said. “And I think Van Gough is rated M.”

  Giddy smiles spread over the boys’ faces. “Cool!”

  “So Emily,” Peter said, coming closer. “Who are your new friends?”

  “Oh, um, I don’t know. I just saw them wandering around alone and decided to check in on them.”

  Peter studied the kids. “You wouldn’t happen to be a part of the group of kids I saw from Ketchum Elementary when I was coming up here, would you?”

  “Yeah, that’s where I go to school,” a girl said.

  Peter and I shared a look. “You know, we should probably all go to the front desk,” I said. “Your teachers are probably worried about you.”

  “Our teacher told us not to go anywhere with strangers!” one of the girls stated sternly.

  “Well, your teacher is a very smart person,” Peter said. “Did she tell you what to do if you guys got separated from the group?”

  The girl looked down. “We are supposed to go to the front desk, but we don’t know where it is.”

  “Alright. Em, you stay with them. I’m going to grab a museum attendant.” With that Peter was off, striding across the room for the hall.


  I turned back to the kids, discovering that I wasn’t the only one watching him go.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” one of the girls asked.

  “No.” Only in my dreams. “He’s just a friend.”

  The girls smiled at each other, then looked back at me. “He looks like Justin Bieber.”

  I grinned. “You think so?”

  “Oh God! Justin Bieber!” Kevin yelled, putting his hands on his face and then pulling the skin down like Edvard Munch’s The Scream. “I hate Justin Bieber! My sisters all have Bieber Fever!” He shivered as he said that last bit as if Bieber Fever was equivalent to the plague.

  I giggled. “That’s got to be pretty hard for you.”

  “They all put on my mom’s makeup and dance around, going baby!” He chanted that last word as he spun around, doing his best to imitate a girl’s high-pitched squeal.

  Just then, Peter returned. “I don’t know if you can blame that on Bieber Fever,” he told Kevin. “Emily still does that.”

  “Hey, I do not!” I replied, swatting his arm.

  Peter and Kevin shared consolatory glances. “See what I mean?”

  A museum attendant and an older woman with a fluffy bob and panicked eyes rushed up to the group. “Oh thank goodness,” the woman with the fluffy bob exclaimed. “I’m so happy to find you four. What happened?”

  The kids looked up, confused. “Sorry Mrs. King.”

  “No sorries, I’m just glad you’re alright.” She looked at Peter and me. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “No problem,” Peter responded as the group left.

  “So, I dance like a girl who has Bieber Fever?” I asked once they were out of earshot.

  Instead of answering, Peter handed me a latte. “Hope it’s still warm.”

  I accepted it, grinning. “Smart move.”

  “I asked for yours to be extra hot,” he added.

  “I’m surprised one of them was for me,” I said in my most innocent voice, “I thought you’d ordered yourself two because one grande non-fat pumpkin spice latte is just not enough.”

  “Oh, one is absolutely not enough.” He smiled. “I finished my first on on the way here. I’m drinking my second now.”

  I laughed. “You really are shameless.”

  He nodded. “I was triple fisting on the way over. I actually had one of those brown drink trays…and when I walked into the building this little old lady was giving me the evil eye. I think she thought I was going to spill the drinks on one of the priceless works of art.”

  I grinned. “Very cute and elaborate explanation Peter.”

  Peter studied me a moment. “You’ve got to be the hottest museum tour guide ever.”

  “I’m not really a museum guide.”

  “Yeah, but you could be.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Maybe.”

  Peter took a sip and then continued, “I remember taking this trip in Jr. High and we got stuck with this lady who hacked when she would say ‘van Gogh’. I mean, it sounded like she was saying, ‘van Gochhhghhgh’. It was awful.”

  We laughed.

  “She never said anything about van Gogh chopping off his ear or sending it to his brother. Those kids loved you.”

  I smiled. “I was just making sure they got their bandana facts straight. Sophie would never have forgiven me if I didn’t.”

  “That’s smart. I don’t think she would have either.”

  I pouted and playfully pushed Peter’s shoulder. I couldn’t help but notice how strong his arms were. It was like I was pushing the arm of a marble Greek statue. Peter was definitely built in godliness perfection.

  I glanced up, realizing that he had been watching me ogle him.

  I felt my face grow hot. Cut it out Emily! Stop blushing!

  “So…” he drawled, “what’s your favorite?”

  “Huh?”

  “C’mon, you’ve got to have a favorite. I want to see it.”

  I still didn’t get it. “Favorite what?”

  He raised his brows and looked down at me.

  Um, I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  “Painting?” he prompted.

  “Oh, hah…” I tried to play it off with a giggle, “yes, a favorite painting. I do have a favorite painting.”

  “Show me.” He said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. That’s why you came, right? To get inspiration and clear your head?”

  I smiled. Ok, guys are not this amazing. I mean, I don’t really think they have frats at the medical graduate school at Harvard, but I feel like I’m the unwitting participant in a bet. Peter’s friend Keanu was like, “dude, so here’s the deal, if you bang that chick before Tyler beats Halo 3, I will give you three Cheeze-It crackers and my signed Kate Upton Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition” and Peter’s was like, “You’re so on bro!”.

  “Emily?”

  “Huh?” I looked up.

  Shit! How long had I been day dreaming? What was wrong with me? I had this incredibly hot guy in front of me who wants to look at artwork and I’m day dreaming about some imaginary bet?

  “Sorry, ahem,” I cleared my throat, “I was just, uh, thinking of which painting was really my favorite.” Such bull shit, you know exactly which painting is your favorite. “You know, there’s just so many to choose from.” I giggled. Ew, did I really just say that? You sound like a ditz. Pull it together Emily.

  I decided to cut my losses and stop babbling. I grabbed Peter’s hand before he could reply. “Follow me!”

  I walked out of Fischer Room and down the hall to the Ellis M. Decan. Then, I stopped in front of a simple picture of a plain looking girl in a milk maid dress. She gazed out of the picture, but not at the viewer. Late afternoon sunlight hit her shoulders. She looked as if she were hiding after finishing her chores in the nearby thicket, daydreaming.

  “This is your favorite?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I replied, not lifting my gaze from the picture. There were many other paintings in the museum I could have shown Peter. I could have taken him to see Cezanne or Matisse, Picasso or Rothko. There were beautiful paintings from late English romanticism, like Constable, Turner, or any painting of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

  But instead I decided to show him my true favorite: this simple, delicate, wistful piece. “I’m not sure why I like this painting so much. I guess I just feel it. You know how sometimes you can look at a piece of art and the boundaries between it and you begin to blur? The chemistry of that kind of attraction isn’t something you can understand by breaking it down into its smaller and smaller parts. It’s not rational. It’s not communicable. You either feel it or you don’t.”

  No one else was in this room. For many moments we just looked at the painting with nothing between us but the sounds of our breathing.

  “I think I could stare at her forever,” I whispered.

  “So could I.”

  I glanced at Peter. His eyes were on me, dark and intense. I blushed and turned back to the painting, suddenly aware of the moment’s intimacy. How long had he been watching me?

  “I think I’ve cleared my head,” I said.

  “Does that mean mission ‘Make Emily Feel Good’ is over?”

  “Not yet.” I swallowed and stepped to the side, closer to him. Slowly, I wrapped my hand around his. “If you still had time, you could walk me home.”

  ***

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around my body. The weather was starting to turn cold. I licked my chapped lips. “Something’s been bothering me, Peter,” I admitted as we waited for the light to change.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Actually, it’s bothering me a lot.” I watched him go completely still.

  He let out some nervous laughter. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “I think I should,” I admitted. “You promised me something and you haven’t delivered.”

  Peter raised a brow. “Was it another latte?”

  “Damn you are
addicted!” I shook my head. “If I have any more caffeine I’m going to start climbing trees.”

  “I’ll climb them with you.”.

  “Everyone will think we’re drunk!”