Big Summer(108)

“No,” I said. “It won’t. They might be surprised, but in the end, I think they’ll be fine. Because they love you.”

Darshi sighed again and nodded. “Sleep tight, you two,” she called into the kitchen, and took the pajamas and the toothbrush into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

I took Nick by the hand and led him to my bedroom, where he took the desk chair, and I sat, cross-legged on my bed.

“So what should we do for our second date?” he asked. “I’m thinking dinner and a movie.”

I burst into shrieky laughter, which quickly turned into tears. Nick came over to the bed and sat down beside me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It seems I’m a little emotional right now.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You’re allowed to be sad.” He let me lean against him, holding me until I stopped crying.

“What about you?” I asked when I could speak. What about us? I thought.

“I should go home,” he said.

Ah. I nodded. I’d expected it, even though hearing him say it left me hollow inside.

“I’ll miss you,” I said. “It’s been… well. It’s been something.”

He pulled me close for a squeeze. “I’ll go back to the Cape to officially quit. Assuming I haven’t been fired by now. Then I’ll go to Boston to resign and say goodbye. Then I’ll come here.”

“And do what?”

Shrugging, he said, “Get used to riding the subway, I guess.” I felt his body shift as he sighed. “On the bus ride down, I had a lot of time to think. My whole life, I’ve kind of taken the path of least resistance. I went to college in Vermont because I like to ski; I took the job in Boston because one of my buddies ran the program and it came with health benefits. I just did whatever was easy. And I could probably keep doing that—just the next thing, and the next thing, and the next thing—until I’m old. Or dead.” He rubbed his thumb against my cheek. “I want to make a choice. This was my mother’s place. It’s where she worked. It’s where she met my father. I know that she loved it on the Cape, but that was where she went to hide. This is where her life was, her real life. I think I want to try living here, too.” He shrugged again. “Maybe get one of those Instagram accounts the kids are talking about. I guess it’s time.”

“It’s funny,” I told him. “I was thinking that I could maybe ditch all of this and move to Cape Cod. Maybe do less of the influencer thing. Work on my art for a while.”

I felt him smiling more than I saw it.

“We can talk it over,” he said. “Maybe we’ll try it here, then try it there. Or somewhere else completely. But, whatever we decide, I’d like to stick together. I mean, I might have to rescue you again.”

“Excuse me, I believe that I rescued myself just fine.”

“True.” He pulled me upright and brought me close, resting his forehead against mine.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” I said. His fingers were warm against my fingers, his lips gentle against mine, and I thought how lucky I was, how lucky we were, that, in spite of everything, we’d found each other.

When we broke apart, I said, “Listen. You don’t have to make me any promises.” I smoothed my hair and tried to catch my breath. “We’ve both had a traumatic experience. This is just biology. Our bodies are telling us to do something life-affirming.”

He was giving me a lazy smile. “So is it a bad thing if we listen?”

“My point is that this…” I gestured at him, then down at the bed. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He put one finger under my chin, tilted my face toward his, and brushed his lips against mine. The kiss started off gentle but soon deepened, until his tongue was in my mouth, and both of my hands were in his hair, which felt smooth against my fingers. He smelled like pine and salt, clean and good; and he felt warm against me, solid and present. I could feel his heart beating when he held me.

“What if I want it to mean something?” he asked. His forehead was against my forehead, his hands were on my arms.

“I think that maybe I could be okay with that.”

He whispered “Sweetheart” into my ear. When Bingo tried to climb onto the bed at an inopportune moment, he set her gently on the floor. And, after more kissing and less clothing, after I’d made sure he had a condom and that the door was locked, a moment arrived when I was nothing but sensation, nothing but lips and hips and the glorious feeling of Nick moving inside me, with the force of the tide’s pull against the ocean floor, when my brain finally shut off, and I stopped thinking about Leela, and Drue, and anything at all.



* * *




At four in the morning, Nick was asleep, lying on his side, making adorable whistling snores with every exhalation. Bingo was curled up underneath the crook of his legs, her chin resting on his calf, adding her own snores to the choir. I eased myself out of his embrace and tiptoed across the floor, climbed through the window and out onto the fire escape, the place where I’d sat and cried, plotting my revenge, thinking, I’m going to change my life, and when I do, everything will be different. I’ll be thin, and I’ll be pretty, and I’ll make Drue Cavanaugh pay.