Every Summer After(15)

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice rough. I turn to face him straight on, taking another deep breath, and from some deep forgotten place, I find Percy, the girl I used to be.

I lift my chin and give him an incredulous look, putting a hand on my hip. My hand is soaking wet, but I ignore that as well as the swooping in my stomach.

“I’m helping you out, genius.” The water seeps through my dress, but I don’t budge. I don’t look away. A muscle in his jaw twitches and his frown loosens just enough that I know I’ve stuck a knife under his sealer lid. A smile threatens to ruin my poker face, and I bite my lip to hold it back. His eyes flash to my mouth.

“You were always a shit dishwasher,” I say, and he bursts out laughing, the rich bellow bouncing off the kitchen’s steel surfaces. It is the most magnificent sound. I want to record it so I can listen to it later, again and again. I don’t know the last time I’ve smiled this widely.

His blue eyes sparkle when they find mine, then drift down to the wet spot my hand has left on my hip. He swallows. His neck is the same golden brown as his arms. I want to stick my nose at the curve where it meets his shoulder and inhale a hit of him.

“I see your trash talk hasn’t improved,” he says with affection, and I feel like I’ve won a marathon. He motions to the dishes on the counter and sighs. “Mom wanted to have everyone here for a party after she passed. The idea of people standing around with crustless egg salad sandwiches in the church basement after her funeral horrified her. She wants us to eat and drink and have fun. She was very specific.” He says it with love, but he sounds tired. “She even made the pierogies and cabbage rolls she wanted served months ago, when she was still well enough, and put them in the freezer.”

My eyes and throat burn, but I stay strong this time. “That sounds like your mom. Organized and thoughtful and . . .”

“Always stuffing people full of carbs?”

“I was going to say, ‘feeding the people she loves,’?” I reply. Sam smiles, but it’s a sad one.

We stand there in the quiet, surveying the tidy array of equipment and plates. Sam pulls the tea towel off his shoulder and sets it down on the counter, giving me a long look as if he’s deciding something.

He points to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”



* * *





WE’RE EATING ICE cream and sitting on the same bench we used to as kids—not far from the center of town on the north shore. I can see the motel across the bay in the distance. The sun has dipped low in the sky, and there’s a breeze coming off the water. We haven’t spoken much, which is okay with me because sitting beside Sam feels unreal. His long legs are spread out beside mine, and I’m fixated on the size of his knees and his leg hair. Sam grew out of his stringy phase after he hit puberty, but he is so thoroughly a man now.

“Percy?” Sam asks, breaking my focus.

“Yeah?” I turn toward him.

“You might want to eat that a little faster.” He points to the pink and blue trail of ice cream dripping down my hand.

“Shit!” I try to catch it with a napkin, but a blob lands on my chest. I dab at it, but it only seems to make matters worse. Sam watches from the corner of his eye with a smirk.

“I can’t believe you still eat cotton candy. How old are you?” he teases.

I motion to his waffle cone with two massive scoops of Moose Tracks, the same flavor he used to order as a kid. “You’re one to talk.”

“Vanilla, caramel, peanut butter cups? Moose Tracks is classic,” he scoffs.

“No way. Cotton candy is the best. You just never learned to appreciate it.”

Sam raises one brow in an expression of absolute trouble, then leans over and runs his tongue flat over my scoop of ice cream, biting off a hunk from the top. I let out an involuntary gasp, my mouth hanging open as I stare at his teeth marks.

I remember the first time Sam did that when we were fifteen. The glimpse of his tongue shocked me speechless then, too.

I don’t look up until he elbows me in the side.

“That always freaked you out,” he chuckles in a soft baritone.

“Menace.” I smile, ignoring the pressure building in my lower belly.

“I’ll give you a taste of mine to be fair.” He tilts his cone to me. This is new. I wipe away the beads of sweat forming above my lip. Sam notices, giving me a crooked grin as though he can read every dirty thought that’s running through my mind. “I promise it’s good,” he says, and his voice is as dark and smooth as coffee. I’m not used to this Sam—one who seems fully aware of his effect on me.

I can tell he doesn’t think I’ll do it, but that just spurs me on. I take a quick taste of his cone.

“You’re right,” I say, shrugging. “It’s pretty good.” His eyes flash to my mouth, and then he clears his throat.

We sit in awkward silence for a minute.

“So how have you been, Percy?” he asks, and I hold my hands up helplessly.

“I’m not sure where to start,” I laugh, nervous. How do you even begin after so much time has passed?

“How about three updates?” He nudges me, his eyes glinting.

It was a game we used to play. We went for long stretches apart, and whenever we’d see each other again, we’d tell each other our three biggest pieces of news in rapid fire. I have a new draft of my story for you to read. I’m training for the four-hundred-meter freestyle. I got a B on my algebra exam. I laugh again, but my throat has gone dry.