Every Summer After(29)
There’s always been a small, hopeful part buried inside me that felt he must sometimes find his mind drifting to me, to us. He was everything to me, but I know the same was true for him. Hearing him talk about the video store dislodges that deeply hidden sliver of hope, just a little.
“I don’t watch them, either,” I admit in a whisper.
“No?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “Same reason.”
We’re looking at each other, unblinking. The tightness in my chest is almost unbearable. The temptation to lean into him, to show him what he means to me with my hands and my mouth and my tongue, is almost impossible to ignore. But I know that wouldn’t be fair. My heart is a stampede of animals escaping the zoo, but I sit still, waiting for his response.
And then Sam smiles and his blue eyes glint. I can feel what’s coming before he speaks, and I’m already smiling.
I know you, I think.
“You mean you finally got decent taste in films?”
His smart-ass comment chases away the heaviness looming over us, and we both fall into a fit of laughter. Clearly the whisky has taken its full effect because my cackles are broken up with hiccups, and tears are streaming down my face. I put my hand on Sam’s knee to steady myself without realizing that I’ve touched him. We’re still cracking up, and I’m taking big gasping breaths to try to calm down, when a woman’s voice silences our outburst.
“Sam?”
I look up and Sam turns toward the kitchen doors, my hand falling from his knee as he shifts. In the doorway stands a tall blonde. She looks like she’s around our age, but she’s dressed immaculately in white sailor-style trousers and a matching sleeveless silk blouse. She’s thin and crisp looking, her hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of her long neck. I am suddenly fully aware of how crumpled my red dress is and how disheveled my hair must be.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, walking toward us, car keys clenched in one hand. Her expression is cool, and I feel rather than see her sizing me up because I’m looking to Sam in confusion.
“I tried calling you several times,” she says, her hazel eyes oscillating between us. I met some of Sam’s cousins when we were kids, and I’m trying to place this woman among them.
“Shit, sorry,” he says, the words of his apology blurring together. “We got a bit sidetracked.”
She purses her lips. “Are you going to introduce us?” she asks, waving toward me. She has the fair Florek coloring but definitely not the warmth.
Sam turns and gives me a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Percy, this is Taylor,” he says.
“Cousin?” I ask, but Taylor answers for him.
“Girlfriend.”
* * *
SAM IS INTRODUCING me to Taylor. His girlfriend. Not his cousin.
Sam has a girlfriend.
Of course he has a girlfriend!
How had I not considered this? He is a hot doctor. He’s tall and he’s got those eyes, and the messy hair is working for him. I’m pretty sure whatever hard surface he’s keeping under his T-shirt would make me weep. The Sam I knew was also kind and funny and brilliant—too smart for his own good, really. And he’s so much more than all that. He’s Sam.
Taylor is standing in front of us, her hands on her hips, looking fresh and stylish and imposing in her all-white outfit while I am sitting with my mouth hanging open. What normal person wears all white without getting some kind of stain on the front, anyway? Come to think of it, who wears dress pants and a matching silk top on a Thursday night in Barry’s Bay? On any night in Barry’s Bay? I want to squirt her with one of the restaurant’s ketchup bottles.
“Taylor, this is Percy,” Sam says as though he’s mentioned me before, but Taylor looks at him blankly. “Remember? I’ve told you about Percy,” he prods. “She had a cottage next door. We hung out all the time when we were kids.”
Hung out? Hung out?!
“How cute,” Taylor says in a way that makes it sound like she doesn’t think our childhood hangouts are very cute at all. “So you two are just catching up?” She directs the question to Sam, but her eyes flash over to me, and I can see the assessment she’s making: threat or no? My dress is wrinkled and possibly sweaty. There’s an ice cream stain on my boob. And there’s no way I don’t smell like whisky. Her shoulders relax a little—she doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about.
Sam is saying something in response to Taylor, but I have no idea what because I’m suddenly so nauseated that I have to hold on to the counter.
I need air.
I start taking deep breaths. Iiiin one, two, three, four and ouuut one, two, three, four. The whisky, which was warm and honey-sweet moments ago, now tastes stale and sour in my mouth. Puking is a very real possibility.
“You all right, Percy?” Sam asks, and I realize I’ve been counting out loud. He and Taylor are both looking at me.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum tightly. “But I think the whisky is catching up to me. I should probably go. It was nice meeting you, Taylor.” I get down from my spot at the bar and take a step forward, and my foot catches on the leg of Sam’s stool. I stumble right in front of Taylor, who, by the way, smells like a fucking rose garden.