Every Summer After(78)

I hummed a noncommittal sound in response, suddenly fully aware of all the ways Charlie had been trying to help me get out of my funk this summer. Even though I had been a troll. And if it hadn’t been obvious to me then, it would have been later that evening.

We had pulled up to the back of the Tavern, my legs too wobbly for the walk from the town dock to the restaurant, and Charlie turned off the engine and turned to face me. “So I’ve got an idea, and I think it might cheer you up a bit.” He gave me a hesitant smile.

“I already told you three-ways are a hard limit for me,” I told him with a straight face, and he chuckled.

“Whenever you get sick of my brother, let me know, Pers,” he said, still laughing. I went still. I’d never spent so much time with Charlie. And the thing was, I enjoyed it. A lot. Some of the time I even forgot how mad I was at Sam and how much I missed him. Charlie didn’t have a girl hanging off him that summer, and he was a surprisingly good listener. He bulldozed over my bad moods, either ignoring them completely or calling me out. “Being a bitch doesn’t suit you,” he told me the last time I snapped at him after receiving another painfully short email from Sam. Now the air in the truck was as thick as caramel sauce.

“The drive-in,” Charlie blurted, blinking. “That’s the idea. They’re playing one of those cheesy old horror movies you like, and I thought it might be a good distraction. Your parents are in the city this week, right? I figured you might be a bit lonely.”

“I didn’t know there was a drive-in in Barry’s Bay,” I said.

“There’s not. It’s about an hour from here. Used to go all the time in high school.” He paused. “So what do you think? It’s playing Sunday, and we’re not working.” It felt dangerous in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Horror movies were mine and Sam’s thing, but Sam wasn’t here. And I was. And so was Charlie.

“I’m in,” I said, hopping out of the truck. “It’s exactly what I need.”



* * *





I GOT SAM’S email on Saturday. I had trudged up from the lake after a hectic shift, my skin still sticky despite the cool wind on the boat trip home. Practically every order was for pierogies, and we’d run out halfway through the night. Julien had been foul, and the tourists weren’t too happy about it, either.

The cottage was completely empty. I showered and fixed myself a plate of cheese and crackers while I booted up my laptop to check my email. This was my usual post-work, pre-call-with-Sam ritual. What was unusual was the unread message from him waiting in my inbox, sent a couple of hours earlier. Subject line: I’ve been thinking. Sam’s emails usually came in the morning, before his seminar, or in the afternoon, right afterward. One-or two-sentence updates, and they never had subject lines. My limbs went numb with dread as I opened it and saw the paragraphs of text.


Percy,

The last six weeks have been hard. Harder than I thought. I’m still not used to this room or the bed. The school is huge. And the people are smart. The kind of smart that makes me realize how growing up in a small town gave me a false sense of my own intelligence. I look around during a lecture or a lab and everyone seems to be nodding along and following instructions without need for clarification. I feel so behind. How did I even get accepted into this workshop in the first place? Is this what all of school will be like?

I know I spent our last bit of time together studying, but it wasn’t enough. I should have worked harder. I need to work harder now if I want to succeed here.

And I miss you so much. I can’t concentrate sometimes because I’m thinking about you and what you might be doing. When we talk, I can hear your disappointment in me—for not telling you about the workshop and for how unhappy I seem here. I don’t want it all to have been a waste. I will work harder. I will succeed here. I have to.

And that’s why I think we need to establish some boundaries. I love hearing your voice on the other end of the phone, but I hang up and feel nothing but loneliness. Soon you’ll be starting school too, and you’ll see what I mean. We owe it to ourselves and each other to immerse ourselves—you in your writing and me in the lab.

What I’m proposing is a break from constant communication. Right now, I’m thinking a phone call every week. We can make it the same time—like a date. Otherwise, you’ll be all I think about. Otherwise, I won’t be able to do this thing that I’ve wanted for so long, I won’t be the person I want to be. For you, but also for me. Just a little space—to build a big future.

What do you think? Let’s talk about it tomorrow—I was thinking Sunday could be our day.

Sam



I read the whole thing three times, my cheeks wet with tears, a wad of crackers lodged in my throat. Sam wanted space. From us. From me. Because talking to me made him feel lonely. I was a distraction. I was holding him back from his future.

Sam was kidding himself if he thought I’d wait till tomorrow to talk about this. To fight about this. This was not how you treated your best friend, and it was absolutely not how you treated your girlfriend.

His phone rang three, four, five times until he picked up. Except it wasn’t Sam who yelled hello over the music and laughter in the background. It was a girl.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“This is Jo. Who is this?” Was this why Sam didn’t want me calling? He wanted to have other girls over?