Page 28 of Summer After Summer

“Olivia,” Sophie says. “You remember Fred Webb?”

He arches an eyebrow at me, part greeting and part challenge, and it’s all I can do to keep my voice calm as I say, “I do.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

July 2003

When I tell my father I’m bringing a date to the lobster dinner, he pauses and shakes the ice in his glass. Then he starts asking questions. He wants to know who the boy is, and when I tell him it’s the Webb’s nephew, he gets quiet, then shakes his head like he’s saying no, only he doesn’t say the word. I remind him that it’s my birthday, and he shakes his head again because maybe he didn’t remember, but it’s not the Fourth yet, so I can’t get mad at him.

Aunt Tracy arrives with a drink, and I follow her back to the kitchen and cry on her shoulder. She tells me that she’ll make sure there’s an extra ticket and not to worry about it—she’ll deal with my father.

I wipe my tears away and go to bed, and in the morning I’m sixteen.

It doesn’t feel any different. At breakfast, Aunt Tracy’s made my favorite waffles, and Charlotte and Sophie each give me a card that I’m sure she bought for them. Charlotte says she’ll take me to the DMV to get my learner’s permit and give me a lesson or two, and Sophie says she’s glad I’m bringing a date to dinner because Colin is going too, and it’s so cute, we can double.

Then I’m late to practice, and my coach, Matt, is mad at me and makes me hit an extra basket of cross-court winners until I hit every cone he’s placed on the court three times. I don’t tell him it’s my birthday; I just blink back my tears and hope he doesn’t notice because “there’s no crying in tennis.” And then, after training, he surprises me with Ash and a special birthday lunch in the club dining room. Ash gives me this beautiful tennis bracelet, with small diamonds set in silver, and tells me she’ll help me do my hair tonight, and then I cry for real, apologizing to them for being such a baby.

No one mentions my mother.

She had plans for each of us on our sixteenth birthday. It was something she liked to talk about often, how we’d get a special day with her. We’d crawl into her bed, crowding around her while she asked each of us what we wanted to do. It changed every year, except for me. I wanted to go to New York City and watch the US Open in the best seats possible, and it didn’t matter that the Open was at the end of the summer—it was my birthday dream. She used to laugh and kiss the top of my head and say she’d get to work on changing the date, but just in case would I mind deferring the celebration?

Then she died on a cold and rainy January day, and birthdays became afterthoughts. If it weren’t for Aunt Tracy, they wouldn’t get celebrated at all.

After lunch with Ash and Matt, I skip the beach because I don’t want to jinx it. I just hope Fred shows up when he said he would.

When I get home, there’s a box on my bed with a note from my father that says: Your mother wanted you to have this.

I sit down slowly, my hands shaking as I open it. Inside is another envelope, this time with my mother’s handwriting on it. She must’ve written it over a year ago, when she knew she was dying.

I use my thumb to peel it open and pull out the card inside. It’s embossed with a lily, the flower my mom always said meant July. I hold it to my nose. It smells faintly of her perfume, a light flowery scent that always made me feel safe and loved.

Oh, Mom. I miss you so much. It still hurts every day.

She doesn’t answer me—she never does—so I open the note. Two pieces of cardboard fall out, but my eyes are drawn to her words.

I couldn’t get them to change the date. I hope it’s everything you ever wanted anyway. I love you. Mom

I pick up the paper that fell out. It’s a pair of tickets for the US Open, center court for the whole second week. And this must be because of William. I don’t know how he managed it or what he sold to afford it, but when I go to find him to thank him, tears of joy still on my cheeks, I notice that the small sketch of ballet dancers he had on his desk, which was my mother’s favorite thing, is missing.

So I fly into his arms, and I tell him, “Thank you, thank you!” and he pats me on the hand, and his eyes are misty, and he’s “so proud of the young woman I’ve become,” he says. “I know your mother thinks so too.”

I crawl into his lap the way I haven’t done since I was very small, and we sit there like that until our tears dry up.

Now it’s five thirty. Ash is here, finishing my hair, which is long and shiny, streaked with blond and strawberry highlights from the sun. I’m wearing a knee-length white tunic dress covered in light pink flowers and a pair of cream wedges because the party is on the sand, and I never learned to walk in heels anyway.

“He’s going to die,” Ash says, putting my tennis bracelet on my right wrist.

“I might die.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a date.”

“Plus a kiss,” I say. “What if he doesn’t want to kiss me?”

“Please.” Ash grabs my cheeks between her hands. “You’re so cute I want to kiss you.”

I rest my forehead against hers. “I wish you were coming tonight.”

“No, you don’t. Besides, I’ll meet you on the beach after.”

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