Page 25 of Summer After Summer

I look down the length of the driveway. It’s lined with large maple trees that turn a brilliant red in the fall. “I don’t know how long I’m staying.”

“I thought Charlotte said—”

“It’s still up in the air.”

“Okay. Anyway, I should get going.”

“Why don’t I watch the kids tonight? So you can go to the party with Colin.”

Her eyes widen. “What? Are you sure?”

“I don’t know any of these people anymore. It’s your life, not mine.”

“Thank you!”

“No problem. I’ll be there in an hour?”

Sophie smiles as she puts her car in gear. “The kids will be so happy to see you.”

The kids are not happy to see me. At best, they’re neutral, giving me a cursory “Hi, Aunt Olivia!” before running off to their screens. It’s my own fault. I only see them a couple of times a year, at family holidays, and the occasional time Sophie remembers to invite me for Sunday dinner. They live on the Upper West Side, and I live (lived?) in Tribeca, and that’s enough distance for it to be like we live in two different cities.

Sophie’s happy, though, and so is Colin, who I do love. I always have.

When his parents joined the SL&TC twenty-five years ago, they were the first Black members. Colin’s dad was a vice-president at Morgan Stanley, and his mom was a doctor, and I shit you not, but I heard more than one member refer to them as the Huxtables when they were out of earshot. I can’t imagine what it was like for the Martins, enduring clench-jawed conversations where people talked about the “inner cities” and then nodded to them like they must understand exactly what they meant because what else would they be doing in the Hamptons if they weren’t there to escape crime?

Back then, we rolled our eyes and grabbed Colin, because Colin was cool, Colin was fun, Colin was good at everything. He and I bonded over tennis, and he’d bite his tongue whenever one of the older members asked him what basketball team he was on.

He and Sophie bonded over … I’m not sure what, but he was into her from the beginning. After a couple of summers, it was decided. Sophie and Colin, that was their future, and if my father had any objections, I never heard them. Colin was always welcome at dinner, Colin got to squire Sophie to the end-of-year party, and then later, the prom. They went to the same college, and no one was surprised when they announced their engagement right after graduation.

I used to resent it, because my own choices were met with a lot more resistance, but I’ve tried to let that go.

Anyway, Colin was going places, but then Colin made a mistake. Instead of forging his own path after he finished his MBA, he got a job at Morgan Stanley, and suddenly nepotism was a problem. He got overlooked, he got passed over, and Mr. Martin couldn’t do anything about it because then that would be nepotism, and Colin didn’t want his help. But now, eight years later, Colin’s at least two levels below where he should be, and they’re still depending on his parents for luxuries like private school and summers in the Hamptons.

Rich-people problems. It’s hard for me to take them seriously, except I know it bothers Sophie. And Colin is disappointed in himself. But every time I encourage him to do something about it, like go to a new company, he smiles politely and changes the subject. But tonight, he’s smiling at me with genuine warmth when I arrive, his wide grin lighting up his face, his brown eyes dancing as he straightens his red-and-blue-striped tie.

“Olivia-girl, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Happy to help.”

“You know I never would’ve heard the end of it from Sophie if I’d gone without her.”

“She does have a point.”

“One she’s made to me over and over.”

This is their banter. He complains to me about her, she complains to me about him. Who knows what they do when I’m not around?

“Where are your parents? And Lucy?” Lucy is his younger sister.

“My parents aren’t coming down till later in the summer. And Lucy’s here, but she’s having a drink with a friend and meeting us at the party.”

“Who’s the business contact you need to talk to?”

He slips on his dark navy jacket. It fits him beautifully, his body still taut like an athlete’s. “No one.”

“Is it Fred?”

His eyes are guilty. “I’m sorry, Olivia.”

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