Page 29 of Summer After Summer

There’s a rap on my door. It’s Aunt Tracy. “A young man is here for you.”

My eyes fly to Ash’s—he’s early.

“See how excited he is?” she says. “He couldn’t wait.”

I hug her, then rush to the stairs. I stop at the top of them, not wanting to fall. I walk down slowly, turning on the landing and there he is, looking up at me, that wide smile getting wider by the minute. He’s wearing a powder-blue linen shirt with a white linen blazer and dark blue chinos, and he looks so amazing I can’t help but blurt it out. “You look great.”

I reach the bottom step, and he takes my hand. “That’s what I’m supposed to say.”

“Don’t feel like you have to.”

“Olivia, come on. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I got you this.” He picks up a clear box from the table by the door. There’s a pink rose corsage inside. “Too much?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

He takes it out and reaches toward my breast to pin it on. I suck in my breath.

“Wait,” Aunt Tracy says. “Stop.” She’s holding a camera. “I must get a picture.”

“Oh god,” I say to Fred. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, my mom is the same way.”

“This is Aunt Tracy,” I say. “Next best thing to a parent.”

“Olivia, don’t make me cry.”

“Take the shot.”

Fred pins the corsage on while Aunt Tracy clicks away. Then Colin arrives for Sophie, and we go through the same thing all over again, all of us lining up together.

“Again, so sorry about this.”

“No worries.” He leans his head toward me. He smells like soap and the beach, and I want to bury my face in his neck. He lowers his voice. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“You’ll write my name on the back when she gets it developed, so when you look at it a million years from now, you’ll remember who I am.”

“I’m always going to remember this,” I say, and he reaches for my hand, curling our fingers together and pressing tight.

But I don’t remember much after that. How we got out of the house or the walk to the club. I just remember the feel of his hand holding mine, soft on the inside, calloused on the edges. It feels strong and sure, and why haven’t we been doing this the whole time, exactly?

We walk around to the back porch, the one facing the beach. There are about a hundred people here already, mostly adults, but some kids in colorful dresses and short pants are running around, weaving in between them. There’s music playing—some big band number I’m sure my dad would approve of—and the air is full of the other guests’ chatter. He and Aunt Tracy are sitting at a different table with some of their friends.

We consult the seating chart, my hand in Fred’s, his index finger making a slow circle against my palm that feels so good it’s distracting. We’re sitting with a family I didn’t know very well, but I’m happy about that. Happy to stay in our little cocoon, even if that includes Colin and Sophie.

We weave through the crowd, still hand in hand. Twelve tables are set out on the beach, with lights strung above them on poles. When it gets dark, they’ll light up the night. But for now, the sun is still out, the sky starting to pink.

We take our seats, and Colin goes to get us drinks from the bar. I kick off my shoes, letting my feet sink into the soft sand. The place setting is for lobster—a cracker, a small fork, wet wipes, and napkins; and as promised, there’s a white plastic bib folded on top of my plate.

Fred finally lets go of my hand, then picks his bib up and ties it around his neck. “What do you think?” It’s made of cheap plastic and has a bright red lobster on the front.

“It suits you.” I pick mine up, but he takes it from me.

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